Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Standing Outside the Fire ❯ 07 ( Chapter 7 )

This is the last chapter that will be posted on the public fan fiction sites. All further chapters will be found through my website and livejournal only. From here, I must ask all readers to proceed at their own risk. Thank you.

 

 

7

 

My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me.

 

*

Voices…from the future? Where am I?

 

When am I?

*

 

*

“Nagi, what did they tell you?”

 

“He's stable, for the moment. I don't know any more than that. I'm sorry, Schuldig.”

*

 

*

“Hush…”

*

 

I shook myself awake and looked at my watch. Half past ten. I must have dozed off. Books lay scattered on the couch and coffee table: my new textbooks, that story Rachelle had given me, and a beginning German workbook from Konnor.

 

“Konnor! Oh heck!” I was supposed to be in bed half an hour ago! A quick look around the apartment told me he hadn't come back from his meeting yet. I picked up my mess and set the living room right, then hurried to the bathroom to brush my teeth.

 

Once I was all ready for bed and hidden away in my room, I found I couldn't go to sleep. My arm hurt again, probably from sleeping all cramped up on the couch. It felt a little hot to the touch. If it still hurt in the morning, I'd have to tell Konnor about it.

 

Presuming, of course, he was home.

 

I picked up my watch and hit the little button for the light. Eleven forty-five. He'd left for his meeting before nine. My mind started conjuring up all sorts of things, none of them pleasant. Well, a few of them were pleasant - I did have a brief moment when I thought maybe Konnor had snuck off to see a girlfriend, and that made me laugh a little. He seemed kind of uptight to have a girlfriend.

 

Twelve-fifteen.

 

One o'clock.

 

The silence of the apartment seeped into my head, where it grew louder with my heartbeat. I was starting to get scared. What if something happened to Konnor? Did anyone know I was in here, and if they did, what would they do to me?

 

I tried to hear anything besides my own pulse and breathing. Back home there would be frogs and crickets, nightbirds sometimes, maybe a dog barking in the distance. But here there was nothing. I couldn't even hear the refrigerator in the kitchen.

 

Then I got really scared. I forgot where my door was, or the lightswitch, and just hauled the covers up over my head like a baby. “This is stupid, Bradley M. Crawford,” I tried to tell myself, but I wasn't listening. Panic had me full, and I couldn't pry loose from it. The what-ifs roared through the night, laughing and whispering all sorts of horrible things.

 

One twenty.

 

The smooth metallic sound of a key sliding into a lock and turning cut through the darkness, and I gasped. Sweat ran down my back and under my arms as I huddled there in the bed. I couldn't make myself get up and look.

 

Soft sounds filtered through to my ears, and slowly began to make sense of things. A tired sigh, the rustling of fabric, the now-familiar sound of gloves tossed on a desk. The click of a light brought a dim glow to the edges of my door, and I realized I hadn't even shut it all the way. I heard the fridge open, then shut. Then footsteps moving away to the other side of the apartment, followed by the click of the light switch, and once again I lay in darkness.

 

I let out the breath I'd been holding. He was home, nothing had happened. The fear had all been my imagination. I thought back to the books I'd read before sleeping, and groaned at myself. No matter which story, Stephen King was not good bedtime reading. Then again, the textbooks hadn't been much better. I'd felt like I was reading wartime propaganda, the kind you hear about in those old movies where the bad guys try to warp right and wrong and get the hero to switch sides.

 

But still, it was pretty strange that Konnor had gone to a meeting at nine at night, and only come home after one. I wasn't his keeper or anything, but it just didn't set well for some reason.

 

I got up and padded through the darkened living room to the bathroom. I had to dry off the sweat before I took chill. After tending to my business, I started back to my room, then paused.

 

Though there wasn't any light underneath his door, I could hear Konnor doing something in his room. It sounded familiar, and it took me only a few seconds to place it. He was cleaning a gun. In the middle of the night. With the lights off.

 

My feet hurried me on back to my room and I shut the door all the way this time, as quietly as I could manage. The panic I'd only just got rid of threatened to come back with friends. I sat on the bed and tried counting breaths until it backed down again.

 

I knew Konnor had a pistol, he wore it with his uniform the way Marines wear the sword. Had he taken it with him tonight, and was there a reason he had to clean it before going to sleep? I had no way of knowing, and no safe way to find out. I knew my pa and my brother would make sure their hunting rifles were cleaned before doing anything else. Of course, if they'd ever managed to shoot anything the meat would have come first, but as it was they always came home and cleaned their weapons.

 

But they turned the light on first.

 

This was such a weird place. I wondered if I'd ever figure out the rules of it. There seemed to be a hidden world just beyond my fingertips, a world I wasn't sure I wanted to see. I felt like I'd fallen into a spy movie, but without a script: I didn't even know which side I was on.

 

I sighed. All of a sudden the weight of the day came up and sleep came with it. My mind willingly shut off the panic circuit and stopped babbling what-ifs and I crawled back into bed. Maybe things would make more sense in the morning.

 

They didn't.

 

Four hours of sleep left me groggy and distracted. I went through the motions of getting washed and dressed, all in a fog.

 

Konnor again escorted me to the dining hall, and again I braved the eggs. This time I asked for the coffee. No matter how nasty, it was better than nothing.

 

Then before I knew it a teacher was directing me to an empty seat in the middle of a room filled with expressionless kids. They stared without feeling, as if I were some kind of insect they couldn't be bothered to squish.

 

The morning passed in slow motion. It was all I could do to stay awake. I looked at the map Konnor had given me, I followed the herd of students from room to room, and I asked directions once from a teacher. Somehow I managed, though I was pretty certain I hadn't done so well.

 

By lunchtime I was desperate to just sit down and rest for a few minutes.

 

Konnor met me on the way to the dining hall. My eyes were drawn to his hip, where the pistol rested in its holster. Funny how I hadn't paid it much mind until last night, and now I couldn't seem to look away.

 

“Come with me, I have a surprise for you,” Konnor said with a tiny smile. He held out his hand to guide me away from the lunchroom, and I complied with a sigh.

 

He led me to the main building and up some stairs. Curiosity woke me up a little, but only a little. I was getting really hungry, and I was still too tired to be thinking straight.

 

Konnor opened a door to a conference room and ushered me inside.

 

An older woman turned from the window and smiled slightly. “Herr Crawford, I am Frau Beldin. I'm so glad Herr Schoenberg was able to fetch you from your classes. Please, sit.”

 

I sat, and regarded the tray of small sandwiches and pickles as though it might vanish at any moment.

 

“Do help yourself,” the lady said. “I can't well evaluate you if you're faint with hunger, boy.”

 

“Thank you, ma'am,” I murmured, hoping that was the right thing to do. I took one of the sandwiches as Konnor set a soda down in front of me. Cold and caffeinated, it might just get me through whatever they had in store.

 

“The Recruitment division informs me that you are a highly functional precognitive, Herr Crawford,” Frau Beldin stated, watching me eat. “Usually we don't begin training the gift directly until later, but in your case we may have to make an exception.”

 

I looked up, first at her, then at Konnor. “Did I do something wrong?”

 

Konnor smiled. “Not at all, Bradley, not at all. It is merely that your gift is so strong, you will need safeguards as soon as we can give them to you.”

 

Beldin nodded. “Herr Schoenberg asked for my opinion. I must say I agree with him.”

 

“What do I need to do, then? For the evaluation, I mean,” I asked, still not certain I was supposed to talk at all.

 

Beldin smiled. “I'm already done, Herr Crawford. Your natural shields are formidable, and behind them your mind seems quite in good order. I will make my recommendation to Frau Sheffield this afternoon.”

 

Natural shields? Mind behind them? My stomach got nervous as I realized she'd been prowling around inside my head, and unlike with the guys on the airplane I hadn't felt a thing.

 

“Don't worry about it, Herr Crawford,” Frau Beldin said, “it's a very rare man that can notice my handiwork. Guten Tag, Herr Schoenberg, Herr Crawford.” With that she left, her step as brisk as her words.

 

Konnor sat down across from me and picked up a sandwich. “Well done, Bradley, well done! We'll have you in Sheffield's class before you know it, and that's a good thing. I told them you needed special handling.”

 

Somehow I didn't like the idea of any kind of handling - I wasn't a trained dog, after all. But I kept that to myself.

 

The food and the soda did revive me somewhat, and I found my way to my afternoon classes without too much trouble. It bothered me a little that Konnor was doing so much for me when I had no way to repay him for his kindness.

 

Then he left me on my own for dinner, and I rethought that sentiment.

 

After forcing down as much of the unidentifiable and bland food as I could manage, I headed back to his apartment. Other students avoided me like I was a flu bug, drifting to the far side of the hallway and not looking at my face. A vague tremor in my gift told me this was probably for the best.

 

At Konnor's door, I hesitated. I'd never been alone on this side of the door before, and I had no idea if I was expected to knock or just go on in.

 

Then I heard voices.

 

I looked around to make sure no one was watching me, then I pressed my ear to the door and listened. The heavy wood muffled most of the sound, and I realized they were speaking in German anyway, but I managed to recognize Konnor's voice and the voice of that Englishman, Shelley.

 

Indecision rooted me to the spot. I didn't want them to think I'd been eavesdropping, because quite honestly I wasn't. I would have been, if it weren't for the thick door and my lack of language, but that wasn't the point.

 

Footsteps echoed down the hallway behind me.

 

I swallowed and knocked on the door.

 

The door swung open, showing me Konnor and his friend shaking hands as in goodbye. Shelley was holding a leather portfolio under his arm, and he was smiling.

 

“Ah, Mister Crawford,” Shelly said, “we pass one another again. I trust sometime we can actually exchange more than just a few words.”

 

“Hello, sir,” I replied, not wanting to call him Shelley but not knowing his full name either.

 

Konnor grinned as if at a joke. “Mister Grant will be one of your tutors, Bradley. German as a second language, and vocal inflection. He's been in your shoes, knows all the shortcuts.”

 

“We'll have you singing German tavern songs in no time,” Shelley quipped, obviously rather pleased with himself.

 

“Not with Frau Beldin on watch!” Konnor said, nearly laughing the words.

 

“Oh, dear, not the old battleaxe? My deepest condolences, Bradley.” Shelley turned his attention back to Konnor and said something in German, to which my mentor nodded. “Study your workbook, Mister Crawford, and I'll be seeing you a little later on.” With that Shelley swept out of the room and down the hall, letting the door finally slip shut behind me.

 

“How was your afternoon, Bradley?” Konnor asked, gesturing for me to sit on the couch.

 

“Fine, sir - Konnor,” I replied, not quite on the spot. My mind hadn't figured out that his guest was gone and I didn't have to remain formal. “I'm a little wore out, though. It's a lot to remember without getting lost.”

 

“I know. I remember when I first came here, the place was a maze. And it's only gotten worse.” He paused, his eyes going dark a moment, then he smiled and said, “In any case, you found your way back here in good time. You did have dinner, yes?”

 

“Yes,” I told him, wanting to add `unfortunately' but keeping my mouth shut. “Is he really going to be one of my teachers?” I asked, already having trouble memorizing all their names.

 

“Tutor, not teacher,” Konnor stated. “I had the feeling you would want to learn the language with all possible speed. Shelton Grant is quite good at making it seem easy.”

 

I fidgeted a little, then decided to ask him something that was starting to bother me. “Konnor, I don't want to sound ungrateful or anything, because I'm not, but why are you doing so much for me? I can tell that the other students aren't getting the kinds of breaks you're setting up. It just seems a little unfair to them, I guess.” That wasn't exactly how I'd wanted to say it, but I couldn't make it come out any better.

 

Konnor sat next to me on the sofa. He looked into my eyes as he spoke. “It's because you are a very special young man, Bradley. You have gotten the attention of some very influential people, and it is in their best interest to see you do well.”

 

My mouth went dry as my brain filtered what he said into what he meant. Of course he'd go all out for me: I was his key to power with these influential people, and he wasn't about to squander it. For some reason this knowledge hurt. I felt my breath tighten, and a wave of homesickness threatened to make me cry. At least back home I was wanted for me, not for what I could do for someone else.

 

Konnor's expression shifted a little, his eyes growing warm and sad. “It's not like that at all, Bradley. I want you to excel here, for your own sake. They just allow me to do a little more than most where you're concerned.” He touched my chin and tilted my head up so I had to look at him. His fingers were hot.

 

For a moment we just sat there like that, me staring at him, him staring at me. The knot of betrayal in my chest loosened as I allowed myself to believe in him again. In reality, it didn't matter if he got anything out of this or not, Konnor was still my best bet at getting through this school and - what? Going home again?

 

Before the tears could sneak out, Konnor said, “Why don't change out of your school clothes and bring a book out here to read for a while? You've earned a little break this evening.”

 

“Thank you,” I murmured, slipping from the couch and hurrying to my room. My mind whirled in confusion and sadness. I took off my jacket and shoes, then grabbed a book and started back to the living room. Looking at the book in my hand, I grumbled at myself and set it back down before picking up the next one. I kept forgetting where I'd got to - I was on the third of Rachelle's books now. Gramma's bookmark peeked out from the pages.

 

Konnor offered me a smile when I returned and flopped onto the sofa. He had a book in his hands, too; I noticed he'd put his gloves back on, as if he didn't want to get that old-paper smell on his skin.

 

I went to open my book to my spot, but the overworked spine popped the pages open a little past it. Between the pages, a folded piece of paper gaped open just enough for me to recognize Rachelle's handwriting. I glanced over at Konnor. He was still reading his own book; I didn't think he noticed what I'd found in mine.

 

My thumbs propped the book open where it was supposed to be, and I tried to concentrate on reading. Too many times I'd had the feeling that someone other than me was in my head; for some reason I didn't want Konnor to know about my sister's note.

 

When Konnor excused himself to the bathroom, I snuck out that scrap of paper I'd found and unfolded it.

 

I felt myself blush as I looked at what she'd written. Disconnected phrases and images reminded me of a very late Beatles song, the kind you needed to be on the same drugs they were on to understand. I'd known before I had any right to know that sometimes she smoked pot, but this was just weird.

 

Then I read it a little closer, and a chill ran down my spine. Gramma had never said Rachelle had a touch of the Sight too, but it only made sense that she would.

 

And only Sight made sense of the poem. I couldn't explain it, it was just that clammy breathless feeling that told me to pay heed to these lines, that there was something very important here. Something crucial.

 

A warning.

 

Some of it I recognized from her books: “The Waste Land” by T.S. Eliot. Stephen King quoted from it quite a lot. By the feel of the words, I suspected it was all bits and pieces from the same poem, though how it fit together remained a mystery. The drowned sailor, the lady of situations, the one-eyed (warrior) merchant - I reeled a moment as words and possibilities swarmed around me. Death by water…

 

The bathroom door creaked, and I stuffed the note into my language workbook. I didn't want to get separated from it, and if my reading books had to stay with Konnor, my schoolbooks traveled with me.

 

As Konnor reclaimed his spot on the sofa, I tuned back in to my story. After a moment I realized I'd jumped in at the point where Rachelle's note had been. That chill came back.

 

“Now say your lesson…and be true.”

 

Something was coming. Something dark, and (murder) - I swallowed. Whatever it was, did Konnor have the power to keep me safe from it?

 

Or was it him?

 

 

 

 

 

A/N:

 

My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me.

 

A moment from “The Waste Land” by T.S. Eliot. The scrap of paper Bradley found holds 115 seemingly random lines from this work, and yet, when read together, these lines seem like a poem all their own. They hold warnings in the form of prophecy, and paint a sure and grim picture for Bradley's future. The question remains, as always with Brad Crawford: even if he Sees it, will he be able to do anything to stop it? (For “Rachelle's note”, please visit my GuiltyRed livejournal; for the original poem, check out the three w's dot bartleby dot com slash 201 slash 1 dot h t m l.)

 

Remember, the asterisks serve to set apart dialog and action that belong…elsewhen. And bear in mind, this story takes place twenty years ago (relative to Glühen) and yet concurrent with it, in the wounded mind of a wounded man lingering in the twilight between life and death.