Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Standing Outside the Fire ❯ 23 ( Chapter 23 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow

Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,

You cannot say, or guess, for you know only

A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,

And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,

And the dry stone no sound of water.

A sigh, a whisper…

“Brad…”

“Bradley…”

“Bradley…”

I woke with a start. Again. As I'd done for six days straight now.

Fumbling my glasses into place, I reached for my notebook to scribble down my dreams before they faded completely into the past. A vague paranoia demanded that I not be too specific in my writings; this journal would be seen by Frau Sheffield at the least, and there were some things I didn't feel safe setting down in ink.

Things like a red-haired man with the Devil's own smile, an albino who would hold my conscience when it became too heavy, and a boy who could move the ocean.

I didn't understand these visions, these dreams, but they repeated until I finally gave in and accepted that they seemed to be true. It didn't make sense, though. I was destined for a desk job, I'd been told so numerous times by both Sheffield and Konnor.

But in my dreams, I was a field team member. Maybe even their leader.

I didn't write that part down.

Then the headache kicked in. I pulled out the box of aspirin and tried to summon up enough spit to choke them down. They burned, and my eyes watered; I folded half a dozen tablets inside a scrap of paper and stuffed it in my pocket. This was going to be one of those days.

Before heading out to my classes, I made sure I had my hall pass from Frau Sheffield. It allowed me safe travel anywhere in the class buildings or Administration, so I could excuse myself to the clinic or to my mentor's office should the pain get too great. I remembered faintly that I'd gone to Konnor one afternoon after that awful time back in December, and woken up eight days later in Frau Sheffield's office.

More clearly I remembered the worried look in Konnor's eyes, and the taut line of Frau Sheffield's jaw.

I was falling apart.

And everyone knew it.

And we were all powerless to stop it.

I heaved a sigh and finished dressing, pushing through the fog of pain in my head and trying to ignore the flickers of Sight that hovered at the edge of my awareness like phantoms. My gramma wasn't crazy, and neither was my mom; I had their strength in me, and the strength of the land from my father.

I was terrified. I wasn't broken enough to just accept the madness as it came for me, and I almost wished I was. It would be so much easier to slip away if only I had no hope left. Something inside of me refused to surrender, prolonging the torment, making me count the minutes until time came undone for good.

They will never take my team alive.

My fingers fumbled at the buttons on my jacket, mismatched a set and had to rebutton them.

“Don't answer it! If you don't answer, it's not real.”

“I remembered your phone number.”

The steel is cold as I put the muzzle of his gun to my forehead and his eyes fill with tears. “I'm sorry, Bradley. I…I can't.”

“Que horas são?”

“Bradley?”

“Huh?” I blinked, more disoriented than I could say.

Shelton Grant set a cup of tea in front of me. It smelled of lemons and spice. His eyes regarded me with no small amount of concern. “Did you have a pleasant trip?”

“No, sir,” I whispered, lifting the cup with trembling hands. “May I have some water, please? I need to take some aspirin.” I didn't recognize my own voice. It sounded flat, like an actor pretending to be from nowhere.

Mr. Grant sighed and sat down opposite me. He rubbed at his own temples as though sharing my pain. “You already took two tablets about twenty minutes ago, give it a few to settle in. Too much of that can wreak havoc on your blood. I shall have to contact your primary instructor, Bradley. She may be pushing you too hard.” He shook his head, frowning. “This is ridiculous. I am watching a perfectly good precognitive go to waste for mismanagement, and a decent boy besides. I shall put in my recommendation that you be transferred to Berlin or Prague, for proper training.”

My heart leaped for joy. Prague! Julian was at Prague, if I could go there -

I would never meet the red-haired man with laughing eyes, or save the starving child, or learn the truth behind the fire.

I swallowed. “Thank you, sir, but I don't think that will happen. All my visions have me staying here, and they feel like they're right.” As much as I hated to admit it, there was a sense of fate involved, and it did not intend for me to go to Prague.

Berlin, however, was uncertain…

A slender man with sandy brown hair and a wide smile, the red-haired man in an officer's uniform, the boy in the red shirt…

Time bent, splintered. Were these possible futures? Was that what I had been seeing, dreaming, living in a sleepwalk state?

“Sir?” I glanced up, intending to ask Mr. Grant what he thought about the visions.

Donley snorted a laugh. “Get a grip, Crawford! I don't outrank you. Yet.”

I lay back on my cot and surrendered to the madness.

A/N: