Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Standing Outside the Fire ❯ 13 ( Chapter 13 )

13

 

Run, rabbit, run

 

Either I'm already crazy, or I'm immune to it.

 

I watched in silence as two students in Healer greens and a teacher physically restrained the young blueshirt and removed him from the classroom. I didn't know the boy's talent or his name, but I would never forget his screams.

 

My newest habit made itself manifest: I glanced at my watch, checking the date more than the time. March 20, 1987. Absently I raised my left hand to my lips and gnawed on a fingernail; when I couldn't get any more nail off it, I started in on the side of the fingertip itself. The skin there was tough and roughened from weeks of chewing.

 

When I realized what I was doing, I made myself act casual and calm and lowered my hand. Moving slowly I placed my hands on the desktop, so as not to be noticed doing anything unexpected.

 

Tomorrow was the first day of spring. I was thirteen years old. And I was starting to lose my grip on the passage of time.

 

Visions would explode into my day, stealing moments or hours. If I was lucky, I could pretend nothing had happened and just get on with things. If I wasn't lucky, I'd find myself in a teacher's office or in medical.

 

Frau Sheffield changed my schedule so I'd have an hour a day with her right before dinner, in addition to the once-a-week three-hour session in building 4B.

 

Mr. Grant changed my schedule, too. I was doing well enough with the language lessons that he put me down to three sessions per week instead of five.

 

I couldn't remember where to be anymore, or when to be there. It was as if whenever I had a handle on things, someone would up and change it.

 

And speaking of changes, even my body was in on the joke. I was getting taller. I'd had to get a new jacket and have my trousers let out once already, back in the middle of winter. If this kept up, I'd be as tall as Julian or Georgiev before summer.

 

Summer. No break here, no fields, no fishing. No fishing, no trespassing. I felt a weird loose sort of giggle build up in my chest, fought it down.

 

There were two other boys in the girls' classes, both precogs like me.

 

One was afraid of his own shadow.

 

The other…sometimes he forgot how to speak.

 

I think the girls were making bets on which one of us would snap first.

 

The guys in my dorm weren't making bets. We'd lost Clifford back in January, I think it was. Just like Trevor - now you see him, now you don't. Gone, as if he'd never been.

 

Donley adopted his orphaned cigarettes.

 

David Smythe now sported a narrow, puckered scar along his jaw and throat, where the burn hadn't been allowed to heal right. He never spoke of it, and neither did I. But the guy who had raped me seemed to have vanished, leaving his two buddies leaderless. I saw the lookout once, fawning after an older kid like a jackal at the lion's heels.

 

Konnor's gift to me of the self-defense class did some good. My leg muscles got strong enough so I could get a good running start.

 

Now if I could just keep from going crazy.

 

“Hey, Elvis!”

 

I looked up, then down. I had to shove my glasses back up my nose before I could see anything. “What?”

 

Julian regarded me from his bunk. He'd been ill lately, with shadows around his eyes. We all knew it was from his talent. Object readers don't do well in places like Rosenkreuz; it was like having itching powder in your clothes all the time. Or nerve gas. Gloves were standard issue - some needed canvas, some wool. Some, like Julian, wore leather lined with felt. But gloves only protected the hands.

 

I closed my book. “What is it, Julian?”

 

Frettchen heaved a sigh and said, “I've been talking to you for twenty minutes. You were nodding and mumbling answers, but Julian said you weren't even really here. What's with you lately?”

 

My spit tasted sour as I swallowed. Fear washed over me until Georgiev grabbed hold of my ankle. A sense of borrowed calm replaced my panic, until my head started to clear. “Thanks, Georgie,” I whispered, grateful that the telempath didn't mind bringing me out of the fog and never asked for payment.

 

“If people notice you doing that, you're a goner,” Frettchen murmured. “Maybe your mentor can help or something.”

 

The last thing I wanted was for Konnor to know I was falling apart.

 

Donley either read my mind or read my expression. “He already knows, Crawford. He has to know, you've been spacing out in class.”

 

I couldn't tell them that I dreaded being alone with Konnor. He'd never touched me like that again, but I could see in his eyes that he wanted to. He wanted many things.

 

Then Georgiev said, “What about Grant? Can you talk to him?”

 

“Talk to him? That's all I do!” I said, trying to make a joke. It fell flat on my own ears.

 

Fifteen minutes later, I was in David Smythe's office, and he was on the phone with Shelton Grant. I'd told Smythe that I needed to change my next appointment with Mr. Grant from tomorrow to tonight, if it wasn't inconvenient. I stood there listening to half the conversation, hoping I wasn't about to get myself in a whole lot of trouble.

 

“Go on, then,” Smythe said, hanging up the phone. “You have your pass?”

 

“Yes, sir. Thank you.” I hurried out before I could change my mind.

 

When I arrived at Mr. Grant's apartment, I gathered my courage and knocked.

 

The door swung open, and Shelton Grant offered me a little smile as I came in. “I hear your schedule has become a bit ragged, Mr. Crawford. You're doing quite well in your language work, perhaps we could arrange for a two-session week?”

 

Voice low, I said, “Actually, sir, I need your advice.”

 

He raised an eyebrow, then led me into his kitchen, where we usually did our voice lessons. “Advice? About what?”

 

I took a deep breath and told him. “I'm losing time, Mr. Grant. And I'm scared. I know what happens to most male precogs, and I don't want it to happen to me.” I didn't tell him I thought I'd have been fine if they'd just left me in Kentucky. There wasn't anything to be done for that now.

 

Mr. Grant studied my face for several long moments, then asked, “Why are you speaking with me, and not with General Schoenberg, Mr. Crawford?”

 

My stomach knotted. He wasn't going to help me.

 

Then I noticed that he was staring intently at me, with an odd expression in his eyes. I felt myself scowl a bit.

 

As if he'd been waiting for a signal from me, Shelton Grant glanced casually over my shoulder, and up. Then he said, “You said you were afraid. I can understand that you wouldn't want to disappoint your mentor.

 

Understanding flashed through me: we weren't really alone here. Someone was watching; or worse, listening to everything we said.

 

I stood a little straighter and nodded. “Yes, sir.” I felt the need to say more, so I told him, “Frau Sheffield is helping, but something just isn't right.”

 

“And rather than wait until tomorrow, you took the initiative to seek assistance now, before it could get any worse.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“All I can offer you is a call to your mentor, Mr. Crawford. I have no authority over your schedule beyond your evening language classes.” His eyes seemed to say more, but I couldn't understand it. “Wait here.” He went over to his desk, then picked up the phone.

 

This wasn't right. I regretted ever coming to him for help, but I was stuck with the consequences now.

 

When he returned to the kitchen, Mr. Grant handed me a hastily written note. “Go on upstairs. Herr General is not angry with you. In fact, he sounded relieved that you'd come around enough to seek help at all.”

 

“Thank you, sir. I'll be back for my lesson tomorrow,” I told him as I made for the door.

 

“No need. Herr Schoenberg will inform me of your new schedule. I've no doubt it will be changing.”

 

As I trudged up the stairs to Konnor's floor, a realization rang through my head and chased itself in circles. Nothing here was as it seemed, ever, and no one here was safe. I might have put Shelley in real danger by going to him for help, and I hadn't even thought about it until it was too late.

 

Rosenkreuz had just become more frightening.

 

When Konnor opened his door, his face looked strained. He still managed a thin smile as he motioned for me to sit on the sofa.

 

A bottle of Coke and a half sandwich waited for me.

 

I fought back the surge of feeling that this simple gesture brought up in me. I didn't want to feel grateful, I didn't want to feel like I missed him - but right then I felt both.

 

“Your language tutor called. Said that you were having problems, that you were too ashamed to come to me for help.” Konnor sat next to me, his eyes dark. “This is a bad habit to get into, Bradley. Twice now you have disregarded your mentor in favor of your own solutions. Granted, Americans have a well-deserved reputation for independence and brazenness, but it will not stand you in good stead here.” His tone softened as he said, “I don't know what you expect from me, but I assure you that you have no better advocate. Do you understand?”

 

I looked up from my drink, and nodded. “I understand, Konnor.”

 

He rested a hand on my leg. I don't know if he meant it as a reassuring gesture, but it made my stomach tighten up. He didn't seem to notice, or if he did notice, he didn't care.

 

He asked me what the problem was, and I told him about the missing time and the visions. “It's like the fast-forward gets stuck on, and I lose the now. By the time now turns into then, it's way gone. I'm forgetting classwork I turned in weeks ago, and searching through my books for assignments that aren't even due yet. And people I should know, I don't, not right away, while people I don't know are waltzing through my dreams while I'm still awake!” I felt foolish saying it like that, but the words just tumbled out and I was too tired to stop them. “Time is losing its meaning, and it's taking me with it. Right down the rabbit hole.”

 

Konnor listened to all this with that same concerned frown, the kind of look one wears in the company of a non-threatening lunatic.

 

I rambled to a halt and waited for him to say something, anything.

 

Konnor sighed and sort of absently started caressing my thigh, as if that helped him think.

 

I sighed too. If this was the price of his help, I'd pay it. I'd give him whatever he wanted, if he could keep me from going crazy.

 

But Konnor didn't overreach propriety, he just petted my leg like he was stroking a cat or something. My body felt electrified. I caught myself starting to enjoy it more than I should, almost wishing he'd slip and touch a little higher. Almost? Heck, there was no “almost” about it. No, part of me definitely wished for that gentle touch, and no memory of Konnor's violence would dissuade it. All that mattered was now: no past, no future, no cares but one.

 

Then his hand cupped me and squeezed, and I very nearly embarrassed myself.

 

Konnor smiled and said, “Welcome to puberty, Bradley. You're growing, changing. There is no way to predict just how this will shape your visions, though I'll hazard a guess as to how it will shape your body.” His hand rubbed me decisively through my trousers. “You've grown taller over the past few months. I suspect you'll be taller than me soon enough. Large hands, thick wrists - if I were to place a bet, I'd say you'll be needing yet another jacket before next fall. When you're done filling out, I think you'll be a stunning man, Bradley. Handsome, tall, intelligent…” His voice trailed off in a sigh.

 

Konnor licked his lips and I thought he was going to kiss me. As long as his hand kept moving, I didn't care what he did. My eyes squeezed shut, blocking out the world and letting me focus on just one dimension of my being. It was a damn sight better than being afraid, or feeling crazy, even if it would only last a few minutes at best. A temporary reprieve? Why, yes, thank you, sir! I'll deal with reality in a moment.

 

He stopped, and I bit back a murmur of disappointment. When had I decided I wanted this from him? Oh, that's right - when I realized it would buy me time to feel sane again, if only for a little while. I felt the sofa shift as he moved, then heard the coffee table slide across the carpet.

 

Then Konnor knelt between my feet and unfastened my trousers. My heart sped up, the blood pounding in my veins. Cool air tickled my hard-on, followed by warm fingers, then hot, wet suction. I groaned. This was the sensation that haunted my dreams! A corner of my mind babbled that he would likely want the same in return, like that first time when I didn't want to. Tonight I didn't care.

 

Konnor slipped his hands under my butt and pulled me toward him, his mouth sliding around me all the way to the baby hairs. Then he worked his way back to the tip, and I felt a jolt of tension in my balls. My breath caught in my chest. Konnor's tongue teased the fat little head, swirling around it faster and faster until it felt so good it almost hurt.

 

I tried to back up a little, get away from the sensation overload, but his hands gripped my butt and kept me right where I was. My hands clutched at his shoulders, trying to push him back, but he was stronger. By this time I was panting for air, the exquisite and the painful blurring into a white-hot rush of NOW.

 

A pitiful mewling reached my ears, and I realized it came from me. I didn't have wind enough to make any more noise than that, I just whimpered and shuddered as the yet-unmapped sensations rolled over and through me.

 

Konnor echoed the whimper, moaning deep in his throat as I spurted into his mouth.

 

Then he gently squeezed my cock, pulling like he was milking a cow or something. I lay back against the sofa and let him do whatever he wanted; I'd decided that it wasn't too high a price to pay after all, considering my other options. All he did, though, was squeeze and lick, then gently tuck everything away in my pants and run the zipper back up for me.

 

“Excuse me a moment,” he said, rising and heading for the bathroom.

 

I finished buttoning my pants, then started in on arguing with myself over what had just happened. I hadn't wanted it, not until he'd started touching me, anyway. Then my body had just made up its own mind and hung me out to dry.

 

Puberty, he'd said. That was the time that boys trade their brains for their balls, according to my grandmother. She'd said something like that to my ma after Jimmy had tried some fool stunt to impress a girl and wound up with a broken arm.

 

Great.

 

Konnor returned from his bathroom looking rather pleased with himself and still a bit excited. His color was high, his eyes bright and possessive. He smiled at me, a genuine, warm smile, and I found myself smiling back. If I had to be someone's “pet” here, I suppose I could do worse. At least Konnor kept himself clean and had a bit of dignity about it all. Some would probably call him handsome, but I had to admit he wasn't really my type. That almost made me laugh, thinking of a man as “my type” or “not my type”. I'd always expected to find “my type” in a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition, not a lineup of haughty German men!

 

“I expect your head's a little clearer now, Bradley?” Konnor seated himself next to me again, lounging like a lion.

 

“Yes, actually, it is,” I replied, surprised at the truth of it. The panic that had sent me from my dorm had died sometime in the last half hour. Startled, I checked my watch: half an hour it had been, from arriving in Konnor's apartment up to this very minute. I stared at the watch, then looked up at my mentor.

 

That real smile still graced his features, lighting his eyes with gentle warmth.

 

“I've got my time back!” I blurted, gesturing at my watch for emphasis.

 

“Whenever you feel that panic rise up, Bradley, you need to break the cycle,” Konnor explained in a soft voice. “Request an exercise pass, cultivate a sparring partner. Or a playmate, if you prefer; it's a common enough thing. And you know that my door is always open to you.”

 

I knew what he meant by that, and I nodded that I knew.

 

“Find yourself a diversion, something strong enough to distract you from your own doubts.” Konnor leaned toward me as if to emphasize his next statement. “You can drive your visions, or be driven by them. True, until you learn the difference it will be difficult, but that is why I placed you with Frau Sheffield. The moment you allow fear to speak for you, insanity becomes a real possibility. I did not bring you here to lose you to madness.” He touched my cheek, prompting me to look into his eyes as he said, “You are my star, Bradley. My light and my hope. I will see you through this.”

 

As if he'd caught himself showing too much honest feeling, Konnor sat back and changed his tone to one much more businesslike. “Before you allow anxiety to disable you again, learn to spot it while it's still small enough to handle. If your visions are interfering with your classwork, inform your teachers. They know who you are, they know your gift, they will not be surprised if you need a little extra care. If your visions are interfering with each other, inform Frau Sheffield. She knows techniques for taming them. And if your visions are interfering with your safety, you are to come directly to me, Bradley. None of this going to your dorm head or your classmates or your teachers - if it gets so bad that you fear for your mind, I need to know about it.”

 

I nodded again, still almost giddy from relief both physical and mental. I wondered how tonight's intimacy played into his plans, whether it was his preferred method of shaking me out of my panic or what-have-you. Having no good way to ask, I decided not to worry about it. He hadn't hurt me this time, hadn't demanded anything at all, and I was okay with that.

 

Of course, I hadn't left his lair yet, either.

 

“Now, finish your drink while I see to your schedule.” Konnor rose and made for the desk, leaving me to ponder his intentions.

 

I sipped my soda and considered what it might mean to be seen as his “pet”. The other kids seemed to leave pets alone for the most part, as if they were afraid of retribution above and beyond regular punishment. Does one offer to become a pet, or just follow instructions and end up one by default?

 

My mama would cry if she knew what I was considering. I stared at my lap in shame.

 

That feeling of being watched crept over me so slowly I almost didn't recognize it; then the hairs on the back of my neck lifted, sending a chill down my spine. I glanced over at Konnor, seated at his desk and writing. Then I glanced up as though expecting to see a floating eyeball hovering in the middle of the room. And for a brief terrible moment I did see one, but it wasn't looking at me at all.

 

It was watching Konnor.

 

 

 

A/N:

Run, rabbit, run

“Breathe” - Pink Floyd Dark Side of the Moon

 

Not so long ago, doctors manipulated women to have orgasms to alleviate symptoms of nervous tension. While the ethical side of this equation comes up short, the effectiveness cannot be argued. During sex, the brain is flooded with hormones and other mood-enhancers, all courtesy of Mother Nature, and their effect can linger for many hours. The human body is an amazingly self-regulating machine, if we could only learn to trust it. Sometimes your own body is its own best medicine for what ails your mind - why else would the brain be receptive to opiates and other mood-altering substances, if the body did not produce similar chemicals for just such emergencies?

 

Now, was Konnor's behavior ethical? Tough question - a shota-phile could argue that he had learned his lesson and was now trying a tender seduction to win over his young star. One could just as well argue that the man simply did not know how to stop. In any case, ethics at Rosenkreuz would be a different breed altogether, and by those standards, Konnor seems to be one of the good guys.

 

For the moment.