Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Standing Outside the Fire ❯ 18 ( Chapter 18 )

18

 

“Punishment is sharp and sure. Therefore learn the Law. Say the words.”

 

*

Why can't I wake up?

*

 

*

“He moved! Look, he moved his hand! Is that a good sign? What's happening?”

 

“It's just a reflex, sir. Please, come away from the bed. It's time for his bath. Give us ten minutes, all right?”

 

“But I don't -”

 

“Schuldig, come on. It's okay, it's just for ten minutes. Have you eaten anything?”

 

“No. I'm not hungry.”

 

“Come with me anyway. I don't want you to be alone.”

 

The voices recede, and gentle hands tend a body that is only barely mine.

*

 

Heavy-limbed pain brought me up out of a dream of fire. I hurt, all over; my muscles ached, my head throbbed, and my back… Underneath a fragile numbness, the skin of my back felt like it had been peeled.

 

The room swam into dim focus as best it could without my glasses to help it.

 

I was still in Sonndheim's office.

 

Fear tightened my throat at the wrong moment, and I started gagging on my own spit. The couch sagged beneath me as I rolled toward the floor to try to clear my airway. My shirt and jacket slid off me and onto the carpet; they had been draped over me like a blanket.

 

He had carried me to the sofa and set me down like I was only taking a nap.

 

“Are you ready to continue our discussion, Herr Crawford?” The chill voice cut through the fog of pain, forbidding escape into unconsciousness.

 

I couldn't speak. Instead, I nodded, hoping he would accept that as answer enough.

 

“You are not so special, Herr Crawford. Do you understand me? There are those who have great plans for you, but I am not yet convinced. I will be watching you.” There was a pause, then a rough, damp cough followed by the snap and hiss of a flip-top cigarette lighter. A blue-gray cloud of cigar smoke drifted upward from the desk and spread out across the ceiling. “Dismissed, Herr Crawford.”

 

I struggled into my t-shirt, the fabric burning my wounded flesh as it slid over. Then the jacket, which only seemed to add heat to my back. I bowed stiffly before letting myself out.

 

Only after the door was shut did I allow myself to feel anything beyond the physical. I almost started crying. I'd been more scared and more hurt than ever before, even when those guys had raped me. They were only trying to have their own fun; Herr Sonndheim was trying to make a point, and he knew exactly how to do it so it hurt the most.

 

A wrongness suddenly made sense, and I nearly moaned aloud in disgust. I'd been sweating, I knew I had, but when I put my shirt back on my skin was clean. He'd cleaned me up while I was unconscious. My imagination supplied all sorts of reasons, and this was more than enough for my feet to get moving at last. I stumbled away from his door, picking up speed at a reckless jog until I reached the stairs. I fled the horror of that room without having a clear destination.

 

And I'd left my glasses behind. I didn't even know where he'd put them after he'd taken them right off my face.

 

I regained my composure with a powerful effort. It wouldn't do to be seen running here, or to seem upset at all. There was only one thing I could do. I opened the door to the stairwell and headed up.

 

By the time I reached Konnor's apartment I was trembling all over again. Everything hurt now, including my head. I felt something wet on my lip, wiped at it with the back of my hand.

 

My nose was bleeding.

 

Fighting back the tears for another few precious moments, I knocked on my mentor's door.

 

“Yes? It's open,” he called, his clear voice the most welcoming sound I could imagine.

 

I opened the door just enough to slip inside.

 

Konnor sat at his own desk, caught up in a swell of paperwork. He scribbled a few more things, then looked up. His hopeful smile froze, then shattered like brittle glass as he launched himself around the desk and hurried toward me. “What happened?” he demanded, his tone angry but not at me. “Who did this to you?” Konnor touched my face with gloved fingers, turning my head gently to survey damage I could feel but not see myself. The crop had slashed over my shoulder a few times, bruising my neck and jaw on the right-hand side if not cutting me outright. Either way, I knew I must look terrible.

 

“Bradley?” Konnor leaned down close enough to my face that all I could see was a pale golden blur. “Where are your glasses?”

 

“Herr Sonndheim's office,” I whispered, suddenly not wanting to talk about any of it. I stared down at my shoes and wished it would all just stop.

 

A soft grinding snap sent a new chill down my back. The moment Konnor spoke again, I realized that the sound had been the gnashing of teeth and the harsh popping sound of an overstressed jaw. Either that, or he'd just broken a molar. He sounded like he was talking through a mouth wired shut as he said, “Rest on the couch until I get back. I won't be long.” He gently propelled me in that direction, and I shuffled on across the room.

 

I heard the rustle of Konnor's gloves, followed by the door opening and closing. The lock clicked smoothly into place.

 

I collapsed to the sofa, lying on my side and curling up a little so my back didn't touch the cushions. I wanted to take my jacket and shirt off, but I could tell my muscles were too stiff now. It was easier just to lie here and doze until Konnor got back. I wondered dizzily where he had gone…

 

With a sharp clarity that didn't need prescription lenses, I watched from the inside of Sonndheim's office as the door swung open. Konnor stormed into the room, face twisted with fury.

 

Sonndheim said something I couldn't hear.

 

Konnor reared back and threw a strong-armed punch right at his face. His bare fist connected with Sonndheim's nose in a spatter of blood.

 

Sonndheim hit the floor hard, landing on his butt and nearly hitting his head on the desk. One hand flailed for support.

 

He was smiling.

 

The scene faded, drifted away until I wasn't sure if it had been a vision or my own personal fantasy of heroic retribution. It didn't matter: either way, I felt safer for the moment.

 

At least, I did so long as I didn't think about Herr Sonndheim's smile.

 

Soft sounds brought me up out of a fitful sleep. I wasn't sure how much time had passed, and without my glasses I could barely see my watch much less read it. The key turned in the lock, the door opened, and Konnor made a bee-line for the bathroom. I heard water running over muttered cursing.

 

When Konnor was done in the bathroom, he came over and squatted down next to the couch. “Here,” he said, handing me my glasses. “Problem solved.”

 

He was wearing his gloves again; I couldn't remember why this should be important to me, though for some reason it seemed unexpected. I fumbled the frames onto my face, blinked unsteadily at my mentor. His jaw still looked tight, and the little lines around his eyes seemed fiercer than usual. He touched my cheek, and I sort of sagged against his hand. I didn't want to tell him what had happened, and I sure didn't want him to see my back, but part of me knew it was inevitable. Konnor was worried, and I was hurting, and there wasn't a whole lot of sense in trying to hide anything now. I shifted around a little, tried to get out of my jacket.

 

“Let me help,” Konnor murmured, taking hold of my coat and easing it back from my shoulders. He hissed through his teeth. “Bradley, you're bleeding.” Then he took hold of my shirt and gently separated fabric from skin until he could get the shirt up and over my head.

 

I sat there shivering, my arms clenched around my chest. My back felt wet again; something had come open when he took the shirt off. Now, though, the sensations weren't blunted by shock. My stomach doubled in on itself; I clamped a hand over my mouth as I jumped up and bolted for the bathroom.

 

I remained kneeling in front of the toilet long after my stomach declared itself empty. Konnor had given me a little time to myself before checking on me; now he gently washed my back with a small towel. He only used his left hand for this, the glove set deliberately on the toilet tank. I stared at it, white cotton, like the gloves Rachelle wore when she was in the Girl Scouts. She'd been so proud of every merit badge, always made such a big deal of it all - until she met Bobby Christopher. Then she sort of let everything else slide…

 

“Bradley?”

 

Konnor's voice pulled me back to the present. I wasn't sure quite where I'd gone, actually, and that scared me. Had Sonndheim broken something loose in my head? They do say that precognitive men go insane - had I been psychically poisoned somehow? Panic and pain made me shiver as though I was freezing.

 

I was still sitting on the floor of Konnor's bathroom, shirtless and cold and smelling of pain and soap. I looked up at my mentor and now the tears came. I couldn't hold them back, they just came like the breaking of a dam too weakened to function anymore.

 

 

 

 

A/N:

“Punishment is sharp and sure. Therefore learn the Law. Say the words.”

The Island of Dr. Moreau - H.G. Wells

 

About “The Punch” - vision, or fantasy? You decide.

 

From “Coming Home” chapter 66: Rosenkreuz was an asylum where the patients were in charge, a laboratory where the mad scientist was as damned as his creations. Far had compared it to “The Island of Dr. Moreau” if the animals had been sadistic twists.

 

So who was Moreau?

 

Who, indeed?