Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Standing Outside the Fire ❯ 22 ( Chapter 22 )

22

 

Here, said she,

Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor,

(Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!)

 

The weeks passed in a blur. Before I knew it, Donley and I were meeting our new dorm head, and Julian said goodbye forever. I managed not to cry, though it was one of the hardest moments of my life.

 

Julian looked so handsome and hopeful in his new uniform, the crisp black-and-tan of Prague's intelligence division. As he turned to go, he paused, taking a scrap of fabric out of his pocket. He raised the well-loved bookmark to his lips, though his eyes were kissing me.

 

And he was gone.

 

Time pulled me along, rushing ahead with barely a pause. Frau Sheffield had rearranged my schedule, so I had to get used to a whole new set of classes all over again. Gone were the Esset-approved history, the self-defense martial arts class, and half of my psi-theory courses. Now I found myself in a whirlwind mix of classes normally reserved for clairvoyants, empaths, and illusionists. The idea was to teach me a new method of grounding, something that would sustain me through the most chaotic of visions. Frau Sheffield had thought that one of these classes might hold the key.

 

Unfortunately, she had not gone through Herr General when changing my classes around. I figured this out by the sour expression on Konnor's face when I met with him for my yearly review. His temper had been short, his eyes hard, and he had glared at me with half-concealed accusation. He couldn't argue with my primary instructor, though, and once he'd convinced himself that I hadn't asked for those changes, his mood had shifted like quicksand.

 

And that frightened me.

 

More and more, whenever I was alone with Konnor, he would stand too close, or sit right next to me so our legs touched. At my review, he'd wasted no opportunity to brush my shoulder with his hand or to push my hair back from my forehead. I debated getting a buzz-cut, just so I wouldn't have enough hair for him to bother with, but then I thought maybe it would make him angry again.

 

Without Julian in my dorm to make me feel clean, those moments with Konnor seemed to seep into my skin, staining my spirit an odd, used kind of color. I began to remind myself of a dog that had been kicked around so much it would just wait for the boot, and I hated that. No, I didn't have the energy to hate. I just knew it, and vaguely remembered that I used to be so much more than that.

 

I struggled to adapt to my new courseload, I watched Donley tighten down his shields and his moods until he barely spoke, and I waited for the boot. It would come in the form of older students hunting for fresh meat, or Konnor's hungry touch - though he didn't go so far as to undress either of us, I knew what he was after, and every casual caress reminded me that he could have it any time he wanted.

 

Sometime around my birthday, the headaches started again. They would sneak up on me, with or without a vision to announce their arrival, and they would set up shop right behind my eyes. There were times I couldn't hardly see, it hurt so bad. My teachers were all aware of this, thanks to Frau Sheffield; she'd made me her own special project, and made certain that the rest of the staff knew I was to be given more leeway than usual. She wanted me sane, and strong, and resilient, and my gift was determined to defy her.

 

Moments blurred, vision flared, and I would find myself sitting in the clinic, a cold compress against the back of my head.

 

Other times I'd wake up in Sheffield's office, or my dorm room, or one awful time on Konnor's bed, the smell of brewing coffee strong enough to make me dizzy.

 

This wasn't working.

 

Donley offered, and I accepted his warmth, but nothing more. He'd hold me as I slept and dreamed and cried out in my sleep, and sometimes he would write down the things I said when I wasn't aware. He didn't promise me anything, because we both knew that Rosenkreuz invalidated all promises as a matter of course. But he was there, and he kept me saner than I might otherwise have been.

 

Our new dorm head, Rolf something-or-other, watched me cautiously from a distance. I had the feeling he'd wagered on my flipping out and was waiting to collect. He had orders to contact Frau Sheffield, then medical, then General Schoenberg if anything happened to me - in that order.

 

Once upon a time, my teachers and the librarian would have sent me to the school nurse, where she would have called my mama to come pick me up. Once upon a time, their biggest concern was that I'd break my glasses or sprain something in gym class. Once upon a time, I was not a cur, but a human being.

 

“Hey, Crawford.” Donley ground out his cigarette and sat next to me, draping an arm around my shoulders. “You don't look so good.”

 

I looked at him, and the tears just flowed. I couldn't explain why, or make them stop. It was as if the entire past two years folded in on top of me, burying me in a life I didn't want.

 

For the first time in my life, I wished I could just die - but I had the awful feeling that those who died within these walls remained trapped here forever. I didn't believe in an afterlife, or angels, or any of that, but I did believe in ghosts, and a tiny superstitious part of me almost believed in damnation, if only because Rosenkreuz fit the description of it so very well. My throat closed up and I sobbed wretchedly, clinging to Donley and wishing he were my brother.

 

I wanted so very much to go home, to see my family one more time.

 

Maybe if I was good, did what they wanted me to do, I'd be allowed to go back one day.

 

The vision rolled over me, warning me against that line of thought. If they sent me to recruit my baby sister, I would shoot her, and then myself. It was that simple.

 

“Do I need to call someone?” Rolf Pederson asked, his voice crisp and cool.

 

I looked around, confused. When had I -?

 

“Crawford, you okay?” Donley asked, holding me cautiously at arm's length and searching my eyes.

 

My hackles rose and lingered at alert. Had that been a vision? Had I lost time again? I looked down at my watch, checked first the time and then the calendar.

 

Last I'd known, it was the twelfth of December.

 

I tried to bite back a laugh, but choked on it instead. Fresh tears fell as I struggled to breathe around the mad giggles that refused to stop.

 

“I'm fine, Don. Merry fucking Christmas.”

 

 

 

A/N:

Here, said she,

Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor,

(Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!)

 

“The Waste Land” - T.S. Eliot

 

Frau Sheffield has become Bradley's only real anchor to reality, now that Julian is gone. Bradley instinctively doesn't trust Konnor enough to rely on him, and besides, the man isn't a precognitive. There are things he can never understand.

 

The problem is, Bradley's gift doesn't seem to want an anchor…