Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Standing Outside the Fire ❯ 11 ( Chapter 11 )

11

 

Je näher der Winter rückt, desto dunkler wird es.

 

Es schneit.

 

I stood in the courtyard, watching snow fall down from a leaden sky. The calendar on my digital watch said it was November 16th. I'd been away from home two months, and already I was starting to think in German.

 

In four more days I would be a teenager.

 

Cold wind scoured my face, caught the snowflakes and flung them around in a spiral. A whiff of cigarette smoke drifted in the aftermath of the gust, and Donley materialized at my side.

 

“You staying out here till you freeze, Crawford?” he asked, taking another drag on his cigarette.

 

“Maybe.” I wasn't in any hurry to go inside. It was Sunday, the only day we got any real free time. Dinner wasn't for another hour, and I wasn't too cold just yet.

 

I wasn't even nearly cold enough.

 

Donley leaned back against the wall of the building and blew smoke at the sky. “Someone's going to notice you're acting weird. You don't want that. You're lucky I noticed you first, really.”

 

“Am I?” I grumbled. “Maybe someone else did notice, they just didn't come over to stand next to me.”

 

The telepath gave me one of those looks that said he was trying to read my mind, then frowned. “Did you talk to Smythe about it?”

 

“Why should I?” I glared at my roommate, my anger spilling over onto him. “Do you think he could do anything about it? Besides,” my voice dropped to a hiss, “it's not like it was the first time or anything.”

 

“Come on, come with me,” Donley said, tugging at my arm.

 

I allowed him to lead me around the corner, out of the wind. My legs felt like rubber, and I realized it had only really been the building holding me up at all. As soon as we had gotten into some shelter, and a little more privacy, my knees gave way and I slid to the frozen ground. Everything hurt, had hurt for the past two hours. I wanted to cry, but every instinct told me that to do so would invite more attacks, probably from a higher degree of predator.

 

Donley crouched down in front of me, dropping his smoke and placing his hands on my shoulders. “Crawford, who was it?”

 

I shook my head. I didn't know, but even if I did I wasn't about to say anything. I just wanted it gone, forgotten.

 

I wanted a bath.

 

“You don't have to play brave with me,” Donley whispered, touching my face and wiping away tears I hadn't noticed falling. “It was your first, wasn't it?”

 

Now I did start to cry, I couldn't help it. Low, choking sobs fought their way from my chest, and I clung to Donley so I wouldn't fall right over. I wanted to crawl into his coat and vanish, just vanish. All I could smell was cigarettes, and cold.

 

There had been three of them, all older, all wearing red - physical talents, not telepaths or anything like me. No, they were like Schoenberg: they could hold you down without touching you. And they did. One of them was their lookout, keeping watch while the other two…

 

“Shh, shhh, it's okay, it's over,” Donley murmured, holding me against his narrow chest. “Did they hurt you, Crawford? Do you need a Healer?”

 

I knew he meant “did they do any lasting damage?”, but all I wanted was to scream “By God, what do you think? They raped a twelve-year-old boy, of course they hurt me!” I struggled to breathe in between the sobbing.

 

Donley concentrated a moment, then said, “Come on, let's get you inside. Okay? Smythe will know what to do.”

 

I allowed him to help me stand, then mustered all my courage and wiped my tears away on my sleeve. Sniveling, I made my face as blank and mask-like as I could manage, and followed Donley indoors. He made a direct course for our dormitory, cutting through only some of the buildings, taking me back outside in between.

 

At the door to our building Frettchen and Julian stood waiting, looking concerned. Julian took off his jacket and slung it over my shoulders as I stumbled across the threshold. In spite of the added warmth, I began trembling violently and nearly fell.

 

Donley left me in their care and darted off, presumably in search of David Smythe.

 

With Julian on one side and Frettchen on the other, we made our way to the dorm room. Once inside, I realized I couldn't climb to my own bunk; my arms felt weak, and my knees wanted to buckle again. Frettchen eased me down onto his own bed, covering me with his blanket before shutting the door.

 

“Do you want to tell us about it?” Julian asked. Though his voice was soft, his eyes were like flint.

 

Memory washed over me, bringing a fresh fit of trembling. “Three older kids, redshirts,” I whispered. “In building 2C. I was taking a shortcut. I stopped to use the bathroom.”

 

Frettchen swore under his breath. Julian cracked his knuckles within his rough leather gloves.

 

The door opened, admitting Donley and Smythe. I didn't look past their shoes. My voice faded to nearly nothing as I said, “One guy, the ringleader, did it. The other guy got scared I think. They left in a hurry, told me they'd kill me if I said anything.”

 

Smythe knelt down by the bunk and asked, “Would you mind thinking about what they looked like for a moment?”

 

His question brought up the image of their faces whether I wanted it or not. Then he was writing something down and scowling at it. He put a hand on my shoulder and said, “Try to get to the dining hall, have some supper, Crawford. Act as normal as you can bear. It's out of your hands now, may as well get along with the mending.” With that, he got up and excused himself from our room.

 

Donley lit a cigarette.

 

Frettchen squatted down in front of me. “Do you want a shower, Crawford? I know it helps me, after.”

 

I almost started laughing, the crazy non-stopping kind of laughter no one wants to hear. Then I realized what he'd meant. “It's happened to you too? More than once?”

 

“The only thing that happens once around here,” Frettchen said matter-of-factly, “is the first time. And that's usually the worst.”

 

Julian climbed up to my bunk and got my spare uniform. Then he dug something out of a hole in his mattress and said, “Come on. Let's get you cleaned up.”

 

The three of them helped me into the showers, standing guard while I washed. As the water cascaded over my face, Julian told me to take a mouthful, then shoved a small pill between my lips. I swallowed reflexively. Distantly I noticed that he'd taken his gloves off.

 

I tried not to look down at myself as I ran soap over everything, but I couldn't help notice a trail of pink suds swirling down the drain. I felt faint.

 

Julian caught me as I crumpled. He held me still for a moment as someone cupped water in their hands and poured it down my back, rinsing off the thick layer of soap I'd rubbed onto myself. Then everything went foggy.

 

I blinked. I was sitting on one of those little ledges in the showers, wrapped in two thin towels. Three of my dorm mates stood around, all dressed except for their shoes and socks, and all sopping wet.

 

Then it all came back to me.

 

Before I could give in to memory, Julian squatted down in front of me, his hands on my shoulders. “Don't let it win, Crawford. Stay with us. We have to get you dried off and dressed, and down to the dining hall. Can you do that? Trust me, it will get better. There's no one here in this room who hasn't been through what you've been through. We won't let you fall.”

 

Suddenly I realized that they must have made the same pact with Trevor, and they hadn't been able to save him.

 

I wasn't ready to give up.

 

As I pushed myself up from the ledge, visions rose with me: times yet to come when I would rise again, stand tall in spite of the pain. The room was white, the room was chrome, the room was sea-warped wood. The blue-gray tile of the showers swam back into focus, banishing the other rooms to the future.

 

Then my Sight threw one more image: an older boy, in a red shirt, with wavy-curly hair and embers in his eyes; a white smile against darkness, and I felt myself spinning.

 

“Hey, don't go fainting again!” Frettchen growled. “We've only just got you cleaned up!”

 

I shook my head and the vision faded. “I'm okay,” I muttered, not quite believing it but willing to try. The pill Julian gave me was making me feel kind of floaty and distant. It wasn't bad, and nothing really hurt anymore. It kind of made it easier to fib to myself, and I started feeling a little better.

 

Between the four of us, we got me dressed and the others changed into dry clothes. Then we headed for the dining hall, though I wasn't in the least bit hungry.

 

When I saw the clusters of boys wearing red throughout the cafeteria, at first I wanted to hide. But then I caught myself scanning their faces, looking for the boy in my vision. Of course nobody matched; it was probably just a random moment from someone else's future. Then I tried to spot my attackers. I wasn't sure why, but it seemed important to know where they were, if for no other reason than to make sure they couldn't do it again. Just like the phantom boy of my visions, however, there were no matches.

 

Somehow looking had made me feel braver, as if I was ready to stand up to them. I knew this wasn't true, if they came up to me I'd probably curl up and cry, but I didn't mind the illusion of courage. It made it a little easier to eat.

 

As we returned to the dorm, I saw David Smythe heading into the washroom. He was cradling his right hand and walking funny. Before I could turn to follow, Julian blocked my way. “Just leave it be, Crawford. Leave it be.” He ushered me into our room and shut the door.

 

The vision hit with no warning, dropping me to the floor in its intensity. I clutched at the bedframe, trying to anchor to the present, but it didn't help. I Saw David Smythe standing in an office, a dark-paneled office. His jacket and shirt were off, and his right hand and the right side of his face looked burned - not fresh burns, like they were a few days old. A shadow fell across him, and he stood straighter. Then something struck him across the back and he staggered, but did not fall. It struck again, and again. I felt tears pouring from my eyes, eyes that could neither shut nor look away from the ghost of the future. I Saw David's face contorted in agony, then his eyes closed as if in prayer. Then he turned, picked up his shirt, and put it on. Moving as if his shoulder wasn't working right, he struggled into his jacket, bowed, then strode out of the office.

 

Nausea rose up in me as the present realigned itself with a sickening lurch. Frettchen hurriedly put a trashcan under my face as I retched, and the evening's meager dinner came back up virtually unchanged.

 

Donley knelt down next to me, shaking his head. “Man, you're a mess.” To Julian he asked, “What the hell did you give him?”

 

“Codeine,” Julian replied. “So he puked. He'll sleep it off, give his body time to mend before classes tomorrow.”

 

“Jules, he's a fucking precog, not an object reader! What does codeine do to precogs?” Donley looked into my eyes. “Hang in there, Crawford. You're gonna have to ride this out, okay? Ever have codeine before?”

 

I shook my head; it felt like it wanted to fall off and roll across the floor.

 

For the second time that day, my roommates hauled me to the washroom and got me cleaned up. They talked among themselves, as I wasn't really coherent at the moment.

 

“Doesn't he have an appointment with that teacher tonight?”

 

“Yeah, Sundays at seven. Language tutor.”

 

“Oh, hell. Can we get him excused?”

 

Another familiar voice joined in, tinged with a Russian flavor: “I'll do it. What should I tell him?” Stenovich? That's right, he was Trevor's bunkmate.

 

Trevor… I'd told him I could take care of myself, being a precog and all. He'd tried to warn me that my gift didn't count for jack in the halls. Then he'd been gone, our last words harsh ones.

 

“Oh, shit, he's gonna puke again.”

 

“What happened to him?” Clifford, clairaudient. Donley's upstairs neighbor - or was it downstairs? My mind spun, trying to put voices and names and faces together. The desire to keep my misery private had been outvoted by my roommates, and they gathered around me to help me back to our room once more. I wondered dimly whether they shored each other up like this as a matter of course, or if this was just because it was my first time.

 

Frettchen, gripping my right arm, whispered, “If we didn't help each other out, we'd all be dead by now.”

 

I gathered my wits as best I could and said, “Tell Georgie to be careful, the streets are dangerous today.” I wasn't sure if this was something I'd thought I'd Seen, or just because of what had happened to me that afternoon, but I didn't want to lose another friend. Of the seven guys in the dorm when I first arrived, only five were still there. The older clairvoyant was gone, about three weeks ago, and none of the new kids had lasted more than a couple of weeks. We were two short, and I really didn't want to see it go to three.

 

That's right, Clifford was on the top bunk next to Donley…

 

Frettchen concentrated, hopefully calling Georgie on his brain-phone as my eyelids got too heavy to keep propped up. I sagged limply onto the bare mattress below Clifford's and surrendered to the cotton-candy floating.

 

Dreams came thick and weird. I saw myself running, tear-assing across an open field full of golden flowers, then I was in the dream, full of wind and lightning as if I had become a storm cloud. A shadow raced with me, and I looked up to see a snow-white dragon against an indigo sky. The dragon twisted and changed color, turning into one of those oriental dragons, all coils and fringe. It turned and dived into the ocean, churning up white foam in the shape of a cross.

 

I smelled lilacs, and some kind of men's cologne. Red hair tickled my face as its owner whispered something against my lips. I felt strange, kind of good but it was pretty confusing. The person with red hair was sitting on my lap, holding me with his slender arms and staring into my face, his bright blue eyes flecked with turquoise. He began to change, writhing in my embrace and growing smaller until he was a cat, a fluffy ginger cat with blue-green eyes. He whispered, “Save me,” then scampered away.

 

I heard myself groan, and rolled over on the thin mattress. My mind washed me under again, this time with images of Konnor. He was touching me again, and this time it felt nice. I wasn't afraid in this dream, though I thought I should be. He made me feel good, using his hands and his mouth, and then he said, “So long as you are mine, I shall watch over you. Say the word, and you shall be safe, and loved.”

 

“What word?” I asked, sensations flowing through me like light.

 

“Kapituliere.”

 

“Hey, wake up, Elvis.” Julian shook my arm until my eyes opened.

 

“I told you, he's not from Kentucky,” I mumbled, trying to figure out why I was so close to the ground.

 

“Come on, we have to get you sobered up,” Julian said, hauling me off the bunk. “You've been summoned.”

 

“Hunh?” That hadn't made any sense at all. I looked at my watch. Oh, shit - I was late for my tutoring session with Shelton Grant. No wonder I was in trouble.

 

“We got your lesson cancelled for you,” Frettchen said, “but your mentor found out. He wants to see you.”

 

The lingering fog from the codeine flashed out of existence like it had been sucked up by a huge vacuum cleaner. I fumbled for my glasses and tried to neaten my uniform as best I could. “What do I do?” I asked, not wanting to leave the room alone.

 

“There's a guy waiting outside, he brought the note for you. He'll escort you there and back,” Donley said, looking unhappy. “Just remember, be honest, okay? You didn't do anything wrong, they can't bust you for what happened today. Besides, you're their star precog, right? Just go talk to him, then get back here and get some sleep. We'll wait for you.”

 

Somehow his words had the opposite effect, making me feel even more vulnerable. I went out into the hallway, and this older kid with a blue shirt and a white armband motioned for me to follow him. I stumbled along after him; the hurts were starting to come back.

 

When we were actually in front of Konnor's apartment, my stomach tightened up and I felt faint again. The Hall Patrol kid knocked on the door, and when it opened he gestured me inside. He remained in the hall, standing by the door like a sentinel.

 

Konnor studied me, his manner stiff. I found myself standing as straight as I could, like a soldier at attention. My heart hammered against my ribs. I tried reminding myself of what Donley had said, that I hadn't done anything wrong, but it didn't help this time around either.

 

“You should have come to me, Bradley,” Konnor said, his voice low. “I am still your mentor, and your first recourse.” He stepped closer, cupped my chin in his hand and tilted my head back a little. “Morphine?”

 

“Codeine, sir,” I whispered, hoping no one got in trouble over it. I remembered what Trevor had told me about pain meds.

 

Konnor released me with a light caress on my cheek. “Did you tolerate it well enough?”

 

I blinked, then realized he was talking about the codeine. “It made me throw up, I think,” I murmured, “and gave me funny dreams.”

 

“It would. Under the circumstances, it was a lucky guess. I suggest you avoid it in the future.” His eyes looked dark, like they were angry way down under the blue. “Come, sit with me.” Konnor steered me toward the sofa, ignoring my wobbly legs and near-collapse to the cushions.

 

He went into his kitchen, and I could hear the hiss of a bottle top coming off. Konnor came back holding a frosty Coke wrapped in a thin dish towel. I took it and sipped, his words echoing my grandmother's advice from so long ago: “It's better flat, but it should settle your stomach a bit.”

 

Konnor seated himself next to me on the sofa, his elbow on the back cushions and his head propped against his hand. He watched me drink, that dark look swirling deep in his eyes. Then he took a deep breath and looked away from me. “Justice is not always swift, or visible, Bradley. Rest assured that they will be dealt with. I've made a few calls; your status here needs reviewing. It seems that Esset's interest in you and their training plans may be at odds with one another. I won't have our brightest diamond shattered by mishandling.”

 

This seemed odd, coming from the man who had initiated me into the ways of Rosenkreuz personally, but I sipped my drink and listened with polite interest.

 

“Tomorrow morning, you will add a self-defense class to your schedule. Three days a week, in place of your German class. You will study the language in the evenings with Mr. Grant. Understood?”

 

I nodded, not at all certain what difference a self-defense class would make. I was a scrawny blue-shirted first-year, what chance would I have against a patrol of older reds? “Sir,” I began, but he gave me this patient kind of look like you'd give a puppy who'd just messed on the floor.

 

“Bradley,” he prompted, the look never wavering, “it's Konnor, remember?”

 

The sigh shook its way out of me, leaving me feeling all wrung out. “Sor - right. Konnor, no offense but how will that help? They work in groups, I'm just one kid.”

 

Konnor's eyes lost that dark glow, taking on an almost expectant sparkle in its place. “You learn, Bradley. Granted, this is a different world from where you're from, and we're not very good at laying out the rules in advance here. You have to learn how to survive, and one of the most important lessons is to learn to recognize your teachers. Your real teachers. Do you understand me?”

 

As I sat there puzzling over his words, he reached his hand out and touched his fingertips to my cheek, making me turn my head a little. “We are more alike than you know, Bradley,” he whispered, and for a moment his expression showed an echo of old pain. “Esset has high hopes for you. It is my intention to see those hopes bear fruit, and that can't happen if you're beaten and left for dead on a floor somewhere. The self-defense class is a pre-requisite for more advanced studies. You'll need it, may as well get it out of the way now. You're a bright boy, you should have no trouble picking up what you've missed so far.”

 

I stared at his face, seeing that openness in his eyes, and he licked his lips and mouthed the words “Trust me”.

 

“Bradley?”

 

I blinked. Konnor was looking at me, kind of puzzled like. I glanced at my watch, which didn't help as I hadn't been paying attention to the time all evening. It gave me no clue as to how long I'd been fogged out, or at what point our conversation had veered into the future - or a dream.

 

Konnor took the half-drunk Coke from my hand and set it on the coffee table. “Bradley, can you hear me?” he repeated, voice soft.

 

“Yeah,” I whispered, not feeling real at all.

 

“Codeine,” Konnor stated with a snort. “Doesn't mix well with your talent family at all. Except…of course. Don't accept pills from him again, all right? His intentions were noble, but you're likely to suffer aftershocks for another few hours.”

 

“Is he in trouble?” I asked, then immediately wished I hadn't.

 

“There will probably be a search,” Konnor said matter-of-factly. “If no pills are found, there can be no proof of involvement other than the word of a drug-addled student.”

 

My mouth dropped open. He was warning me, for Julian! But why?

 

Konnor smiled at me and answered my question as if I'd said it out loud, though in a roundabout manner. “You should have come to me, Bradley, but at least you did the next best thing.” He leaned closer, as if to tell me a secret. “You're learning.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A/N:

Je näher der Winter rückt, desto dunkler wird es.

As winter draws near, so it gets darker.

(random quote from the Concise Oxford German Dictionary)

 

I was looking up the entry for “snow” and tripped over the above quote. It fit, so it stayed.

 

Es schneit. - It is snowing.

“Kapituliere.” - “(I) surrender.” [Technically, “Ich kapituliere” would be more correct for actual speaking, but since this is part of a dream/vision, there may be meaning in the omission…]