Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Fluesternd ❯ Part 11 ( Chapter 11 )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: Crimson 
Run away, run away! He's free!!
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Psychological | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 08.19.2002 | Updated On: 08.19.2002 | Pages: 5 | Words: 5.4K | Visits: 280 | Status: Completed
Run away, run away! He's free!!
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Psychological | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 08.19.2002 | Updated On: 08.19.2002 | Pages: 5 | Words: 5.4K | Visits: 280 | Status: Completed
*****11*****
How reliable is perception?
The way we perceive things makes up for much of what we think about the world. Different people see certain aspects of life in different ways, because we all have different opinions. But, does that mean our perceptions are lies?
I wonder......
Some people look in the mirror and see a horror before them - they're too fat, too ugly, too short, too much of a fashion nightmare - instead of seeing the natural beauty every one of their friends sees.
And there's more.
Where some see failure, others see opportunity; where some see trash, others see treasure; where some see a work of a art, others see nothing but a black square on a white canvas.
Perception is what we alone see for ourselves, and it is a rare occurrence indeed when someone is able to change another person's mind. After all, seeing is believing - for most of us. If we see and feel it, we believe it - case closed.
But, if no one else is ever going to see things as we do, then what does it matter? It's a paradox, a headache, I'd personally like to lock out of my mind forever. Yes, I know I'm always going to have my own perception of things, but if I let those distortions cloud my judgment, I'm never going to get anywhere, and neither will you.
Want me advice? Stop seeing what isn't there.
See what you want to see......
*****
(.......everything.....is so dark.......) He speaks, or so he believes he does, hearing his tired voice bouncing around inside his head. (......where am I.....? Why......why can't I move.....?)
Hidaka Ken is lost. He feels it deep within himself like an overpowering shadow; his body is numb and cold - nonexistant. For what seems like miles in every direction, there is nothing but black - heartless and terrifying - clawing at the skin of his spirit.
(......no.....I remember.....but it can't be......) His desperate words echo around him, taunting as if to confirm his fears. (....the shop.......blew up.....and I was still inside.....fire everywhere......so hot.....painful.......if it really happened then.......I......I'm......dead...?)
If he still had a body with which to cry from, tears would be flowing freely down Ken's face. It's true he has risked his life countless times before, but facing the possibility of death is nothing compared to facing it for real.
(....I can't.....I can't be dead yet......not when we're so close.....) he continues, struggling to come up with some other possibility, though there is none to be found. (....I....don't wanna be dead.......please......I can't leave everyone......not before- )
"....Siberian....."
(.....huh.....who.....is someone calling me...?)
"Siberian......wake up......you're crying......"
It's true, someone *is* calling him, like an angel's voice being carried on the wind. A rushing, blinding surge of hope fills Ken then, realizing he recognizes who is speaking his name. (.....Nori....it can't be.....if she's here......then.......I'm...! I have to open my eyes!!)
Light. The darkness of his clouded mind is torn apart by light as his heavy eyelids force themselves open. All the numbness, the cool nothing of inky black, is instantly replaced by searing pain like needles piercing every one of his nerves from the tips of his toes to the ends of his eyelashes.
"....ugh....I.....feel like I'm....burning up....."
"Shhh......you'll be all right." comforts Nori's oddly gentle voice, sounding so very far away. "Just lie still."
Ken's vision is somewhat blurred as he moves his head to gather in his surrounding, but as the images begin to focus around him, he sees that he is in an unfamiliar room - an unfamiliar bed. The walls are a deep blue, covered with wide varieties of posters from different movies and anime, and though he can't get a very clear look at everything, the place is - to put it kindly - a complete mess of strewn clothing, books, and some things he can't even put a name to.
"Where......am I...?" he asks weakly, turning to the blue-haired haze slowing forming into a person beside him.
"You're in my room above "Kitten's Cafe."
Though this answer is exactly what Ken expected to hear, it means something he isn't prepared to face, and his voice quivers in involuntary denial. "......no......the shop......it didn't.......it.....it's gone, isn't it...?"
Her face now clearly in focus, Ken unmistakably catches the momentary flinch Nori gives before answering. "I wish I could tell you no....." she begins sadly. "......but that wouldn't be the truth. There is very little left, I'm afraid. We're not positive who did this, but it was most likely Schwartz. A warning for us to keep out of their way, I suppose."
Ken nods vaguely, turning away from her to lie the side of his face against the pillow, and hide the lone tear sliding across his cheek - though Nori has already witnessed many silent, salty drops while he was sleeping.
Home - their home - is gone. Everything Ken owned, everything he cherished, is nothing but ashes and rumble across the street. His whole life had been in that apartment.
"...I can't.....believe it....." the brunette whispers in shock. "....everything's gone....and I was right there.......I was.......I was caught in the explosion!"
Like an eruption himself, Ken suddenly shoots up in bed, looking to Nori with wild, ocean-colored eyes gleaming with unnatural light.
"I was....I was...." he repeats, hyperventilating while trying to speak. "I can still.....remember.....the heat of the fire.....lapping at my skin......oh God.....I must be-"
As quickly as it had begun, Ken's ranting ceases, for he has looked down at his hands and bare chest, now revealed as the sheet falls away from his upper body. Other than a few thin bandages, he appears perfectly fine.
Hysterically, Ken shakes his head, staring in unbelieving horror at his unscarred body. "This is......impossible...! I should have burns all over. Why....how....?"
"Calm down, Siberian." Nori cuts in with authority, while firmly grabbing hold of his shoulders to keep him still. "It's all right. Yes, you were badly injured from the explosion, but Aiko and Nagi were able to heal you. Granted, their work wasn't perfect - the damage you sustained was very serious - but scarring should be minimal. Even the pain will fade soon enough."
Like some unsettled child after a nightmare, Ken looks back into Nori's silver eyes, silently begging her for more reassurance, while thanking her for being there at the same time. Gradually, he allows her to lie him back down, but shakes his head intently as she moves to lift the sheet back up over his chest.
His skin still feels like it's on fire.
"I'm.....I'm ok......I'll be ok......" he speaks fervently, almost in a chant. Panic is still very much a persistent presence throughout his throbbing veins. "Everyone.....everyone else is all right?"
Giving a small, comforting smile, Nori nods, while leaning back in her chair beside the bed. These actions alone are enough to calm Ken's desperate thoughts, more than mere words possibly could.
"Guess I missed the meeting then, didn't I...?" he presses on, forcing a smile of his own, and attempting to appear more collected, though he is visibly shaking beneath the covers. "I know Ran and the others are probably trying to keep what happened under a low profile right now, but did you guys learn anything new while I was.......recovering?"
Though Nori's intuition tells her she should force her patient into getting some rest, her understanding for his concerns overshadows everything else. "Not really." she admits. "Nagi told us everything he could about Schwartz' plans, but their leader seems to be keeping most of the final details to himself. You didn't miss anything."
In reflex to Nori's newfound, pleasant tone of voice, Ken unwittingly breaks into a grin - a real one. How foolish he feels for having lost control in front of such a strong-willed woman. Yet, this fact only delights him further while being in her company. Beyond his own comprehension, he adores having someone who knows him - his secrets - unlike anyone else in his life.
The girl in question, with a slight toss of ringlet curls, tilts her head down, as if shying away from Ken's locking gaze on her.
Could she actually be blushing...?
(She's so beautiful...) Ken admires, tracing the lines of Nori's face with his eyes, and ignoring the annoying little voice inside his head calling him a fool. (...and here I am with her.....after cheating death for the millionth time......loving that she is so close.......)
"What are you staring at?" Nori's hesitant voice breaks into his daydreaming, shades of pink visibly flushing to her usually pale cheeks.
Blinking shamefully, the injured brunette averts his eyes, silently reprimanding himself for getting caught. "Sumimasen......I'm just......grateful for your company. I would have hated to wake up alone."
"Well...someone had to watch over you." she smiles, trying to dismiss her concerns, though she secretly had jumped at the opportunity to nurse him back to health. Nori feels she owes him for being so disagreeable when they first met. "I figured, why not let me be the one to take care of you? I was pretty bad-tempered with you before, after all."
Simultaneously, silver and aqua eyes turn back to look at one another, and Nori and Ken hold motionless within their gaze - utterly silent. Like mist from a waterful, something passes between them, so tangible they can feel it on their skin, yet so fleeting it's nearly impossible to hold onto.
Impossible? Ha. Neither of them know the meaning of the word.
Absently, Ken reaches under his blanket to scratch a pestering itch on his thigh, still with his attention drawn on Nori and the sweet stillness of the moment that has captured them. This normally simple action, however, causes the young brunette to realize something he hadn't noticed before.
His legs are bare - and they're not the only things.
"Ahh!!" Ken cries out in embarrassment, shattering their gentle silence, and springing up into a sitting position again, while grabbing at the sheet to wrap it more tightly around himself. "I'm naked! Why didn't you say anything?!"
This hilarious break into such a tender exchange of soundless glances, forces a riddle of laughter to pour out through Nori's breathy voice, practically doubling her over in amusement. "Oh, don't be so childish!" she chides. "You know I used to have a brother. It's not as if I've never seen certain things before."
"S....seen...? You mean you-"
"Well, someone had to get those charred clothes off of you."
If possible, Ken's turquoise eyes shoot open wider than they already were. Suffering through far too many emotions for someone having just recovered from a near-death experience, he's not too happy about this recent discovery.
"...clothes......off...?" the brunette repeats, in a whole other world, while clinging rigorously at the corners of the blanket. "....you saw......but.....why didn't one of the guys do it!?!" The poor boy's face is suddenly a canvas painted in rage and horror, and he glares at Nori accusingly.
The unmoved, young women, on the other hand, springs at this chance to renew the pair's forgotten passion through argument. "You would have prefered one of *them* saw you naked?!"
"At least they're men!"
A secretive twinkle sparkles in Nori's metallic eyes at this. "Oh, I didn't realize you felt that way about your same sex."
Just as Ken is about to counter, his mind registers the true meaning behind those words, and he instantly recoils away from her, a look of utter terror written across his features. "I....I didn't mean......you......oh, shut up!!" he bellows, and in a state of stunned, speechless petrification, falls back hard onto the bed. "I can't win, can I? Why do these things always happen to me? Why am I the one who has to get blown up, who's always tripping over his own feet, and now *this*? You could be a little more sympathetic, you know, instead of being so......suggesting."
Though Ken is staring intently at the ceiling as he speaks, the fluttering sound of soft laughter brings him back out of the storm clouds before he can rave any further. Nori is finding all of this incredibly funny.
"Gomen nasai, Siberian. Really." she states, with a glorious humor to her tone. "It's just......I've never had so much fun bickering with anyone before. I love watching your face go red."
This statement, naturally, causes Ken to turn even redder - though not out of frustration or anger. (So I haven't been imagining it......) he thinks curiously, with a growing smile of his own twitching at the corners of his mouth, and all his hostility forgotten. (.....we're both hopeless.....)
"I'm the one who should appoligize." the brunette begins, lifting his head to look at Nori fully, though he remains lying down. "We both overreact more than we should, but it's wrong of me to be so edgy when you've been taking care of me all this time. Even if you did......you know...?"
Nori lets out a small snicker under her breath. "Hai. I know."
A flush of color springs to Ken's face while gazing into Nori's eyes again, and he forces himself to voice the question nagging at the back of his mind. "You......really like fighting with me...?"
Once again there is a pause, a cease of sound and movement, like an image frozen within a picture. All Nori can do in reply to Ken's question is smile, traces of something no one else could possibly hope to decipher hidden in the expression, though Ken understands in the space of a heartbeat.
Though both remain silent, the noise clammoring inside each of their minds could overpower a choir.
(How could I let this happen.....) Nori reprimands internally, though her regret is clearly a lie - even to herself.
(....probably because I'm such an idiot.....) Ken resolves, as if having the very same thought, synchronized with the women sitting next to his bed.
Well, her bed, actually.
The scene before them seems as if it may never move foreward, but remain on pause exactly where it is, with neither able to say another word. Funny, the silence isn't awkward at all, but familiar and comfortable, as if they have peacefully spent time together all their lives.
All his pain, whether truly gone or not, is nothing but a memory to Ken now. (Please God......tell me I'm not dreaming......)
*****
(I'm dreaming again......)
A hill. Green grass. Distant trees. Cool wind. Swirls of misted color. And...a girl.
Brad Crawford recognizes his surroundings immediately this time, and thankfully, everything is much sharper to his vision, and more clearly distinguishable. This place is becoming more and more familiar as he finds himself in its clutches night after night. Yet, where he knows it from, when he might have been here, at what point in his life this memory would have happened, he doesn't know. His only hope of finding the truth to this serene place within his dreams, is the breeze of different hues painting a picture before his eyes, and the small figure of a young girl on the top of the hill, facing away from him.
As always, her laughter singes the very air.
(This time......this time I'll see who she is for certain........)
"You there!" he calls, moving forward towards the girl, and barely registering that his feet are more firmly planted to the ground then they have ever been before. His body is whole. "Please, tell me where this place is! What is this dream trying to show me?!"
The words have been spoken in English, as they are every time, but the sound of the language feels misplaced somehow, as if Brad is not allowed to use it.
Advancing on her as swiftly as possible, Brad's pulse begins to beat rapidly, watching as the girl slowly turns to face him. He freezes in anticipation, nonetheless, imagining finally being able to see who this mysterious girl is, and clinging to the hope that she will explain everything on why he is unable to shake these constant dreams of a past he has forgotten.
(Finally........finally......)
Her profile, as he has seen before, is obscure, framed by long, tightly curled hair that bounces against slender shoulders. Everything about her is so vague, while her echoing voice rings truer with each passing moment, taunting Brad for not being able to remember something that should be so plainly familiar to him.
Now, however, the waiting is over, because Brad is certain everything he wishes to know will come flooding into him the moment he sees the girl's face.
Almost......so close.....she's turning........turning......and.......now......facing him head on, her laughter increasing in pitch and volume as she looks back at him squarely in the face.
(......what!?) Brad's mind cries in sheer terror, his body flinching back, and preparing to sprint away at a moment's notice.
Hauntingly, the girl lifts a delicate arm into the air, beckoning him to come closer, and laughing with such ferocity, it pierces into Brad's ears like a banshee's deadly song. She is like some monster from the depths of his own consciousness, come to drag him into the maddened pit of everything he has been running from his entire life.
The flashes of color on the wind rush past him in a raging blur of images now, consuming everything around him but the figure of that girl motioning him forward into her arms of darkness, like a void of black to eat him alive.
But......why...?
(Why.......why can I still not see who she is.....?!) the dark-haired man demands from the shadows closing in from all sides, and falls desperately to his knees, clasping his hands over his ears to block out the girl's unbearable shrieking. (......her face......there is nothing there but.......emptiness........why......why is she torturing me!?!)
Black. Sound, vision, senses so recently on fire - the entirety explodes away into fragments, leaving Brad to the safety of true darkness from behind his closed eyes. Those eyes slowly open, displaying their metallic-bronze beauty, and glittering with the threatening presence of watery pools. Nothing will be released from them, though, because Brad Crawford would never allow it.
The strong have no use for tears.
"Damn this infernal nightmare!!" his harsh voice calls into the solitude of his bedroom, as he sits up fiercely, throwing his covers to the side. "If I am doomed to relive it, why can I not figure out what it means?! Why can't I see her face!?!"
An angered fist slams down onto the nightstand, unsteadying the table lamp. How seldom it is for a man with such well-organized thoughts to lose control. So seldom in fact, that a certain red-haired German finds it terribly delicious while eavesdropping from behind the door.
Knock. Knock.
"Having some difficulty, Bradley?" Schuldrich asks teasingly as he enters, without waiting for consent to come in. "Nice boxers, by the way."
With a glare that could unsettle the dead, Brad stands defensively, and takes an ominous step forward as a warning to his intruder. Schu, on the other hand, merely leans casually against the wall, maintaining his ever-present smirk and twinkle in his eyes.
"What do you think you're doing!?" Brad roars. "Get out!!"
Not intimidated in the slightest, the red-head holds a hand to his chest in mocking indignation, with a very comical expression of hurt on his face. "Grouchy. And after I've come to give you my report, too."
"Report?" the American restates quizzically, still lost in the remaining traces of his dream. Then, gradually, the memory of his earlier orders resurface, and his eyes spark back to life, filling with accusation. "The flower shop.......I sent you there this morning! Where have you been?"
His face holding the smallest traces of the emotion associated so fittingly with his name, Schuldrich grins. "Just out having a bit of fun. There's no harm in that, is there?"
Brad grimaces, folding his arms authoritatively over his chest. This common stance for the stern young man, accompanied by his frightening stare, means one thing: state what you've come to say and get the hell out, before I decide to make an example out of you.
No one would dare ignore this silent order, including the darling, rebellious Schuldrich.
"As I was saying....." he begins in a flash. "Mission accomplished. The kittens don't have a litter box to go home to anymore, and - just like you predicted - one of them was caught in the blast. Seems he's going to make a full recovery, though. Such a shame."
"No. I want it this way." Brad corrects. "Now they will think twice before interfering with our plans, but they will still be around to suffer the affects." He allows his arms to fall back against his sides, dawning an evil smirk to rival his companion's. "They won't be able to stop us, even if they *did* steal back the girl. I have already seen it. She will be ours again soon enough, and everything will fall into place......"
An awkward stillness washes over the room, the two men distinctly separate and detached from one another. Brad appears lost in contemplation of completing his desired mission, but Schuldrich's mind is somewhere else completely. It had been a very pleasurable day for the German, to say the least, but even his favorite indulgences are not enough to wipe certain thoughts from his mind.
"Brad....." he begins, breaking the silence with a curious hesitation. "I think it's about time to let the dog loose again, wouldn't you say? It's been almost 24 hours."
Thoughtlessly, Brad looks back at Schuldrich, as if in a power-hungry daze, barely registering what has been said. ".....what? Oh, yes. Farfarello. Go ahead, you can release him if you like."
More and more, this distant, troubling persona has been enveloping Brad, as if he is outside of reality, and Schuldrich is realizing that it is only worsening the closer their directive comes to being fulfilled. Perhaps the strengthening of his dream is playing some role in this......
"He's had enough punishment." Brad continues, sitting down again on the edge of his bed, though his gaze makes him look very far away indeed. "Just leave me alone the rest of tonight, will you? I have a lot on my mind."
Nodding, Schuldrich gladly moves towards the door, but just as he reaches it, he calls back over his shoulder with a mysteriously serious tone. "Just a thought....." he begins, turning the door handle and pulling it open in front of him. "Maybe you can't see her......because you aren't ready to."
And with that, he exits, closing the door as he goes, and leaving Brad to brood in the private solitude of his room.
What is this feeling that can't be put into words...?
*****
What words could possibly describe how he is feeling?
Schuldrich walks swift and soundless down the basement hallway, raking his fingers along the wall as he goes. An unseemly film is beginning to collect underneath his fingernails, but he barely registers the feeling - he can always get a manicure, after all, provided Brad pays the bill.
Everything about the cellar is damp and musky like rotting flesh in the bowels of some murky swamp. The walls are stained and slimy, the floor unnaturally cold, and the air more and more difficult to breathe the closer the red-head comes to Farfarello's room.
His errand may rightfully be to free the bondaged maniac, but Schuldrich's dread grows with each step he takes, nonetheless. Bear in mind, Farfie wasn't too happy about being locked up again, and considering the eerie sharpness of the albino's memory, it's almost certain he will remember who is responsible. And he's not likely to be too forgiving.
He never is.
(I'm losing my touch.) Schuldrich sneers, stopping in front of the large, metal door to Farfarello's cell. (Nothing's supposed to phase me - the Mastermind. This is all routine. No big deal. Farf will just be sitting there mumbling to himself, anyway. I'll walk in, let him go, and he'll sputter out some nonsense like a good schizophrenic. Same as always......)
Having reassured his wavering ego, the German slips back the locks on the door, and painstakingly pulls it open.
Whatever darkness the night outside has blanketed the land with, it couldn't possibly compare to the void of this forbidding room. The lights are out - smashed, most likely - leaving the entire aura of the place dangerous and haunting. Most unnerving of all, however, is not the lack of light, but that there is not a single sound emanating from inside.
With a nervous, crinkled brow, Schuldrich steps slowly through the door, placing every footfall as if expecting to set off some trap after each one. He scans what he can see of the room; the bed to his right - empty; the nearest corners - bare. Only the far end of the room remains out of his range of vision.
Farfarello must be there.
"Hey, Farf! You can come on out now." Schu calls, despising the echo of his own voice, as if it has nothing to bounce off of but empty space. "Punishment's over. Quite playing games."
There is no reply to his appeal, and Schuldrich involuntarily shudders. Normally, this wouldn't be such a chore. Farfarello is supposed to be put in his straitjacket and then fastened to the hook hanging from the ceiling. Whomever has the pleasure of taking him down later - most often Schuldrich - always knows where to find him. This time, to the German's displeasure, Farfie was not hooked up, and his whereabouts - though limited - are not a fun guessing game.
"Stop messing around!" the red-head cries, growing impatient as he continues into the room, squinting to get a better look at the far corners. "Look, I know you're upset, but get over it already! You'll have to show yourself eventually if you want that thing off!"
Still, no answer. By now, Schuldrich has reached the back of the room, but closer inspection shows no sign of Farfarello there, either.
(Where else could he be hiding? Under the bed?)
Unfortunately, he's not going to get the chance to find out for himself, because someone is about to find him first.
Before Schuldrich can turn around to go investigate the mangled bed, a jingling sound catches his attention from behind. Almost as if the wind has mysteriously blown the chain and hook above him slightly, the red-head hopes to dismiss the sound, but being it is coupled with a second, most familiar clink - like buckles on a straitjacket - there's no way he can.
As if spreading wings to fly, Farfarello suddenly leaps down from suspending himself on the hook that has so often suspended him, free from his straitjacket, and holding it stretched taut in front of him. Even swift Schuldrich isn't fast enough to turn before his teammate wraps a coarse sleeve around his throat from behind.
Fate is indeed a cruel mistress.
"Far....what.....sto....p....." the struggling red-head attempts to voice, while clawing at his neck and flailing wildly to free himself. Quickly realizing he can't possibly talk his way out of this situation, Schu switches to a more accustomed form of communication.
(Farf, what the hell are you doing!?! Get off me! I can't breathe!!)
Surprise, surprise. He gets no answer.
Delirious with panic, Schuldrich thrusts his mind into Farfarello's, searching madly for the source of this crazed action. Granted, the Irishman's actions are usually crazed, but they've never been directed at a fellow member of Schwartz before. Especially not Schu.
Remarkably, Farfie's mind is not what the red-head expects to find in the slightest. It isn't a random - though oddly organized - array of thoughts on God, pain, destruction, or any of the usual vices, as it should be. On the contrary, Farfarello's mind is so vaguely focused, Schuldrich can't read it at all.
Flustered and at a loss of what to do, he draws a blank, sinking to the floor as the fuzzy numbness of unconsciousness threatens to take control of what strength he has left. Farfarello remains standing behind him, tightening his grip, but even if Schu was in a position to see his attacker's face, it wouldn't make any difference, because there is nothing to see. Not due to the darkness of the room, but on account of his utterly blank features, devoid of emotion.
He is simply doing what he has to.
Schuldrich, sensing he cannot win this battle, fights to send one final, frantic question to his hardened contradiction of a friend, even surprising himself with what leaves his mind's voice, in such a frightened inner tone.
(......are you...going to kill me.....?)
Nothing.
The beaten German is rewarded with no answer - good or bad - to follow him into the deep sleep he sinks into. The fight is over.
Using great care, Farfarello slips the jacket away from Schu's neck, gently allowing him to fall completely to the floor, sprawled neatly as if only peacefully asleep. The "weapon", on the other hand, is tossed thoughtlessly against a wall.
Ask anyone and they'll tell you, it's always more frightening when a killer wears a mask of calm rather than a snarling expression of repressed rage. If their face is blank, you can't possibly hope to know what they are thinking, and when their motive, their purpose, is left unclear, they seem all the more a monster.
Farfarello stares down at the still body by his feet, reaching into his pockets to pull out his treasured blades. The outline of Schuldrich's body is the only thing distinguishable in the blackness of the room, however, and even the knives give no sparkle, no gleam at all with which to entice. The sole presence remaining tangible is the resonance of Schu's final thought.
(......are you...going to kill me.....?)
The daggers are tucked away again, without hesitation, and Farfarello bends down to lift the lean body of his unconscious companion into his arms. Knowing his room as keenly as a cat knows its way home, even after months of absence, the Irishman makes his way over to the slashed bed, not missing a step in the darkness, and lays Schuldrich down upon the mattress.
He stands there for a long time, watching the steady rhythm of the red-head's chest, and still with no traces of anything written on his pale features. Finally, Farfarello turns and takes a step towards the open door - his freedom - only to turn back again.
His one, golden eye locks on Schuldrich's forehead. There rests an unforgettable piece of yellow cloth, with strands of sunset hair whisping over it.
Lately, Schuldrich hasn't been wearing his cherished bandanna, but for some unknown reason, had chosen to wear it today.
Resolutely, Farfie moves both his hands underneath Schuldrich's head, and unties the article, holding it up to the meager light pouring in from the hall once it comes free.
This will be enough.
Farfarello pockets the bandanna - on the same side as the dagger given to him by his red-headed teammate - and moves for the door, contented now, without looking back.
Be afraid world. Your end is closer than ever before.
*****A/N*****
Ooo, I love this chapter! Ken-Ken is fine, and Farfie is free! Whoohoo! Also, Brad's dream went a step further, but he still saw nothing. What does it all mean. Keep reading and you'll find out.
On a side note, this chapter - namely, the part between Schu and Farf - always makes me think of something. Schuldrich is by far one of the most sadistic villains I have ever encountered, and Farfarello...well...there is no mistaking his masochistic tendencies. So...if you put the two of them together...you get S & M!!! HAHAHAHA!!
Ok, I'm fine. I just had to mention that. See you next chapter!
How reliable is perception?
The way we perceive things makes up for much of what we think about the world. Different people see certain aspects of life in different ways, because we all have different opinions. But, does that mean our perceptions are lies?
I wonder......
Some people look in the mirror and see a horror before them - they're too fat, too ugly, too short, too much of a fashion nightmare - instead of seeing the natural beauty every one of their friends sees.
And there's more.
Where some see failure, others see opportunity; where some see trash, others see treasure; where some see a work of a art, others see nothing but a black square on a white canvas.
Perception is what we alone see for ourselves, and it is a rare occurrence indeed when someone is able to change another person's mind. After all, seeing is believing - for most of us. If we see and feel it, we believe it - case closed.
But, if no one else is ever going to see things as we do, then what does it matter? It's a paradox, a headache, I'd personally like to lock out of my mind forever. Yes, I know I'm always going to have my own perception of things, but if I let those distortions cloud my judgment, I'm never going to get anywhere, and neither will you.
Want me advice? Stop seeing what isn't there.
See what you want to see......
*****
(.......everything.....is so dark.......) He speaks, or so he believes he does, hearing his tired voice bouncing around inside his head. (......where am I.....? Why......why can't I move.....?)
Hidaka Ken is lost. He feels it deep within himself like an overpowering shadow; his body is numb and cold - nonexistant. For what seems like miles in every direction, there is nothing but black - heartless and terrifying - clawing at the skin of his spirit.
(......no.....I remember.....but it can't be......) His desperate words echo around him, taunting as if to confirm his fears. (....the shop.......blew up.....and I was still inside.....fire everywhere......so hot.....painful.......if it really happened then.......I......I'm......dead...?)
If he still had a body with which to cry from, tears would be flowing freely down Ken's face. It's true he has risked his life countless times before, but facing the possibility of death is nothing compared to facing it for real.
(....I can't.....I can't be dead yet......not when we're so close.....) he continues, struggling to come up with some other possibility, though there is none to be found. (....I....don't wanna be dead.......please......I can't leave everyone......not before- )
"....Siberian....."
(.....huh.....who.....is someone calling me...?)
"Siberian......wake up......you're crying......"
It's true, someone *is* calling him, like an angel's voice being carried on the wind. A rushing, blinding surge of hope fills Ken then, realizing he recognizes who is speaking his name. (.....Nori....it can't be.....if she's here......then.......I'm...! I have to open my eyes!!)
Light. The darkness of his clouded mind is torn apart by light as his heavy eyelids force themselves open. All the numbness, the cool nothing of inky black, is instantly replaced by searing pain like needles piercing every one of his nerves from the tips of his toes to the ends of his eyelashes.
"....ugh....I.....feel like I'm....burning up....."
"Shhh......you'll be all right." comforts Nori's oddly gentle voice, sounding so very far away. "Just lie still."
Ken's vision is somewhat blurred as he moves his head to gather in his surrounding, but as the images begin to focus around him, he sees that he is in an unfamiliar room - an unfamiliar bed. The walls are a deep blue, covered with wide varieties of posters from different movies and anime, and though he can't get a very clear look at everything, the place is - to put it kindly - a complete mess of strewn clothing, books, and some things he can't even put a name to.
"Where......am I...?" he asks weakly, turning to the blue-haired haze slowing forming into a person beside him.
"You're in my room above "Kitten's Cafe."
Though this answer is exactly what Ken expected to hear, it means something he isn't prepared to face, and his voice quivers in involuntary denial. "......no......the shop......it didn't.......it.....it's gone, isn't it...?"
Her face now clearly in focus, Ken unmistakably catches the momentary flinch Nori gives before answering. "I wish I could tell you no....." she begins sadly. "......but that wouldn't be the truth. There is very little left, I'm afraid. We're not positive who did this, but it was most likely Schwartz. A warning for us to keep out of their way, I suppose."
Ken nods vaguely, turning away from her to lie the side of his face against the pillow, and hide the lone tear sliding across his cheek - though Nori has already witnessed many silent, salty drops while he was sleeping.
Home - their home - is gone. Everything Ken owned, everything he cherished, is nothing but ashes and rumble across the street. His whole life had been in that apartment.
"...I can't.....believe it....." the brunette whispers in shock. "....everything's gone....and I was right there.......I was.......I was caught in the explosion!"
Like an eruption himself, Ken suddenly shoots up in bed, looking to Nori with wild, ocean-colored eyes gleaming with unnatural light.
"I was....I was...." he repeats, hyperventilating while trying to speak. "I can still.....remember.....the heat of the fire.....lapping at my skin......oh God.....I must be-"
As quickly as it had begun, Ken's ranting ceases, for he has looked down at his hands and bare chest, now revealed as the sheet falls away from his upper body. Other than a few thin bandages, he appears perfectly fine.
Hysterically, Ken shakes his head, staring in unbelieving horror at his unscarred body. "This is......impossible...! I should have burns all over. Why....how....?"
"Calm down, Siberian." Nori cuts in with authority, while firmly grabbing hold of his shoulders to keep him still. "It's all right. Yes, you were badly injured from the explosion, but Aiko and Nagi were able to heal you. Granted, their work wasn't perfect - the damage you sustained was very serious - but scarring should be minimal. Even the pain will fade soon enough."
Like some unsettled child after a nightmare, Ken looks back into Nori's silver eyes, silently begging her for more reassurance, while thanking her for being there at the same time. Gradually, he allows her to lie him back down, but shakes his head intently as she moves to lift the sheet back up over his chest.
His skin still feels like it's on fire.
"I'm.....I'm ok......I'll be ok......" he speaks fervently, almost in a chant. Panic is still very much a persistent presence throughout his throbbing veins. "Everyone.....everyone else is all right?"
Giving a small, comforting smile, Nori nods, while leaning back in her chair beside the bed. These actions alone are enough to calm Ken's desperate thoughts, more than mere words possibly could.
"Guess I missed the meeting then, didn't I...?" he presses on, forcing a smile of his own, and attempting to appear more collected, though he is visibly shaking beneath the covers. "I know Ran and the others are probably trying to keep what happened under a low profile right now, but did you guys learn anything new while I was.......recovering?"
Though Nori's intuition tells her she should force her patient into getting some rest, her understanding for his concerns overshadows everything else. "Not really." she admits. "Nagi told us everything he could about Schwartz' plans, but their leader seems to be keeping most of the final details to himself. You didn't miss anything."
In reflex to Nori's newfound, pleasant tone of voice, Ken unwittingly breaks into a grin - a real one. How foolish he feels for having lost control in front of such a strong-willed woman. Yet, this fact only delights him further while being in her company. Beyond his own comprehension, he adores having someone who knows him - his secrets - unlike anyone else in his life.
The girl in question, with a slight toss of ringlet curls, tilts her head down, as if shying away from Ken's locking gaze on her.
Could she actually be blushing...?
(She's so beautiful...) Ken admires, tracing the lines of Nori's face with his eyes, and ignoring the annoying little voice inside his head calling him a fool. (...and here I am with her.....after cheating death for the millionth time......loving that she is so close.......)
"What are you staring at?" Nori's hesitant voice breaks into his daydreaming, shades of pink visibly flushing to her usually pale cheeks.
Blinking shamefully, the injured brunette averts his eyes, silently reprimanding himself for getting caught. "Sumimasen......I'm just......grateful for your company. I would have hated to wake up alone."
"Well...someone had to watch over you." she smiles, trying to dismiss her concerns, though she secretly had jumped at the opportunity to nurse him back to health. Nori feels she owes him for being so disagreeable when they first met. "I figured, why not let me be the one to take care of you? I was pretty bad-tempered with you before, after all."
Simultaneously, silver and aqua eyes turn back to look at one another, and Nori and Ken hold motionless within their gaze - utterly silent. Like mist from a waterful, something passes between them, so tangible they can feel it on their skin, yet so fleeting it's nearly impossible to hold onto.
Impossible? Ha. Neither of them know the meaning of the word.
Absently, Ken reaches under his blanket to scratch a pestering itch on his thigh, still with his attention drawn on Nori and the sweet stillness of the moment that has captured them. This normally simple action, however, causes the young brunette to realize something he hadn't noticed before.
His legs are bare - and they're not the only things.
"Ahh!!" Ken cries out in embarrassment, shattering their gentle silence, and springing up into a sitting position again, while grabbing at the sheet to wrap it more tightly around himself. "I'm naked! Why didn't you say anything?!"
This hilarious break into such a tender exchange of soundless glances, forces a riddle of laughter to pour out through Nori's breathy voice, practically doubling her over in amusement. "Oh, don't be so childish!" she chides. "You know I used to have a brother. It's not as if I've never seen certain things before."
"S....seen...? You mean you-"
"Well, someone had to get those charred clothes off of you."
If possible, Ken's turquoise eyes shoot open wider than they already were. Suffering through far too many emotions for someone having just recovered from a near-death experience, he's not too happy about this recent discovery.
"...clothes......off...?" the brunette repeats, in a whole other world, while clinging rigorously at the corners of the blanket. "....you saw......but.....why didn't one of the guys do it!?!" The poor boy's face is suddenly a canvas painted in rage and horror, and he glares at Nori accusingly.
The unmoved, young women, on the other hand, springs at this chance to renew the pair's forgotten passion through argument. "You would have prefered one of *them* saw you naked?!"
"At least they're men!"
A secretive twinkle sparkles in Nori's metallic eyes at this. "Oh, I didn't realize you felt that way about your same sex."
Just as Ken is about to counter, his mind registers the true meaning behind those words, and he instantly recoils away from her, a look of utter terror written across his features. "I....I didn't mean......you......oh, shut up!!" he bellows, and in a state of stunned, speechless petrification, falls back hard onto the bed. "I can't win, can I? Why do these things always happen to me? Why am I the one who has to get blown up, who's always tripping over his own feet, and now *this*? You could be a little more sympathetic, you know, instead of being so......suggesting."
Though Ken is staring intently at the ceiling as he speaks, the fluttering sound of soft laughter brings him back out of the storm clouds before he can rave any further. Nori is finding all of this incredibly funny.
"Gomen nasai, Siberian. Really." she states, with a glorious humor to her tone. "It's just......I've never had so much fun bickering with anyone before. I love watching your face go red."
This statement, naturally, causes Ken to turn even redder - though not out of frustration or anger. (So I haven't been imagining it......) he thinks curiously, with a growing smile of his own twitching at the corners of his mouth, and all his hostility forgotten. (.....we're both hopeless.....)
"I'm the one who should appoligize." the brunette begins, lifting his head to look at Nori fully, though he remains lying down. "We both overreact more than we should, but it's wrong of me to be so edgy when you've been taking care of me all this time. Even if you did......you know...?"
Nori lets out a small snicker under her breath. "Hai. I know."
A flush of color springs to Ken's face while gazing into Nori's eyes again, and he forces himself to voice the question nagging at the back of his mind. "You......really like fighting with me...?"
Once again there is a pause, a cease of sound and movement, like an image frozen within a picture. All Nori can do in reply to Ken's question is smile, traces of something no one else could possibly hope to decipher hidden in the expression, though Ken understands in the space of a heartbeat.
Though both remain silent, the noise clammoring inside each of their minds could overpower a choir.
(How could I let this happen.....) Nori reprimands internally, though her regret is clearly a lie - even to herself.
(....probably because I'm such an idiot.....) Ken resolves, as if having the very same thought, synchronized with the women sitting next to his bed.
Well, her bed, actually.
The scene before them seems as if it may never move foreward, but remain on pause exactly where it is, with neither able to say another word. Funny, the silence isn't awkward at all, but familiar and comfortable, as if they have peacefully spent time together all their lives.
All his pain, whether truly gone or not, is nothing but a memory to Ken now. (Please God......tell me I'm not dreaming......)
*****
(I'm dreaming again......)
A hill. Green grass. Distant trees. Cool wind. Swirls of misted color. And...a girl.
Brad Crawford recognizes his surroundings immediately this time, and thankfully, everything is much sharper to his vision, and more clearly distinguishable. This place is becoming more and more familiar as he finds himself in its clutches night after night. Yet, where he knows it from, when he might have been here, at what point in his life this memory would have happened, he doesn't know. His only hope of finding the truth to this serene place within his dreams, is the breeze of different hues painting a picture before his eyes, and the small figure of a young girl on the top of the hill, facing away from him.
As always, her laughter singes the very air.
(This time......this time I'll see who she is for certain........)
"You there!" he calls, moving forward towards the girl, and barely registering that his feet are more firmly planted to the ground then they have ever been before. His body is whole. "Please, tell me where this place is! What is this dream trying to show me?!"
The words have been spoken in English, as they are every time, but the sound of the language feels misplaced somehow, as if Brad is not allowed to use it.
Advancing on her as swiftly as possible, Brad's pulse begins to beat rapidly, watching as the girl slowly turns to face him. He freezes in anticipation, nonetheless, imagining finally being able to see who this mysterious girl is, and clinging to the hope that she will explain everything on why he is unable to shake these constant dreams of a past he has forgotten.
(Finally........finally......)
Her profile, as he has seen before, is obscure, framed by long, tightly curled hair that bounces against slender shoulders. Everything about her is so vague, while her echoing voice rings truer with each passing moment, taunting Brad for not being able to remember something that should be so plainly familiar to him.
Now, however, the waiting is over, because Brad is certain everything he wishes to know will come flooding into him the moment he sees the girl's face.
Almost......so close.....she's turning........turning......and.......now......facing him head on, her laughter increasing in pitch and volume as she looks back at him squarely in the face.
(......what!?) Brad's mind cries in sheer terror, his body flinching back, and preparing to sprint away at a moment's notice.
Hauntingly, the girl lifts a delicate arm into the air, beckoning him to come closer, and laughing with such ferocity, it pierces into Brad's ears like a banshee's deadly song. She is like some monster from the depths of his own consciousness, come to drag him into the maddened pit of everything he has been running from his entire life.
The flashes of color on the wind rush past him in a raging blur of images now, consuming everything around him but the figure of that girl motioning him forward into her arms of darkness, like a void of black to eat him alive.
But......why...?
(Why.......why can I still not see who she is.....?!) the dark-haired man demands from the shadows closing in from all sides, and falls desperately to his knees, clasping his hands over his ears to block out the girl's unbearable shrieking. (......her face......there is nothing there but.......emptiness........why......why is she torturing me!?!)
Black. Sound, vision, senses so recently on fire - the entirety explodes away into fragments, leaving Brad to the safety of true darkness from behind his closed eyes. Those eyes slowly open, displaying their metallic-bronze beauty, and glittering with the threatening presence of watery pools. Nothing will be released from them, though, because Brad Crawford would never allow it.
The strong have no use for tears.
"Damn this infernal nightmare!!" his harsh voice calls into the solitude of his bedroom, as he sits up fiercely, throwing his covers to the side. "If I am doomed to relive it, why can I not figure out what it means?! Why can't I see her face!?!"
An angered fist slams down onto the nightstand, unsteadying the table lamp. How seldom it is for a man with such well-organized thoughts to lose control. So seldom in fact, that a certain red-haired German finds it terribly delicious while eavesdropping from behind the door.
Knock. Knock.
"Having some difficulty, Bradley?" Schuldrich asks teasingly as he enters, without waiting for consent to come in. "Nice boxers, by the way."
With a glare that could unsettle the dead, Brad stands defensively, and takes an ominous step forward as a warning to his intruder. Schu, on the other hand, merely leans casually against the wall, maintaining his ever-present smirk and twinkle in his eyes.
"What do you think you're doing!?" Brad roars. "Get out!!"
Not intimidated in the slightest, the red-head holds a hand to his chest in mocking indignation, with a very comical expression of hurt on his face. "Grouchy. And after I've come to give you my report, too."
"Report?" the American restates quizzically, still lost in the remaining traces of his dream. Then, gradually, the memory of his earlier orders resurface, and his eyes spark back to life, filling with accusation. "The flower shop.......I sent you there this morning! Where have you been?"
His face holding the smallest traces of the emotion associated so fittingly with his name, Schuldrich grins. "Just out having a bit of fun. There's no harm in that, is there?"
Brad grimaces, folding his arms authoritatively over his chest. This common stance for the stern young man, accompanied by his frightening stare, means one thing: state what you've come to say and get the hell out, before I decide to make an example out of you.
No one would dare ignore this silent order, including the darling, rebellious Schuldrich.
"As I was saying....." he begins in a flash. "Mission accomplished. The kittens don't have a litter box to go home to anymore, and - just like you predicted - one of them was caught in the blast. Seems he's going to make a full recovery, though. Such a shame."
"No. I want it this way." Brad corrects. "Now they will think twice before interfering with our plans, but they will still be around to suffer the affects." He allows his arms to fall back against his sides, dawning an evil smirk to rival his companion's. "They won't be able to stop us, even if they *did* steal back the girl. I have already seen it. She will be ours again soon enough, and everything will fall into place......"
An awkward stillness washes over the room, the two men distinctly separate and detached from one another. Brad appears lost in contemplation of completing his desired mission, but Schuldrich's mind is somewhere else completely. It had been a very pleasurable day for the German, to say the least, but even his favorite indulgences are not enough to wipe certain thoughts from his mind.
"Brad....." he begins, breaking the silence with a curious hesitation. "I think it's about time to let the dog loose again, wouldn't you say? It's been almost 24 hours."
Thoughtlessly, Brad looks back at Schuldrich, as if in a power-hungry daze, barely registering what has been said. ".....what? Oh, yes. Farfarello. Go ahead, you can release him if you like."
More and more, this distant, troubling persona has been enveloping Brad, as if he is outside of reality, and Schuldrich is realizing that it is only worsening the closer their directive comes to being fulfilled. Perhaps the strengthening of his dream is playing some role in this......
"He's had enough punishment." Brad continues, sitting down again on the edge of his bed, though his gaze makes him look very far away indeed. "Just leave me alone the rest of tonight, will you? I have a lot on my mind."
Nodding, Schuldrich gladly moves towards the door, but just as he reaches it, he calls back over his shoulder with a mysteriously serious tone. "Just a thought....." he begins, turning the door handle and pulling it open in front of him. "Maybe you can't see her......because you aren't ready to."
And with that, he exits, closing the door as he goes, and leaving Brad to brood in the private solitude of his room.
What is this feeling that can't be put into words...?
*****
What words could possibly describe how he is feeling?
Schuldrich walks swift and soundless down the basement hallway, raking his fingers along the wall as he goes. An unseemly film is beginning to collect underneath his fingernails, but he barely registers the feeling - he can always get a manicure, after all, provided Brad pays the bill.
Everything about the cellar is damp and musky like rotting flesh in the bowels of some murky swamp. The walls are stained and slimy, the floor unnaturally cold, and the air more and more difficult to breathe the closer the red-head comes to Farfarello's room.
His errand may rightfully be to free the bondaged maniac, but Schuldrich's dread grows with each step he takes, nonetheless. Bear in mind, Farfie wasn't too happy about being locked up again, and considering the eerie sharpness of the albino's memory, it's almost certain he will remember who is responsible. And he's not likely to be too forgiving.
He never is.
(I'm losing my touch.) Schuldrich sneers, stopping in front of the large, metal door to Farfarello's cell. (Nothing's supposed to phase me - the Mastermind. This is all routine. No big deal. Farf will just be sitting there mumbling to himself, anyway. I'll walk in, let him go, and he'll sputter out some nonsense like a good schizophrenic. Same as always......)
Having reassured his wavering ego, the German slips back the locks on the door, and painstakingly pulls it open.
Whatever darkness the night outside has blanketed the land with, it couldn't possibly compare to the void of this forbidding room. The lights are out - smashed, most likely - leaving the entire aura of the place dangerous and haunting. Most unnerving of all, however, is not the lack of light, but that there is not a single sound emanating from inside.
With a nervous, crinkled brow, Schuldrich steps slowly through the door, placing every footfall as if expecting to set off some trap after each one. He scans what he can see of the room; the bed to his right - empty; the nearest corners - bare. Only the far end of the room remains out of his range of vision.
Farfarello must be there.
"Hey, Farf! You can come on out now." Schu calls, despising the echo of his own voice, as if it has nothing to bounce off of but empty space. "Punishment's over. Quite playing games."
There is no reply to his appeal, and Schuldrich involuntarily shudders. Normally, this wouldn't be such a chore. Farfarello is supposed to be put in his straitjacket and then fastened to the hook hanging from the ceiling. Whomever has the pleasure of taking him down later - most often Schuldrich - always knows where to find him. This time, to the German's displeasure, Farfie was not hooked up, and his whereabouts - though limited - are not a fun guessing game.
"Stop messing around!" the red-head cries, growing impatient as he continues into the room, squinting to get a better look at the far corners. "Look, I know you're upset, but get over it already! You'll have to show yourself eventually if you want that thing off!"
Still, no answer. By now, Schuldrich has reached the back of the room, but closer inspection shows no sign of Farfarello there, either.
(Where else could he be hiding? Under the bed?)
Unfortunately, he's not going to get the chance to find out for himself, because someone is about to find him first.
Before Schuldrich can turn around to go investigate the mangled bed, a jingling sound catches his attention from behind. Almost as if the wind has mysteriously blown the chain and hook above him slightly, the red-head hopes to dismiss the sound, but being it is coupled with a second, most familiar clink - like buckles on a straitjacket - there's no way he can.
As if spreading wings to fly, Farfarello suddenly leaps down from suspending himself on the hook that has so often suspended him, free from his straitjacket, and holding it stretched taut in front of him. Even swift Schuldrich isn't fast enough to turn before his teammate wraps a coarse sleeve around his throat from behind.
Fate is indeed a cruel mistress.
"Far....what.....sto....p....." the struggling red-head attempts to voice, while clawing at his neck and flailing wildly to free himself. Quickly realizing he can't possibly talk his way out of this situation, Schu switches to a more accustomed form of communication.
(Farf, what the hell are you doing!?! Get off me! I can't breathe!!)
Surprise, surprise. He gets no answer.
Delirious with panic, Schuldrich thrusts his mind into Farfarello's, searching madly for the source of this crazed action. Granted, the Irishman's actions are usually crazed, but they've never been directed at a fellow member of Schwartz before. Especially not Schu.
Remarkably, Farfie's mind is not what the red-head expects to find in the slightest. It isn't a random - though oddly organized - array of thoughts on God, pain, destruction, or any of the usual vices, as it should be. On the contrary, Farfarello's mind is so vaguely focused, Schuldrich can't read it at all.
Flustered and at a loss of what to do, he draws a blank, sinking to the floor as the fuzzy numbness of unconsciousness threatens to take control of what strength he has left. Farfarello remains standing behind him, tightening his grip, but even if Schu was in a position to see his attacker's face, it wouldn't make any difference, because there is nothing to see. Not due to the darkness of the room, but on account of his utterly blank features, devoid of emotion.
He is simply doing what he has to.
Schuldrich, sensing he cannot win this battle, fights to send one final, frantic question to his hardened contradiction of a friend, even surprising himself with what leaves his mind's voice, in such a frightened inner tone.
(......are you...going to kill me.....?)
Nothing.
The beaten German is rewarded with no answer - good or bad - to follow him into the deep sleep he sinks into. The fight is over.
Using great care, Farfarello slips the jacket away from Schu's neck, gently allowing him to fall completely to the floor, sprawled neatly as if only peacefully asleep. The "weapon", on the other hand, is tossed thoughtlessly against a wall.
Ask anyone and they'll tell you, it's always more frightening when a killer wears a mask of calm rather than a snarling expression of repressed rage. If their face is blank, you can't possibly hope to know what they are thinking, and when their motive, their purpose, is left unclear, they seem all the more a monster.
Farfarello stares down at the still body by his feet, reaching into his pockets to pull out his treasured blades. The outline of Schuldrich's body is the only thing distinguishable in the blackness of the room, however, and even the knives give no sparkle, no gleam at all with which to entice. The sole presence remaining tangible is the resonance of Schu's final thought.
(......are you...going to kill me.....?)
The daggers are tucked away again, without hesitation, and Farfarello bends down to lift the lean body of his unconscious companion into his arms. Knowing his room as keenly as a cat knows its way home, even after months of absence, the Irishman makes his way over to the slashed bed, not missing a step in the darkness, and lays Schuldrich down upon the mattress.
He stands there for a long time, watching the steady rhythm of the red-head's chest, and still with no traces of anything written on his pale features. Finally, Farfarello turns and takes a step towards the open door - his freedom - only to turn back again.
His one, golden eye locks on Schuldrich's forehead. There rests an unforgettable piece of yellow cloth, with strands of sunset hair whisping over it.
Lately, Schuldrich hasn't been wearing his cherished bandanna, but for some unknown reason, had chosen to wear it today.
Resolutely, Farfie moves both his hands underneath Schuldrich's head, and unties the article, holding it up to the meager light pouring in from the hall once it comes free.
This will be enough.
Farfarello pockets the bandanna - on the same side as the dagger given to him by his red-headed teammate - and moves for the door, contented now, without looking back.
Be afraid world. Your end is closer than ever before.
*****A/N*****
Ooo, I love this chapter! Ken-Ken is fine, and Farfie is free! Whoohoo! Also, Brad's dream went a step further, but he still saw nothing. What does it all mean. Keep reading and you'll find out.
On a side note, this chapter - namely, the part between Schu and Farf - always makes me think of something. Schuldrich is by far one of the most sadistic villains I have ever encountered, and Farfarello...well...there is no mistaking his masochistic tendencies. So...if you put the two of them together...you get S & M!!! HAHAHAHA!!
Ok, I'm fine. I just had to mention that. See you next chapter!