Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Standing Outside the Fire ❯ 01 ( Chapter 1 )

1

 

I'm glad I didn't know the way it all would end, the way it all would go…

 

Late summer sun beat down on blue-green hills as I watched the old yellow schoolbus rumble away. It had three stops to go before it would run, empty, back to wherever old yellow schoolbuses spent their evenings.

 

“Get your mind back on your feet,” I grumped at myself, picking up my schoolbag and slinging it over my shoulder as I started the walk home from the bus stop. “The term's only just started, you don't need to go getting weird already.”

 

Though it bothered the other kids to go back to school, I didn't mind so much. It gave me something to think about, besides wondering if the dreams I'd been having were really going to happen or not this time. Sure, I'd miss swimming and running around with my friends, but I never did much care for being used as a lookout whenever Jimmy felt like getting away with something, so I wouldn't miss much there. I got along all right with my big brother, it's just that ever since he found out I knew if he was going to get caught or not, it's been hard not to get involved in his scheming.

 

Black lines snuck into my field of vision as my glasses crept down my nose. For the tenth time that hour I put the dang things back where they belonged before they tried to slide right off. It was hard enough being a little different; the glasses didn't help any. Not that the other kids were mean about it, but it didn't do a whole heck of a lot for a young gentleman's sense of confidence to be shoving his glasses back up every other minute. Maybe this would be the year we could afford those fancy contact lenses, the ones for eyeballs that aren't just near- or far-sighted, but bent like circus mirrors to boot.

 

Dimly I was aware of a large black car turning onto our street, but it took a while for it to register, like it was some kind of stealth sedan. Like it didn't want to be noticed. I frowned, wondering if they were from the bank. I hurried up, wanting to let Mama know before she got some nasty surprise. Everything should be paid up, but you never can tell with banker types. Not waiting to see where the car went, I sprinted around to the kitchen door and let myself in.

 

“Ma? I'm home,” I called out as I crossed the kitchen and into the living room. My mom waved at me from the stairs. “Hey, there's a car out there, don't know if they're coming here but they might be from the bank,” I told her, becoming more certain with each word that the stealth sedan was, in fact, coming up our drive.

 

She frowned a little, then said, “Don't worry about it, son, just get on upstairs and get ready for dinner.” Her eyes had that faraway look they sometimes got when she was `figuring things out from a distance', as she called it.

 

From halfway up the stairs, I paused and looked back. Mama was slowly making her way to the front door. I turned and ran the rest of the way up the stairs, suddenly not wanting to be anywhere near the occupants of that car, who I now knew without doubt were within inches of knocking on the -

 

I slammed my bedroom door to cover the sound as someone knocked politely yet firmly at the front door. Through closed eyes I could see them, two on the porch and three more in the car. They were all dressed in nice dark suits, like government agents or something. One thing for certain, they weren't from any bank; I was pretty sure they weren't even from this country.

 

The weirdness of the situation caught hold of me, and I felt like I'd fallen into a movie, like I was Indiana Jones and the bad guys wanted something from me. But movie bad guys are kind of stupid and these men weren't anything like that, there wasn't anything the least bit funny about them. It was as if they carried something dark and dangerous in their pockets and it protected them, kept them invisible.

 

“Snap out of it,” I told myself in a hush. “Calm, quiet, and see what you see, just like Gramma taught you.” But, just as if they did have some kind of magic shield, it was like time just slid around them and wouldn't show me anything more. With that not working, I resorted to my first method of eavesdropping: I lay down next to my bed and put my ear to the hardwood. All I could pick up was low voices, and my mother's voice a little higher.

 

I heard the back door open and shut, and my father's voice joined in the talking. Then I heard my mother's footsteps on the stairs. Quickly I got up off the floor and started changing out of my school clothes, flinging my pants on the bed and hauling on my nicer pair of jeans. I didn't know quite what to expect, but I didn't want to look too eager about it, and staying in my school clothes would kind of tip them off that I knew they wanted to talk to me.

 

As my mother reached up to knock on my door, I realized with a breathless gasp that that was exactly what they wanted: they had come to talk to me, and now my mother was fetching me downstairs for them.

 

“Bradley? You decent?” she called softly. “There's some folks here from an exclusive boarding school, they'd like to speak with you.”

 

At her words, I felt the rest of the air seep out of my lungs, pushed out by visions of that “school”. It was no boarding school that I'd ever heard of, in fact it looked almost like a military academy or something. There were guards… With numb hands, I opened my bedroom door.

 

Mama looked at me, her face pale. She didn't say anything about what she might have known, she just touched my cheek and smiled. “Come on down and hear what they have to say. You don't have to decide anything just yet.”

 

I followed her down the stairs, feeling for all the world like a man on his way to the gallows. My father stood up and waved me over; the two dark-suited men did not stand, even when my mother entered the room behind me. I pushed my glasses back up, hoping the gesture didn't make me look like a total nerd, and glanced down at the coffee table. It was covered with shiny brochures and plain white forms.

 

The younger of the two men looked right at me and smiled. His hair was very short and blond, like you see on soldiers in World War II movies. Soldiers on the wrong side. His eyes were pale blue, like chips of ice, and they did not smile. “Good afternoon, Bradley,” he said with only a trace of accent, but I knew he should have a thicker one. When he gets drunk again he will have a very heavy accent, and he will be arguing with someone…

 

“Good afternoon, sir,” I mumbled, hoping I didn't pause too long.

 

“I am Mr. Hansen,” he told me, “and I would like to offer you a unique opportunity.”

 

I glanced at my father, wondering why he never picked up on things like Mama and Gramma did, things that I could see even for my tender years. He just nodded at me and smiled, everything about him proud and hopeful. I turned back toward Herr Hansen and said, “Go on.”

 

“Your test scores from school are quite impressive,” he began, his tone one of thinly disguised flattery. “The Rose Academy is constantly on the lookout for bright, young talent. A boy your age, with college-level scores, is exactly the kind of student we want. Our school is devoted to the development of intellect and reason, as well as an appreciation for the arts and sportsmanship. If you were looking for an excellent opportunity, you could do no better: we offer the pinnacle of education, worldwide.”

 

I glanced at my father. He seemed to be drinking in the words, too proud of his son to even wonder what they were really after. I cleared my throat and asked, “Sir, if I may, why me? I mean, there are hundreds of other students around here who scored higher than I did.”

 

Herr Hansen replied with a smile that showed his teeth. “Your school counselor informed us that you have been prone to daydreaming and improbably lucky guesses. We understand your gift of foresight, how it tends to run in families, and the havoc it can wreak on a young life. Our school is not only among the finest in education and the arts, but we also have programs designed to help young psi talents like yourself to grow and reach their full potential. It's not often talked about on this side of the Atlantic, but psionic phenomena are very real, and we have dedicated much study to them over the years.” The blond man murmured the words like an incantation, like he was willing me to believe him without questioning. “Due to the relative rareness of your particular talent, we would like to offer you a full scholarship, transportation and boarding included, to begin this fall.”

 

“This fall?” At last! My father was questioning it, he had to know something was wrong! But then he only said, “But his school term has already started. I thought you were looking at high school or college, not immediately.”

 

Herr Hansen smiled that wolverine smile again and said, “We can initiate his transfer with no difficulty, Mr. Crawford. He won't fall behind, trust me on that. We have very qualified tutors who can make certain his transition is an easy one.”

 

“Dad,” I whispered, then stopped. I had no idea what to say, anyway, and I didn't want these two suits to hear it if I did say something.

 

As though noticing my distress, my father cleared his throat and said, “We'd like some time to think about this. I won't rush my son into anything.”

 

“I quite agree,” Hansen crooned. “We're staying locally until Friday evening, would that suffice? Then if he decides to accept the scholarship, he could fly back with us and I could get him settled in directly.”

 

My dad looked at me, then nodded. “I think we'll have a decision by then,” he said.

 

The two men stood as one, and the blond offered me his hand. “Then until Friday, Bradley Crawford,” he murmured, his eyes daring me to reject his handshake.

 

I drew myself up tall and took his hand as firmly as I thought necessary. “Until Friday,” I said, pausing only a little before adding, “Mr. Hansen.”

 

Before I could reclaim my hand, his eyes narrowed, and I could have sworn he was looking into me, through my skull and deep inside my head. I felt like a file cabinet that was broken open and rifled through, then everything tucked back in and shut away as if nothing had ever happened. His carnivore smile never wavered.

 

Only after the car was gone down the road did my mother approach me. She excused the both of us and led me into the kitchen, our place for “special talks”.

 

“Bradley, honey,” she said, her voice low and kind of shaky.

 

Before she could say it, I held up my hand and took a deep breath. I knew, and she knew, and we both knew that we knew. “Ma, it's okay. I'll go.” If I didn't, they'd just take me anyway. I didn't know what they wanted with me, but it couldn't be anything good. But I wouldn't let them hurt my family. If my choice was to go willingly or to be kidnapped, I'd be a man and walk onto that airplane Friday night of my own free will.