Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Standing Outside the Fire ❯ 03 ( Chapter 3 )

3

 

A gunslinger knows pride - that invisible bone that keeps the neck stiff.

 

Friday morning, I watched the sunrise through my bedroom window as I tried to forget the dreams. My choice was made: I knew the path I had to take, though I did not know where it would lead me.

 

The day passed like one long goodbye.

 

By the time five-thirty came, we were all pretty much ready for the drama to be over. Even Jimmy figured out that I wasn't so much excited as dreading; he started pacing back and forth, not having anything more productive to do.

 

When we heard the sound of a car turning into the drive, I looked at Ma. “Guess my ride's here.”

 

The back door popped open and Gramma bustled in. She motioned me toward her as footsteps approached the front door. I frowned, but followed her into the kitchen. Distantly I heard Dad open the front door and invite the men inside.

 

“Child, I'm sorry I'm late,” Gramma whispered to me. “I was looking for this.” She took my hand and pressed a narrow strip of fabric into it. Her fingers pinched as she folded my own fingers around this gift, and when I met her eyes she said, “Remember this, Bradley. Keep it close to you always. It has been a comfort to me, and now I give it to you.” She kissed me on the cheek, then turned to go.

 

“Gramma?”

 

“I can't, honey. I'm sorry.”

 

I knew what she meant. She couldn't be around those men who came for me. “Goodbye, Gramma,” I whispered to the closing door. “I'll miss you.” My hand automatically stuffed the strip of fabric into my pocket; I'd look at it later. I didn't want my escort to get impatient.

 

I took a deep breath, then went back into the living room.

 

Hansen and another man stood there, clearly waiting for me. They already had my suitcase and carry-on bag in their hands. For some reason, that made me very uncomfortable, but I tried hard not to show it.

 

“Ah, there you are,” Hansen purred. “Are you ready, then?” Not waiting for my answer, he handed my father a note with flight numbers and phone numbers on it. “We're stopping over in New York. From there we fly straight through to Hamburg.”

 

“Excuse me,” I said, hoping I didn't sound rude, or scared. “I can carry my own bags. You don't have to carry them for me.”

 

Hansen gave me one of those cold smiles, then said, “Of course.” He held out my smaller bag, while his associate set the larger down and excused himself to return to the car. Hansen looked at his watch, then stated, “We must be going now. It has been a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Crawford.” He shook my father's hand, tilted his head toward my mother, then addressed me directly. “We'll be waiting in the car. You have a few minutes.” With that, Hansen turned and followed the first man outside.

 

Sarah darted over and hugged me, then let out a little sob and fled up the stairs. Rachelle offered me a broken smile, then followed her.

 

Jimmy grappled me into as close to a hug as he would ever learn to do. “Be careful, punk,” he said, his voice rough. “Don't make me have to come out there and bring you back home.”

 

I really appreciated that, but I couldn't tell him why. “I won't.”

 

Then suddenly I was alone with my parents, there in the house I was born in, and I could feel my throat close over with grief and panic. My mom knew, and she enfolded me in her embrace like she used to when I was so little. “Remember, Bradley,” she whispered in a voice like weeping, “no matter what happens, you have a family that loves you.”

 

“I'll never forget,” I choked, trying not to break down and cry. I felt so lost, like when I tried to run away when I was five. She'd found me then and brought me home. I'd been trying to run from the dreams, thinking they were somehow tied to the house. But it wasn't the house that was haunted - it was me.

 

My father wrapped his arms around the both of us, and for one timeless moment we stood there, parents and child, and I said my last goodbye.

 

I carried my bags out to the car. I did not look back.

 

The ride to the airport was mostly silent. I watched the fields roll by outside the window and tried not to react to it.

 

A soft tickle behind my eyes made me scowl. It felt weird as anything, not the same as the file cabinet feeling but somehow nastier, like someone was getting their kicks off it. I pushed my glasses up and tried to think of other things. I didn't know if I could keep it from happening, but I could at least try to ignore it.

 

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Herr Hansen's eyebrow arch upward, as if he had heard me. Then he turned to look out his window, and the weird feeling was gone.

 

At the airport, they did not leave me alone for a moment. We didn't have much time before our flight, but I'd never been in an airport before, and I couldn't help dawdling at the newsstand and the souvenir shop. I'd never really thought about Kentucky having souvenirs, not counting the horseraces, anyway. There was a little plastic keychain with a picture of a horse in a blue field; on impulse I bought it, along with a couple of packs of chewing gum. I'd heard that I might need that, to keep my ears from hurting.

 

Hansen's jaw tensed at my delay, but he said nothing.

 

When they told us we could board the plane, I felt my heart speed up. It looked narrow, like a pencil with wings. Come on, Bradley, I told myself. Don't let these guys know you're scared. I took a deep breath and strode onto the plane, searching for my seat.

 

Behind me, Hansen's friend - I think he said his name was Olaf - asked if I wanted the window seat. “Most young people enjoy the window, though it is getting dark out. You could see the city lights.”

 

“No, thank you,” I said, hoping I sounded fine. “I want a clear line to the men's room, if you don't mind. I shouldn't have had that last Coke.”

 

Neither of them argued with me, and for a moment I wondered if they'd follow me there, too. Then again, the door we passed with the bathroom sign on it looked really small, more like an escape hatch. I'd really have to go before I braved a door like that.

 

Think of other stuff, I reminded myself. Sitting, I pulled my travel bag onto my lap and rummaged in it. My hands fell on the first book of that set my sister gave me. That should work.

 

Like I so often would do, I found myself falling into the story with the first few lines. The cramped seats and stale air blew away with a desert wind, and my fear went with them. When the plane surged forward and up, pressing me back into my seat like a rocketship, I glanced past Olaf and out the window to see the ground fading to a blue-green blur. The blur sank into my head, and for a moment I could have sworn I was looking into someone's eyes, blue with a hint of green.

 

Then I felt that fuzzy touching feeling in my head again, and I dived back into my book.

 

When the plane bumped to the runway in New York, I looked up, startled and momentarily lost. At least the story was engaging, I thought, even if it did drag me in a little too far.

 

At least it kept Hansen out of my head.

 

I squashed that last thought as fast as I could. Maybe I was just getting paranoid, but under the circumstances I didn't think anyone would blame me for it.

 

I didn't like dog-earing the pages of a book, but I didn't have anything handy to use as a bookmark, and I didn't want to ask for one. I'd used my gum wrapper for the chewed up gum so the stewardess wouldn't have to worry about it. She looked tired, anyway.

 

We got off that plane and hurried across the terminal to our trans-Atlantic flight. They'd arranged it so I wouldn't have much time in between, probably so I wouldn't eat and then puke up on the plane. But I did have time for the men's room, and the need, so I excused myself, half wondering which one would follow me, or if they'd stand guard outside the main door.

 

They both followed me, but apparently for the same reason I was there in the first place. I felt really weird doing my business in front of them, so I locked myself in a stall and tried to pretend they weren't on the other side of the door.

 

Amazingly enough, I heard them flush the urinals and then turn on the sinks, then the electric hand dryers. Then, I was alone.

 

I'd already finished and zipped, so I just leaned back against the stall door and let it hold me up for a moment.

 

Visions flickered through my head. The anonymous gray walls of the bathroom melted into anonymous gray walls of a prison. An asylum?

 

No.

 

Rosenkreuz.

 

I fought down a full-body shudder. It wasn't the “Rose Academy”, I knew what it was now: it was Rosenkreuz, a place of gray walls and gray dreams, a place waiting to eat me alive.

 

“No,” I whispered, “I can't know this right now.” This is taking too long, I thought, coming back to myself too slowly. Those guys were probably about to come in here and haul me out. I couldn't let that happen.

 

I shook free of the visions, grateful to be rid of them for the moment. It wasn't easy - they clung like an unanchored spiderweb. My hands were shaking as I washed them. I looked at myself in the mirror and saw a scared kid with messy hair and tilted eyeglasses looking back at me. Weirdly enough, I couldn't remember if I had brought a comb with me.

 

I checked through my pockets, but didn't find any comb. However, I did find a bookmark. My fingers touched on Gramma's present, and I took it out to look at it before my privacy ended.

 

“Great,” I sighed. “It's religious.” I started to crumple it up when I remembered what she'd said, and on the heels of that came the cold and echoing gray walls of my destination. Instead of tossing it aside, I stuffed it into my travel bag and hurried toward the door. At least I had a real bookmark, and something to remind me of Gramma.

 

Until they take it away.

 

This thought hit me as I left the men's room, nearly knocking the wind clean out of me. Hansen's smile only confirmed it.

 

The plane that would take me over the sea was much wider than the other one, and for that I was grateful. They said it would be about a seven hour flight, and with the time difference that meant I'd be arriving early the next morning. Maybe I could sleep on the plane.

 

Then I remembered my traveling companions, and knew with sick certainty I would not want to be sleeping around them. As soon as I got to my seat, I dug into my travel bag and pulled out book and bookmark, then offered a game smile to Olaf. “I have some more things to read, if you want anything. And I've got gum, too, if you need it.” I didn't know why, but it seemed important to be nice to him. The quick flash of anger on Hansen's face didn't surprise me in the least, though I wasn't really sure why.

 

“No, thank you,” Olaf said, settling into his own seat and ignoring me.

 

At least I had an aisle seat, and only had to deal with one of them right next to me. Hansen, however, sat right behind, and again I got the feeling I didn't want to be caught asleep by him.

 

Stifling a yawn, I poured myself back into my book, into the desert and the chase.

 

I eventually dozed off, falling into weird and unfamiliar dreams. Someone was talking to me, asking me questions. I didn't want to answer, because they were kind of personal, but I could feel the answers blossoming out like crazy flowers, like I had no choice but to cooperate.

 

Some part of my mind dragged the rest of me awake, and I stretched and yawned and pretended nothing was wrong. My book and the little fabric marker were lying in my lap. I'd lost my place, but I remembered well enough where I was at. I never forgot stories I read, or what page I'd stopped on, but bookmarks were a civilized thing, and I wanted to remain a civilized young man for as long as possible. I marked my page, then got up and set the book in my seat.

 

On my way back from the men's room, I asked the hostess if I could have a cup of coffee. She smiled, no doubt thinking I was a little young for that, but gave me one anyway. It smelled vile, but Jimmy had said it got him through exams at school, and I desperately wanted to stay awake. The first sip was nasty bitter, but I swallowed it down and took another.

 

By the time I returned to my seat, I was actually starting to like it.

 

 

 

A/N:

 

A gunslinger knows pride - that invisible bone that keeps the neck stiff.

The Dark Tower (Book One: The Gunslinger) - Stephen King

 

Claustrophobia and trans-Atlantic flights don't mix well. However, Bradley has figured out that to show weakness to his escorts would be fatal, so he does what any imaginative youth would do: he dives into his books, and you can rest assured that he's committing everything worthwhile to memory.