Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Coming Home ❯ 49 ( Chapter 49 )

49

 

a dangerous idea that almost makes sense…

 

I repeated the directions under my breath all the way down in the elevator. As we reached the ground floor, Far put his hand on my shoulder and murmured, “It's all right, I know where we're going.”

 

The door opened and the thoughts of the people in the lobby pressed against my shields. I swayed a moment, then recovered and followed the Irishman to the front entrance. My weary mind took the opportunity to notice that his hair was still dyed black, though I hadn't seen him color it. Puzzling lightly at this small mystery, I let Far lead the way toward the pharmacist.

 

::Can you hear me now?::

 

Far's mental voice came through soft but clear, and I realized he'd been repeating this question a few times already. ::Yeah, sorry. I'm not quite at my peak at the moment,:: I told him.

 

Far glanced sidelong at me and smirked. ::Stress. It's a killer.::

 

::Yeah, great. Just great. So where are we, anyway?:: It really ticked me off that I couldn't even follow the simple directions Nagi had given us. Like numbers, the orderly sequence of turns had melted away minutes after he'd explained them.

 

::You're bad off, aren't you. Just let me do this one. I'll get his medicine, and get you back without an ulcer. Fair enough?:: Far offered, his mood downright jaunty. ::You've got enough to worry about, with Brad being blind and all.::

 

::Far, don't say it like that. He is not staying blind.:: My mental tone carried no conviction, and I knew he picked up on that. Damn it all!

 

::Do you know what they did to him?::

 

I stopped in my tracks and glared at the back of Farfarello's head. Aloud, in English, I snarled, “What the hell are you talking about?”

 

Far turned and regarded me with one serene eye. “He said to confront our worst fears. What's yours, I wonder?” Then he returned to mental speech and said, ::That's right, you have several. I think Crawford has already lived through one of his own. That's why he screams at night.:: As though he weren't engaged in a particularly deep discussion, he turned and resumed walking toward our destination.

 

I caught up with him and walked at his side, momentarily silent on all levels. But I couldn't just let this go. ::Far, what do you think happened to Brad?::

 

::I think,:: he replied with thought-filled caution, ::that he was dragged to the gates of hell and forced to look inside without so much as a pair of safety goggles. I think that he relives that moment when he sleeps.:: He paused as though considering his next comment. ::And I think that you are wrong.::

 

::How so, wrong?:: I asked, somewhere between perturbed and worried at this point. Far was acting way too logical, thinking this through way too deeply. Either he was entering a lucid phase, or he was on the edge of a major meltdown. I was not in the mood to deal with this today! Not with Brad's condition and the overall exhaustion of the entire team.

 

::Simply so.:: Far turned down another road, then paused beside a door. ::We're here.::

 

I entered the shop, not sure what to expect, but what I found was like a cross between a modern pharmacy and an old-world apothecary. Shelves lined with arcane-looking jars decorated the back wall, and a massive cabinet with locked doors took up the left-hand wall. To my right hunched a low display counter bearing an antique brass cash register and several piles of what looked like bars of soap.

 

The proprietor greeted me with a curious smile.

 

“Pick up for Dawson,” I told him, feeling suddenly stupid. If he didn't speak English…

 

“Ah, for the heart,” he said, his accent thick. “I have here, waiting for you. Something more, a traditional medicine, you try this, okay?”

 

I stared as he opened one of the heavy jars and spooned some of the powder into a plastic baggie. I glanced over at Far; he was just as surprised as I was. “Um, excuse me,” I called out, “what is that, exactly?”

 

“Cobra,” he replied, the smile never faltering as he closed up the bag and put it with a jar of pills into a plain brown paper sack. “Just this much, like so.” He pantomimed taking a tiny pinch of powder and placing it under his tongue. “Good for the heart.”

 

“Uh huh,” I murmured. Maybe Nagi had some information on this. Then the shopkeeper's words seemed to break through my lingering mental fog. For the heart. That's what Nagi had meant about an underlying condition. As though my mind had disconnected from my body, I pulled out some money to pay for the medicine.

 

My own worst fear had just announced itself. Without Brad…

 

My attention snapped back into focus as the pharmacist took hold of my hand and studied my fingernails. I frowned sharply and tried to reclaim my hand, but he held on firmly, pressing lightly on my nails and shaking his head. “What are you doing?” I growled, hoping to hell Farfarello wasn't getting any ideas on how to effect my escape. But Far just stood near the door, watching with bland amusement.

 

“Here, a present for you,” the shopkeeper said, releasing my hand and returning to the wall of jars. He pulled one down, and I expected more powder, but he pulled out a handful of teabags. “It's good for you, too. Good for your blood,” he explained as he tossed them into the paper sack and folded the top over with neat precision.

 

“Right. Thank you,” I mumbled, not at all certain what the fuck that had been about, but not wanting to stay to find out, either. The moment I had the sack in hand, I nearly bolted for the door.

 

::Can you find your way back, or must I play shepherd again?:: Far asked, quite obviously entertained at my expense.

 

::Yeah, fine, whatever,:: I grumbled silently. I had no idea what was in those teabags, or what the guy had meant about cobra powder. All I knew was I was on my way to feed rat poison to Brad Crawford.

 

::Cobra venom,:: Far explained, taking the lead as we walked. ::I've heard of that. Some say it's better than most regular medicines for heart disease.::

 

::Far,:: I addressed him with as much calm as I could muster, ::Brad does not have heart disease. He is not sick, he is not dying, and he is for goddamn sure not staying blind.::

 

::It's not Japanese.::

 

Far's non sequitur threw me. ::Beg pardon? What does that have to do with --::

 

Farfarello paused to look at me. ::It's a name.::

 

Chills ran down my back as, without any prompting on my part, my mind replayed Brad's nightmare screaming. ::He's talking…in English.:: The realization held me rooted to the spot until Far gently took my arm and started walking again. He watched me work it through.

 

We were both so engrossed in our silence that neither of us noticed the bicyclist careening around the corner. With a crash and a cry, the youth tried unsuccessfully to avoid hitting us, and Farfarello momentarily lost his balance. I jumped the other direction, clutching the medicine like a lifeline, while Far bounced off the side of a tree and the cyclist went down with his bike in a pile of aluminum and denim.

 

Farf checked that I was unharmed, and seemed convinced that this was just an accident. He offered the hapless pedaler a hand up. The bike frame was slightly bent, the front wheel more so, but the kid was only scratched up a little from the sidewalk. While they surveyed the damage, I surveyed the rider's mind. If he were an agent, he was a damn good one; there was no hint of any shielding or any secrecy at all.

 

I sent to Far, ::He's clean. Let's go.:: Once we were certain he was moving on his way and not following us, we resumed our walk to the hotel. Only then did I notice that Farfarello was bleeding. ::Hey, hold up.:: I gently touched the back of his head. Apparently he'd gotten scraped when he hit the tree. It didn't look deep, or particularly nasty, but it was seeping.

 

Far slowly raised his hand and touched the back of his head. Just as slowly, he brought his hand in front of his eye and stared at the crimson staining his fingertips. An odd smile crossed his lips, and he repeated the movement: touch the wound, stare at the blood, touch the wound, stare at the blood. Touch. Stare.

 

I shook my thoughts free of his with some difficulty. ::Far? Are you all right?::

 

::Not Japanese,:: he rambled, ::now that's funny, truly funny. But he is Japanese. That's why it didn't make sense.::

 

::Um, Farf? You're not making sense.:: Shit, of all the times for him to take a turn! ::We have to get Brad his medicine, remember? At the hotel?::

 

::Aye, I remember,:: he acknowledged. ::I remember a lot of things, now.::

 

In desperation, I tried to read his thought process, figure out where the fuck he was going with this. But his shields were too strong; he was locking me out. Aloud I said, “Come on, we have to get back now.”

 

“I know we do,” he murmured, catching his fingertips in his mouth and suckling his blood from them. “And then my real work can begin. Thank you for enlightening me, dear one. I, too, was blind, and now I see.”