Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Standing Outside the Fire ❯ 20 ( Chapter 20 )

20

 

April is the cruellest month, breeding

Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing

Memory and desire, stirring

Dull roots with spring rain.

 

“Come in, Herr Crawford,” Frau Sheffield stated, ushering me to her desk. Unlike Konnor's apartment, or Sonndheim's, her suite actually looked like an office. If it weren't for the tiny kitchenette off to the side, it'd be easy to forget that she lived and worked in the same space.

 

She seated herself at the desk and gestured for me to take the chair opposite. With neat, precise movements she produced a small tape recorder and switched it on. “You say you've been losing time, and having dreams and visions that repeat. What can you tell me about all this?”

 

My mouth opened to speak, but no words came. I suddenly realized that I would have to confess to her that I'd been trying to deal with this on my own for over two months, when I should have come to her right away. If she was anything like Konnor about things like that, she was going to be furious, and rightly so. I'd been stupid, and now I was in a real mess.

 

In the awkward silence that followed, I heard my own heartbeat grow loud as thunder, and the next thing I knew I was on the floor. Frau Sheffield knelt at my shoulder, her fingers pressed gently to the pulse in my throat, her other hand upraised as though she was looking at her watch. I moaned and tried to move.

 

“Stay still, Crawford.” She gazed down into my eyes, a frown line creasing her forehead. “Do you know the date?”

 

I had to think about it. “April…no, wait. Yes, it's April. Twentieth?”

 

“What year is it?” Her concern hadn't faded; had I gotten the date wrong?

 

“Um…” Part of me wanted to say something really weird, but I knew it wasn't possible. I'd be almost thirty if it was really 2001! I started to do the math, trying to figure out the year from my own age.

 

Sheffield scowled. “You're taking too long. Why do you think this is April 20?”

 

Uh oh, so I did get it wrong! I couldn't tell her that I'd guessed the actual date. In my stomach I thought it was the eighth.

 

“Crawford! Answer me! Stop thinking about it and just tell me!”

 

My head swum with pictures and faces and fire, and water wide and deep. “April eighth, 2001,” I heard myself whisper. Though I didn't want to talk about this with her, the vision would not be denied. “It happens then, over the sea. I Saw them, I don't know what they were doing, but there was a girl, and fire…”

 

Frau Sheffield reached over me to her desk, and I could hear her fumbling for something to write on. She scribbled something, then turned her attention back to me. I was only half aware of her; the rest of me seemed somewhere else, somewhen else, and the intensity of it scared me. This…was new.

 

“They? They who, Bradley?” Sheffield's voice had become softer, taking on the almost hypnotic tone she used when guiding students through trance states.

 

Was that what had happened? Had I fallen in?

 

Reality shifted, time slid, and I saw snow in the courtyard. Snow and flames.

 

Shift, slide…my own hand, raised, pistol clenched in my fist.

 

Shift, slide…a bright smile, white against dark.

 

Shift, slide…

 

“Easy, Bradley. Don't try to move yet.”

 

I felt something soft under my head, and realized I was curled up on the floor with my head in someone's lap, a wad of linen gripped in my hand. My glasses were off, but mercifully they were on the floor right beside that hand. The linen clarified itself into someone else's trousers. Slowly I became aware of my breathing falling into rhythm with the owner of the lap and the trousers.

 

“Are you back with me now?” A feminine hand picked up my glasses and eased them onto my face.

 

I blinked gratefully and tried to sit up.

 

“No, just lie still, boy,” Frau Sheffield instructed, once again feeling the pulse in my throat with skilled fingertips. “You've had quite the eventful hour. Any longer and I would have had to charge you rent.” Her voice had become warm, almost affectionate. For one terrible moment she reminded me of my grandmother, and my emotions trembled on the edge of disaster.

 

“What happened?” I croaked, my voice a dry mockery of itself.

 

“I asked you if your nightmares had anything to do with a disciplinary matter back in February,” she stated, watching me closely for a relapse. “You started to answer me, and just slid off your chair. I thought I'd brought you back around, but evidently I was mistaken. I think you're back now, though. Am I right?”

 

I nodded weakly, uncurling my fingers from her clothing and pushing myself up to sit facing her. I could feel the fabric pattern of her trousers embedded in my cheek. “I don't remember,” I whispered, more afraid now than of any nightmare.

 

“It's all right, I wrote everything down,” Sheffield stated. She braced a hand on the edge of her desk and levered herself up. After taking a moment to stretch her back and shake a cramp out of her leg, she picked up a piece of paper and regarded it closely. “I want to discuss this with you, Crawford, but I don't want to risk another collapse.” She gestured toward the narrow couch along the far wall. “If you would, just lie back on the couch for a bit. That way, you don't have such a long fall if you do go under.”

 

It took a bit of effort, but I managed to get my feet under me and shuffle to the couch. Strangely enough, I didn't feel nearly so awkward about this as I would with Konnor. Maybe it was because she did, in fact, remind me of my grandmother. She did have the Sight, and she knew what it could do.

 

“Do you know what the date is, Bradley?” she asked, and I had a momentary swooping feeling of déjà vu. Then I realized, she had asked this before, while I was in that trance state.

 

“May fourth, 1988,” I replied without a moment's thought.

 

Sheffield smiled. She looked relieved. “Good. And how are you feeling?”

 

“Tired, ma'am.” The bone-deep weariness rolled over me like waves, like the tide…

 

“Bradley!”

 

I shuddered as though startled from a dream. “Yes ma'am?”

 

Frau Sheffield sighed and shook her head. “You're wide open, Bradley. This won't do. I can't have you blacking out on the way to your dormitory.” She rubbed her temple as though she shared my growing headache. “I'll arrange for someone to bring you some supper here. Just relax and try to sleep it off. We'll talk about it when you're more coherent.”

 

Sleeping on a teacher's couch was beginning to look like a running joke. A very bad joke.

 

A gentle touch to my hip and shoulder woke me up just enough to realize she'd covered me with a blanket. Then awareness slid away again into oceans of destruction.

 

 

 

 

 

A/N:

April is the cruellest month, breeding

Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing

Memory and desire, stirring

Dull roots with spring rain.

“The Waste Land” - T.S. Eliot

 

Yes, Frau Sheffield is taping the meeting and making notes, and she tells Bradley she's written everything down. Such a dramatic collapse from their powerful young male precog calls for redundant measures: gods forbid the batteries should fail in the middle of something crucial. Also, the tape only picks up sound.

 

Besides, consider what sort of visions Bradley might be triggering off in his teacher. Those who are sensitive to the vibrations of time tend to affect one another quite without meaning to, and it's very likely that Bradley's own trance would set another precog off with no warning whatsoever.

 

Just a little something to keep in mind.