Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Standing Outside the Fire ❯ 10 ( Chapter 10 )

10

 

lost, in a lost world

 

The morning buzzer startled me out of uneasy dreams. I started to hop out of bed when I remembered I was on the top bunk and the floor was a good ways down. Catching myself on the railing before I could make a fool of myself, I climbed down nice and easy, then followed the other boys to the washroom. Somehow, moving with my own little herd made it easier to go through the motions.

 

Then I realized I was about to take a shower with seven other kids and no privacy.

 

I heaved a sigh and shrugged off my clothes, setting them on a shelf like everyone else had done. Soap and shampoo waited in little cubbies inside the shower itself, and ten shower heads provided thin streams of luke-warm water. My roommates were already lathered up and in the process of rinsing by the time I got started.

 

“You'll want to hurry,” Frettchen said through a mask of soap. “Water gets cold really fast.”

 

I scrubbed as quickly as I could manage, though by the time I was done the water was freezing.

 

As we filed back into the dorm room, Smythe came to the door with a stack of papers in his hand. “Mail call!”

 

For one frantic moment I imagined a letter from home. Then I saw that his “mail” consisted of inter-office envelopes and memos, and my heart sank. I tried not to let the disappointment show in my face.

 

“Crawford, these are yours,” David said, tossing a handful of papers on my bunk.

 

I picked one at random and opened it. It was simply a folded-over note sealed with tape, reminding me of my appointment with the uniform guy. I started to toss it aside when Smythe said, “Keep that. It's your hall pass for Requisitions.”

 

“Oh. Right.” I looked at the rest of my “mail”: another folded piece of paper, and a yellow envelope with my name written in blue ink. I'd seen enough of Konnor's paperwork to know this wasn't his handwriting, and something in me sighed in relief. I didn't want to think about being summoned back to his lair so soon.

 

“Hurry up, Crawford! You're gonna miss breakfast!” Donley tugged on his shoes and headed for the door, not waiting for me.

 

I realized I was alone in the room. “Aw, heck!” With a mad scramble I got into my rumpled uniform and grabbed my books, pausing to stuff the unopened notes and the hall pass into the stack.

 

Trevor and Frettchen were waiting for me at the end of the hallway. For the first time that morning I got a good look at Trevor - his face was bruised, and he wouldn't look at me.

 

“Hey, Trev, you okay? I was worried about you last night,” I told him. The way he flinched away from my words put a knot in my stomach.

 

“I'm fine.” The words came out with barely any volume. “Come on, we're going to be late.”

 

Frettchen touched my arm. On a whisper he said, “I'll explain later. Don't ask him any more, okay?”

 

I nodded and followed them to the dining hall.

 

In between bites, I re-read the note for the uniform fitters. It told me to go there instead of going to my first class, which was a good thing, as I couldn't remember where the classroom was. My schedule was different for every other day, and that would take some getting used to.

 

Just as I thought it couldn't get any more confusing, I untaped the other note and groaned. It was a schedule change, courtesy of my mentor. He'd gotten me into Frau Sheffield's class, starting today. I wasn't sure if I was happy about this or not. In any case, I had no idea where the classroom was - building 4B was not one he'd shown me on the tour. With any luck it was on my map. I'd check that after getting my gear.

 

The envelope held my curiosity, and I kind of enjoyed the suspense for a few more moments. Then I figured I'd better open it rather than try to guess what it might be about. Besides, surprises here probably wouldn't be good ones.

 

Inside was a note written in German and again in English. The penmanship was remarkable; I sure hoped they didn't expect me to ever write like that!

 

“Good day, Mr. Crawford. I hope this letter finds you well. Enclosed please find a hall pass granting you free passage between the dinner hour and curfew. I shall be expecting you at nineteen-hundred hours sharp, room 519. Bring your best voice. Sincerely yours, Shelton Grant.”

 

I sighed and sagged over the table.

 

“What is it, a teacher summons? Already?” Frettchen reached for the note. I let him take it, as I was digging in the envelope for the hall pass. This was an actual plastic tag on a long string, like roadies wear at a concert or something.

 

“Whoa, stash that!” Trevor said, pushing my hand down to the table. “That's as good as money here, you don't want people to see you have one of those!” He looked around, clearly worried.

 

“So what do I do with it?” I asked. It looked like it was supposed to be worn around the neck or something, not hidden in a pocket.

 

Frettchen pantomimed with the note as he told me, “Wear it around your neck, but tuck the tag into your jacket. That way, people won't know what kind of pass it is, and they won't risk snatching it from you. And the only ones you'd need to show it to would be the actual Hall Patrol, or teachers.”

 

“And Hall Patrol wear white bands on their sleeves, and whistles around their necks, so you know they're for real,” Trevor said, relaxing only as I followed Frettchen's instructions and hid the pass in my coat.

 

“So how come the one for Requisitions is only a paper note?” I asked, more than a little confused now.

 

“Because everyone knows you're new, and you have to get your gear,” Frettchen told me, handing me Mr. Grant's note. “Besides, it's not so unusual for students to be wandering around between breakfast and lunch. It's not so dangerous then.”

 

Dangerous? I looked into his eyes and asked, “Is there something I should know, Frettchen? Something that maybe someone didn't bother to warn me about?”

 

In a thin voice, Trevor said, “If you see anyone older than you and they're not a teacher and they're not Hall Patrol, run.”

 

“No, don't run,” Frettchen said with a sidelong glare at Trevor. “Never run. Hide, and pray they didn't notice.” He looked directly at Trevor and added, “If you run, they'll see you moving.”

 

I had the distinct feeling that the penalty for getting caught in the halls like that wouldn't be as simple as a wedgie or getting stuffed into a locker. More for their sake than mine I offered a bold smile and said, “Thanks, guys. Hey, I'm a precog, right? I should be able to get out of mostly anything.”

 

Trevor looked at me through bruised eyes and said, “Don't count on it.”

 

My stomach hurt as I trudged toward Requisitions. Trevor and Frettchen had promised to meet up with me for lunch, but for now I was on my own. Not so dangerous then - was this why Konnor was so angry, because I didn't even know the rules out here? Maybe I was in real danger, and Konnor didn't want to lose whatever goodie I afforded him, a promotion or bonus or whatever.

 

Maybe he really did care.

 

Chills raced up and down my back at that thought. Where I came from, people didn't show they cared by attacking someone. Still, I knew my share of drunk stories, men who were usually quite civil getting plastered and beating their wives. Maybe here that was normal.

 

I didn't want to be the toy of a violent drunk, but I didn't want to be adrift among the sharks, either. My heart remembered the moment of optimistic joy I'd felt when Smythe had announced “Mail call!”, but then all I wanted was to cry. Things had gotten too weird, too scary, and I wasn't prepared to deal with them. For a moment I considered running back to Konnor and begging him to take me back in.

 

Then I remembered rule number two.

 

“Lost, Herr Crawford?”

 

The gravelly voice brought me wide awake. My feet felt like they were stuck to the floor.

 

Herr Sonndheim looked like he'd just caught a prize fish on a dime-store line. He strolled toward me, eyeing me up and down as if looking for obvious contraband. “A bit far from the classrooms, aren't we? I trust you have a pass?”

 

“Y - jawohl, Herr Sonndheim,” I stammered. I squatted down and set my books on the floor, then pulled the note from the book I'd stashed it in. Standing too quickly, I thrust out the note as if it were a shield even as my head reeled from the change in altitude.

 

With exaggerated care, Sonndheim took the note from me and read it, then nodded. “Ah, yes. The secondary round at the outfitters, eh? They never do it all on the first day, you know. Attrition.” He smiled a very nasty smile at me. “Do you know what `attrition' means, boy?”

 

I shook my head.

 

“You will.” He handed me the note back, then seemed to notice the string around my neck. “Another pass? My, aren't you the popular lad. Let me see it.”

 

My mind kept replaying what my friends had said, about danger in the hallways. I had the feeling this was worse than anything they could have warned me about. Sonndheim kept smiling as I took the pass out from my coat and slipped the string off. My hand shook as I offered it to him, though I felt a little brave in that it only shook a little.

 

“Who gave you this?” He did not move to hand it back.

 

“H-herr Grant, sir. I'm to have speech lessons.”

 

The smile reminded me of a crocodile: wide, reptilian, and very insincere. “And none too soon,” he purred, draping the cord about my neck for me. “Give him my regards, boy. He's one of our finest, you know.” With a raspy chuckle, Sonndheim strode past me and continued on his way.

 

I tucked the pass into my coat again, and picked up my books. My hands were really shaking now. Shelton Grant was Konnor's friend, but Sonndheim had just told me to send his regards, and a compliment. If they were friends, what would Mr. Grant do to me, alone in his room between dinner and curfew? I really considered going to Konnor and telling him I had a headache, asking if we could reschedule the meeting. But then I'd be alone in Konnor's rooms again…

 

With some difficulty I got my feet moving again, trudging toward the Requisitions office at an increasing pace. All I knew for certain was I wanted this day over with as soon as possible.

 

The uniform fitter remembered me, though he didn't exactly say hello. He just sort of grunted at me, took the note that had served as my hall pass, and handed me a plastic milk-crate full of clothes. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to try them on, but instead of directing me to one of the stalls he handed me another note and turned his attention back to his coffee.

 

I looked at the note. It was written in German. I cleared my throat. “Excuse me, sir, what am I supposed to do next?”

 

He looked up with a weary scowl. In a thickly accented voice he said, “Take your gear back to your dorm and return to your classes. Dismissed, boy.”

 

As I reached the door, he added, “Good luck.”

 

By this time, students milled about the halls, giving me a weird sense of cover. At least I wouldn't be alone with Sonndheim again. I hurried back to the dorm and dumped the contents of the crate onto my bunk. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to keep the box or not, but no one else seemed to have one, so I figured the answer was `not'. I quickly changed into a clean t-shirt, since I'd worn this one to sleep in, and shrugged back into my jacket.

 

In the middle of the pile of clothes lay a new digital wristwatch. I looked at the old one on my wrist, then the new one on the bunk. I didn't want to lose one of the few remnants of my past, but I had to admit the new one looked pretty slick. Then I piled the other clothes over the watch and decided to pretend I hadn't seen it yet. I had to get to class, and I didn't think they expected me to go through my new things just then.

 

I dug out my map and searched for building 4B. It was across the main courtyard, a good jog away from my other classes. I groaned. It would take a brisk trot to get from one class to the next; I'd be lucky to not be late. Well, next time, anyway; I was already late today, thanks to my run-in with Sonndheim.

 

A shiver ran through me, and for a moment I Saw flames, and dark, dark eyes. I shook my head and grumbled at my gift to lay off. This time it obeyed. I set off to find building 4B.

 

Just as I knew I would, I arrived late, a fact which made the other students snicker behind their hands. Konnor had gotten me into this class because my foreknowing was such a big deal, but I couldn't even manage to be on time. True, I had a pass, but it was still pretty embarrassing.

 

“Ah, Herr Crawford.” The teacher gestured for me to take a seat by the wall. “I am Frau Sheffield. Class, this is Bradley Crawford, from America.”

 

I stared. Almost all the other students were girls. There were only two other boys here, both a little older than me. The other thirty seats were occupied by girls about my age, and they looked like they could eat me alive. On impulse, I stood up and bowed to the class. “Guten Tag, Frau Sheffield, Damen und Herren.” My face burned as I realized I didn't really know what I was talking about, I was just copying what I'd heard other students saying.

 

But apparently I did okay, as the teacher said, “Guten Tag, Herr Crawford. Do sit. We were just beginning a discussion on landmarks and their relevance through time.”

 

I braced myself for a thoroughly baffling hour.

 

But the class didn't end after an hour.

 

Another two hours of rhetoric and theory dragged past, followed by an imposing homework assignment for a book I didn't even have yet, before class was released for lunch.

 

“Herr Crawford, a moment, please.”

 

I stopped beside the teacher's desk. “Yes, ma'am?”

 

“Your textbook.” She handed me a worn volume in English. It looked to be at least a dozen years old. Pencil marks and dogears decorated the pages. “We don't keep too many of these in English, but Herr Schoenberg and Frau Beldin requested you receive one. They believe it is imperative you begin your training immediately. I shall reserve my opinion until later in the term. Dismissed.”

 

I stumbled back to the more familiar buildings, noting blankly that an armed guard made certain that the boys did not follow their female counterparts. My mind kept replaying my conversation with Frau Sheffield. I couldn't decide if she liked me or thought I was some kind of obnoxious hotshot. I'd have to impress her to stay in the class, that much was certain.

 

I didn't see Frettchen, but I found Trevor in the lunch room and sat with him. He looked kind of ill. I put my hand on his shoulder and asked if he was okay.

 

“Headache,” he murmured. “It'll pass.”

 

“Can't you go lie down or something? Get some aspirin?”

 

He chuckled, a much older sound than a kid my age should have been able to make. “Aspirin? Coke's cheaper.”

 

I frowned, about to say something, and he shook his head. “Not that kind. God, don't you know anything? They don't give pain meds to telepaths. Especially aspirin. Makes the bleeding worse. It's okay, I've got contacts. They'll help me get through this.”

 

Sudden understanding left me gaping like an idiot. That old Eric Clapton song started running through my head - Trevor was talking about cocaine! “Trev, no, listen,” I tried, but he shushed me and said, “You'll learn all about telepaths in your classes, new kid. This is one of the natural facts. We get some of the worst headaches, and the only thing that helps is speed. Just, if it bothers you, country boy, look the other way.”

 

On impulse I asked, “How much did it cost you last night?”

 

Trevor closed his eyes. His lower lip almost trembled. “Shut up, Crawford. You're out of your depth.”

 

“You're supposed to be my friend! Talk to me, Trevor! Make me understand!”

 

“You can't understand!” he snarled. “You're not a telepath.” Trevor picked up his tray and his books and hurried toward the exit.

 

I watched him go.

 

The rest of the day passed in a blur, something I was really starting to get used to. I avoided my classmates at dinner, not wanting a repeat of Trevor's outburst and not willing to listen to Frettchen's explanations. He'd warned me not to talk to Trevor about last night, and stupid me had ignored that. No doubt Frettchen would be as mad at me as Trevor was, and with pretty good reason.

 

I didn't bother going back to the dorm after dinner. I just lingered in the dining hall until it was time to meet with Shelton Grant, then made my way to number 519, just downstairs from Konnor.

 

My mind raced. I was about to be alone with a teacher, if I was lucky. If not… What if Konnor was here, waiting for me?

 

What if Sonndheim was?

 

I knocked on the door.

 

But only Mr. Grant was in residence. He ushered me inside, directing me to leave my books by the door and guiding me to a table in his kitchenette. I must have looked puzzled; he smiled and said, “Better acoustics, Mr. Crawford. Think of it as a soundstage of sorts. Everything sounds a little crisper off tile.” He set a tape recorder on the table, then seated himself in one of the chairs. “Shall we start, then? Are you comfortable enough? I don't mind if you unfasten your collar, if you'd like. I'm not a stickler for formality.”

 

I unbuttoned my collar and settled in my chair, leaning on the table.

 

“No, no, don't slouch! Sit up straight, feel your breath travel from your nose to your navel,” Mr. Grant instructed, his own posture nearly rigid.

 

As I followed along with the lesson, I couldn't help wonder if he knew what Konnor had done to me. If he knew his friend could attack a kid like that. And I wondered what kind of friendship they had. David Smythe had told me that alliances were money here.

 

“Oh, sir, before I forget,” I blurted. “I ran into Herr Sonndheim this morning. He said to send his regards.”

 

Mr. Grant sat back, his eyes dark. “Did he now. Oh, of course. The hall pass. He is a particular one, Mr. Crawford. Takes note of things that are out of place. I suggest you not be such a thing in the future.”

 

Now that wasn't at all what I'd expected, even considering all the players. At least, as far as I knew them. I was beginning to realize that Trevor was right: I was out of my depth.

 

And it didn't look like that was going to be changing any time soon.

 

The lesson ended without any weirdness. Mr. Grant wrote me another note and told me to keep the pass. He wanted me to come by after dinner for the next two days. I nodded and thanked him for his help.

 

He showed me to the door, but paused before opening it. “If you should see Herr Sonndheim before I do,” he said, “please return my regards. Wouldn't want him to think you were rude. Go straight back to your dormitory, Mr. Crawford. If you run into any trouble, show them that note. Have them call me if there's any question.”

 

For some reason this only made me more nervous as I searched for the correct hallway. The few students about at this hour looked at me like I didn't belong there, and I really felt they may be right. I kept my head bowed and moved quickly, only wanting to get behind a secure door without any surprises.

 

But the surprise came when I reached the dorm room.

 

Trevor's bunk was stripped.

 

My mouth went dry as the vision hit. We'd be getting a new roommate tomorrow. Another telepath. Blond, frightened. And he'd be gone within ten days.

 

Attrition.

 

 

 

 

A/N:

lost, in a lost world

“Lost In a Lost World” - The Moody Blues Seventh Sojurn

 

attrition - n. 1. A rubbing away or wearing down by friction, especially of rock particles during transport by wind or water. 2. The act or result of gradually wearing down and exhausting an opponent by constant stress and harassment: a war of attrition. 3. A gradual reduction in membership or personnel through retirement, resignation, or death. 4. Theology. Repentance for sin motivated by fear of punishment rather than by love of God. (The Tormont Webster's Illustrated Enclycopedic Dictionary)

 

Guten Tag, Frau Sheffield, Damen und Herren. - Good day, Ms. Sheffield, ladies and gentlemen.