Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Coming Home ❯ 98 ( Chapter 98 )

98

Can you hear me now?

Don't leave me!

I'm not dead!

“Schuldig…”

“Schuldig? Can you hear me?”

I heard myself groan, the knots of nightmare logic holding me under.

“I think he's coming around.”

“Schuldig, can you hear me?”

I raised a hand and waved it vaguely at the noise.

“Don't make me come in there after you.”

The absurdity of the threat did more to rouse me than the repeated calling of my name. I forced my eyes open and glared at Farfarello. “That'd be a neat trick,” I rasped, catching hold of his hand and using it as leverage to haul myself up.

“Are you all right?” Brad watched me closely, not allowing me to lie.

“I don't really know,” I told him. “One hell of a rough ride, that's for damn sure.”

“Do you remember any of it?”

I frowned, searching my thoughts for any memory of the dream, then shook my head. “Nothing. It's gone.” A brief flicker of black wings came back to me then. “Wait. Something about a swan, a black one,” I amended. “Probably not helpful, huh?”

Clearly relieved, Brad shook his head and said, “Don't worry about it. Here.” He handed me some headache pills and a bottle of water. “Get functional. I'll be driving next, so take your time.”

It took me until dawn to get fully alert; fatigue and the tatters of Brad's vision turned my mind gray though I couldn't recall anything past the swan. A reckless amount of caffeine and sugar finally set everything to right except that nagging feeling that I'd missed something terribly important.

I knew better than to ask about it.

Over the next few days, Brad seemed to come out of a fog. He grew sharp and alert again, moving forward with purpose the way he used to do back when the world was ours for the taking. I couldn't suppress a growing excitement. Seeing Brad crisp and capable behind the wheel gave me hope that something good lay ahead of us for once.

Of course, the cynical side of me observed that he could just as easily be taking us right to Esset and he'd be just as cool; I reminded that cynical side that so far it had been wrong about Brad every damn time.

Brad glanced over at me and murmured, “Go ahead and ask it, Schuldig. I know it's bothering you.”

“Okay, so where are we going?”

In the back seat, Farfarello leaned forward slightly to hear his answer.

“Turkey.”

I watched Brad's expression as I asked, “Do I want to know why?”

“That repeater left a map,” Brad replied, “though it didn't tell me what we're looking for, or precisely where to find it, only that we have to go to Turkey. It should begin to make sense once we get there.”

“Any chance it's mice?” Far asked, voicing the very thing I was worried about.

“Or the cat?” Nagi added in a whisper.

Brad shook his head emphatically. “No. Though it does seem deliberate, it doesn't have the same signature - I'd recognize it now. This is different, and it has my curiosity. If it is Esset, it's not the part of it that's hunting us.”

“Factions?” I murmured. “Do you really think that other groups are breaking away? I mean, if it weren't for you, we wouldn't have been able to leave. How could others manage the same?”

Brad smiled grimly. “If it weren't for me, they wouldn't have been able to leave, either. It's happening, Schuldig. I don't know how fast or how far, but there is dissension within the machine. As long as their attention is focused on us, Esset will find pieces of itself sloughing off like a shed skin.”

“Good.” Nagi stated the word like an execution order. “If it loses enough pieces, maybe it will die.”

“That's what I'm hoping for,” Brad said. “It will take time, for certain, but if we can just maintain…” Brad paused; he gnashed his teeth in apparent distaste before concluding, “Attrition will take care of the rest.”

“So, do you expect to find another rogue team here, or what?” I asked, back on the subject at hand. “We're not really set up to take on refugees, you know.”

“I know that. Frankly, I don't know what to expect, only that there's no sense of conflict about it.”

“Not much in keeping with the history of the place,” Far observed with his own unique logic. “Everyone in the world once saw Turkey as either a land of dreams to be captured or a den of sin to be conquered. I wonder which awaits us?”

“Depends. Are we dreamers or sinners?” I asked, turning toward him.

Far smiled at me and shook his head. “Wrong question. Through capturing dreams or conquering sin - which way does freedom lie?”

My answer hit me with the force of a Zen koan. “Both. Freedom is a dream, held captive by sin.”

“Looking at it that way,” Far murmured, “with Esset being sin, it will want to recapture its precious dream. Freedom, for us…is an illusion.”

“Not while I'm still breathing,” I growled.

“Gentlemen, if you please.” Brad glanced at me, then at Far through the rear-view mirror. “We are committed to this course of action. Let's not debate whether ours is a fool's errand; too many good men have died already.”

I swallowed and looked away. Brad had never spoken of the motives behind his treason beyond a desire to live in a world free of Esset's chokehold. Now I couldn't help but wonder if Yohji was right: this wasn't about being a hero, it was about revenge.

Either way, I knew we were on the right side.

I just wished I knew who carried the banner.

“Troy, laid low by the fire of outrage,” Farfarello whispered; his voice raised goosebumps on the back of my neck. “Yet the atrocities wrought upon it mark the victors as no better men than the fallen. One must tread carefully in these places; the ghosts do not rest easy.”

Brad scowled but said nothing.

“Ten years.” Far leaned back in his seat, resting his head against the hard cushion. “Ten years of war, for the love of one woman. By the end of it, nothing was the same for any of them. How long is ten years, really? What does it feel like, while one is living it? Or does it flash past like breathing?”

Ten years…damn. Ten years ago, I was…someone else. I blinked hard, fending off either tears or a return of that headache - I couldn't say which had more priority.

A ghost of a voice beside me whispered, “Try twelve.”

I shot a look at Brad. His jaw clenched as though he were chewing on steel.

The silence in the car sank to a new level as Brad drove like a man possessed. The further we advanced into Turkey, the more tension filled that silence until all I wanted was a goddamn cigarette.

Taxis and tourist buses shepherded us into Ankara, funneling us into a modern ancient world. Some of the minds around us thought in languages familiar and loud, some in a reassuringly foreign murmur; I tightened my shields against the pressure and pocketed the bottle of migraine pills, just in case.

“Weapons, gentlemen. Hide them well,” Brad instructed. He parked the car at the next lot, then led us on foot into the human herd. He looked around as though getting his bearings, turned right, and set off down the boulevard, his stride slow but decisive. The three of us followed, uncertainty shared in a brief exchange of glances.

At the intersection in front of a large museum Brad paused, frowning. He cast about as though looking for something. “Déjà vu. Not good,” he murmured. “Did I miss -?”

Next to the building, a pay phone began to ring.

98

Can you hear me now?

Verizon wireless tag line

Yes, I know the quote could be from any number of sources, but this is the one that best fits the mood of the chapter.

Ten years. Ten years ago, writing was an unlikely dream, and Michigan lay on the horizon like heaven.

Ten years ago, GuiltyRed did not even exist.

It flashed past like breathing.

And, apologies for the cliff-hanger - I promise you won't have long to wait.