Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Standing Outside the Fire ❯ 02 ( Chapter 2 )

2

 

“May it be a light to you in dark places, when all other lights go out.”

 

I knew what the word `numb' meant, but I'd never really experienced it before.

 

Time has never been my friend, but that week it played me rotten. The good moments, the ones with my ma and gramma, flew past. The bad moments, the nightmare time, lingered on and made it hard to think.

 

Numb filled in the gaps.

 

That first night, I think Ma told my dad what she thought of this school business. I could hear her crying, and I knew she would smile at me over breakfast while Dad just clenched his jaw and wondered what to say. Sure enough, breakfast was tense, so tense Rachelle forgot to tease me about skipping school the rest of the week.

 

Gramma kept me from going crazy. She comforted my ma and talked to my dad, and I spent a bittersweet Wednesday afternoon just with her. She made lemonade and spice cookies, and we sat outside together.

 

“I know you're scared, Bradley,” she told me in that soft, certain tone of hers. “I'm scared too. In a way I'm sorry you ever got this thing from me. It's a heavy burden, sometimes. But, if you listen real close, it can tell you how to get out of just about any mess, and I think this one qualifies.”

 

“They'll hurt all of you if I don't go,” I mumbled, stuck on that thought. “I don't want to go with them, but I don't want them to hurt you. Besides, they'd just take me anyway.” All I wanted to do was run, maybe join a witness protection program or something.

 

“But you know it won't work,” she replied, knowing what I was thinking without me having to say it at all. It helped when she did that. Usually the things I didn't want to say were important, just too painful to give voice to. “Bradley, honey, you know as well as I do that this is bigger than the Crawfords. It's bigger than the U.S., and I suspect it's far older as well. There's nothing you can do except…” Her voice trailed off into a thoughtful silence.

 

I waited, watching her face. Her eyes closed like she was napping, and I could see them moving back and forth under the lids. Her lips parted like she was talking in her sleep, but no sound came out. After about a minute, she stirred and smiled at me. I could tell by her expression that whatever she had Seen had brought her peace, and she wanted to share that peace with me. I hoped she wasn't about to go religious on me; I loved and respected my gramma, but I never could bring myself to believe in her God.

 

“No way out but through,” she stated, taking hold of my hands. “No way out but through. It'll be hard, damn hard, boy, and it'll hurt like hell. But remember these two things, all right? Remember them, for me.”

 

I nodded, not really sure what to expect, but memorizing every texture of her hands and every line in her face. Faded hazel eyes studied me back, making sure I was paying attention before she spoke again.

 

“You're never alone, Bradley. Remember that. Grace takes many forms, and things are rarely what they seem.” I hoped my face didn't register disappointment right then; I never had a use for a shepherd or even angels, no disrespect to my gramma. But her next words caught me by surprise. “And…don't fear the fire, Bradley.”

 

Though it didn't make much sense, I nodded again and thanked her for sharing. Whenever she tried to See something, it was only right to thank her for the effort, even if the results didn't seem to be particularly helpful.

 

Since I'd pretty much resigned myself to my fate, sleep came a little easier that night, and the nightmares mostly held back. All that was left to do was pack, and wait.

 

Like Galadriel's gifting ceremony in reverse, everyone gave me something meaningful to take with me, though they didn't do it all at once. Sarah was the first, with a little wallet-sized school picture of herself. She'd written on the back: “To my favorite big brother, I love you!!!” That almost made me cry. I'd always been her protector, sort of a knight in shining armor who stopped Jimmy from picking on her and helped with her homework. I knew that after Friday, I would never see her again.

 

Jimmy stopped by with a disposable camera and a box of condoms. The first was for souvenir photos, he said, while the second was for spring break. He didn't really expect me to use them (I was only twelve, after all), but I'd teased him so much when he'd gone off to State that this was my payback. I laughed and tossed them in my suitcase with the camera, then hoped to heck Ma didn't find out.

 

Mom bought me a phone card good for three hours. She wasn't sure if it would work from Europe, but I read the back of it and it looked all right. “If I don't call,” I told her, trying to sound grown up and calm, “don't wait up for me, okay? I'll be all right. I know how to handle this.” That's when she started to cry, and hurried out of my room. I just sat down all heavy and tired all of a sudden, and wished I could turn invisible.

 

I knew, like Ma knew, that I wouldn't be calling. I sat there on my bed and took my glasses off real slow, then just dropped them on the blanket. My hands were shaking. I hadn't felt this bad since getting the flu last winter, all cold and sweaty and weak all at once. “Deep breaths, Bradley, come on, just breathe.” The deep breaths turned into quiet sobs, the kind you hear in hospital waiting rooms when the news isn't good. I didn't want to do this, but I knew I had no choice. No real choice, anyway.

 

In the quiet inside my head, I Saw little movie clips of things yet to be, or things that maybe might be. I couldn't tell if they were for real going to happen, so I paid attention to them just in case. There were rough looking boys in uniforms, and a handsome blond man who seemed to be looking right through me. I gasped, not at all sure if this was one of my Visions or if it was something else. It felt creepy, like when that Hansen fellow shook my hand.

 

Then time seemed to skip, jumping tracks like a worn-out record. Laughter, bright white against darker skin. Eyes like embers. Glimpses of fire, and hair like fire; a cigarette lighter; a skyscraper in flames that seemed to double, then triple. Crazy red hair; Jimmy said that color meant a girl was too easy.

 

I heard myself groan. The visions were hitting too fast, too many. I wanted to throw up. Instead I lay over on the bed and waited for it all to pass. The images filtered out into single shots like photographs, flashing one after the other in time with my heartbeat. Was that some kind of ninja? Don't tell me I'm picking up the TV Guide again! If I was going to puke from a bout of wild visions, I didn't want to do it over a stupid TV show!

 

Slowly they faded, leaving me with that triple tower image, three different but somehow connected spires wreathed in flame. When I came back to myself, it wasn't like waking up, more like being woken up - a sudden, hard startle that brought me up to sitting with a gasp. The tower was important.

 

Someone was knocking at my door. I didn't know how long they'd been there, but I guessed it couldn't have been too long. Jimmy or Dad would just have come on in, and the ladies would have been hollering through the door if they'd been waiting. I leaned over off the bed and tugged the door open.

 

Rachelle gave me one of those squinty looks like she thought I'd made Ma cry on purpose. Then she seemed to really see me, and she smiled a little. “Hey, runt, congratulations,” she said as she came in and sat next to me, one hand reaching up to ruffle my hair like I was four. “You're getting out of this little hick town. Seeing the world.”

 

She didn't know. She didn't have the Sight. And I wasn't about to tell her. I gave her a brave smile and said, “Yeah, looks that way.”

 

“It'll be a long plane ride. You gonna be all right?”

 

“I'll be okay.” I wasn't really that sure about it, but I knew I wasn't going to let on to those recruiters that I was scared or anything. “Maybe they'll let me have whiskey and I'll pass right out,” I said with a grin.

 

“Puke is more like it,” she said with sisterly smugness. “Hey, I wanted to give you something to keep you busy during the flight. You know, keep your mind off of things.”

 

I hadn't even noticed that she had some books under her arm. She plopped them on the bed and I looked at them with mild curiosity.

 

“Bradley? You okay?”

 

I realized I was staring like I'd been shot. My left hand groped for my glasses while my right moved on its own to pick up the topmost book - there were three. Three books of a series. “The Dark Tower,” by Stephen King.

 

This first one was called “The Gunslinger,” and something funny happened in my stomach when I read those words. “Yeah,” I whispered, shoving my glasses on one-handed and thumbing the book open at random. “I'm fine.”

 

“For a moment he felt dwarfed by the possibilities of time.”

 

“They're maybe a little old for you, but I thought they'd get you through the plane ride,” Rachelle said, her voice a distant reminder of the reality of the day.

 

That's right. This was Thursday. Tomorrow night I would be leaving. Another random page, and I looked down at the words twisting there in black on white: “I know what exile means.”

 

“Thanks, Rachelle.” I barely heard my own words; everything seemed swallowed up in an echoing blankness that stretched out too far. A voice I did not know murmured, “Far, too far,” and I felt like I was falling.

 

“Hey, you listening to me, runt?” My sister poked me in the ribs like she thought I was ignoring her on purpose.

 

Just put the book down, Bradley, then everything will go back to normal. I set the book down with the others and gave my sister a surprisingly sincere hug. I hadn't really expected to do that, but there was so much I couldn't tell her, and there wasn't any time anymore. “Thanks for everything,” I told her. “I like the books. They look big enough to last, right? I mean, it's got to be at least eight hours flying time.” Just before she got tense about it, I let her go. She'd been weird about hugging ever since she grew boobs, but she was still my sister, and I figured that the circumstances warranted a good hug right then.

 

Also unexpected, when I looked at her face I saw that she was crying. “Be good, okay, Bradley? And come home for the holidays?”

 

I swallowed down a lump in my throat and nodded.

 

When she left my room, I started repacking my bags. I wanted to make sure the books were easy to get at, and the condoms well hidden. To keep the Sight quiet for a few minutes, I turned on my stereo and put on some Pink Floyd. That usually helped, though at the moment all I could think of was who to leave my records to. I didn't have many, but no one else in the family shared my taste. Well, maybe it wasn't that important. I didn't have to control every possible detail.

 

Dinner was melancholy but necessary. We spent a lot of time not talking about the important things and complimenting Ma on the roast and pie. I had a hard time eating anything.

 

After we were all done pretending to enjoy the meal, Dad gestured for me to follow him outside. I kicked off my shoes so I could feel the grass of home between my toes. He did likewise. We walked over to the old oak tree, the one with the tire swing and timeless carvings around its trunk like rural heiroglyphics.

 

My father leaned against the rough bark and looked up through the leaves. “Winter's coming early this year,” he stated; with a glance at me, he added, “your gramma says so.”

 

“She's usually right,” I commented, leaning through the tire and letting myself dangle there for a bit.

 

“I, uh, wanted to give you something, son.” He reached into his pocket and brought out a small bundle wrapped in a linen handkerchief. I got out of the tire swing and came around to look as he unwrapped it.

 

Steel worn smooth gleamed in the evening sunlight, a ruddy disk in the palm of my father's hand. Strong, heavy fingers worked a tiny catch on one side, and the cover swung up to reveal the face of a watch. “This was your grandfather's,” Dad stated in a reverent hush. “He carried this during the War. It's been in Britain, Paris…Germany. He gave this to me when I met your mother, Bradley. Told me to give it to my son when he went off on his own.” Dad looked at me, his eyes misty and his face red. “I can't give it to Jimmy, he'd piss it away at some pawn shop or drop it showing off to his college buddies. But you understand. This is your connection to your past, Bradley. Never forget.”

 

I held out my hands to receive this gift, a gift I didn't feel totally worthy of. “Thank you, Dad. I do understand.” This was something to be handed down to sons and their sons, a piece of history weighted with blood and gunmetal.

 

He lay the watch in my hands, then gripped me by the shoulder. “Be careful out there, Bradley.”

 

“I will.”

 

Like he'd said all he could bear to, or all that was worth saying, he turned and walked back into the house. I stood there, holding my grandfather's watch as the sun slipped further down the sky, until the east horizon turned purple and the west blazed with hidden fire. Looking down at my hands, I realized I couldn't keep this gift, this precious token of my father's father. Where I was going, I wouldn't be able to keep anything. How I knew this I couldn't say, but I suspected it was part of the Sight: a deeper knowing that I couldn't argue with. With a sigh, I slipped the watch into my pocket and set my feet toward my bedroom.

 

I tossed and turned, then finally gave up on sleeping. There was something I had to do, and it wouldn't let me rest until it was taken care of. Reaching for my schoolbag, I tore off a sheet of notebook paper and started writing. When I'd scribbled out as much of a will as I had call for, I folded it up and stuffed it between my record albums. If it was needed, it would be found at the right time. But there was one thing I couldn't write down, and that I had to deal with in person.

 

Though it was nearly midnight, I crept from my room and tiptoed down the hall to Sarah's door. With two knuckles I rapped softly on the door frame, then whispered, “Sarah? You awake?” I held my breath and listened.

 

Muffled sounds from the other side told me she was getting out of bed and shuffling toward the door. She opened it a little and peeked through. “Bradley? What's up?” she mumbled between yawns. “It's way late.”

 

“Yeah, I know,” I said, looking left and right to make sure no one else was up and watching. This felt so much like betrayal it made me nervous, but there wasn't anything else to do about it. “I have to give you something, Sarah. Something very important.” I reached down and took hold of her hand, then put the little package in her palm. “Keep this for me, okay? Until I get back from school? Don't tell anyone, just keep it safe for me.”

 

She looked down at her hand and frowned. “It's heavy. What is it?”

 

“It's grampa's. I think Dad would be upset if I didn't take it, but I'm afraid it'll get lost -” (confiscated) “- and I don't want that to happen.” I swallowed hard, then got down on one knee like a knight before his queen. “Sarah, it's really important. You can give it back to me at Christmas. But if -” My voice cracked. I tried again. “If something happens, if I don't come back -” I hushed her with my fingertips and shook my head. “Just listen. If something happens and I don't come home, you keep this, and when you have kids you give it to your son, or your daughter, whoever understands the importance of time the best. Okay? Promise me, Sarah. You'll do that, right?”

 

She looked at me, her eyes big and dark and ancient, like Gramma's, like Ma's. Like my own. Sarah nodded, then threw her scrawny arms around my neck like she'd never let go. But all she said was, “I'll miss you.”

 

“I know.”

 

 

A/N:

 

“May it be a light to you in dark places, when all other lights go out.”

The Lord of the Rings (Book One: The Fellowship of the Ring) - J.R.R. Tolkien

 

Though Bradley's mother and grandmother See the darkness of Rosenkreuz, they are powerless to stop the events that are unfolding. They offer what strength they can to this rare boy of their line, this young Oracle, knowing that the only way out for him is through.