Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ When Blood Soils One's Hands ❯ The Pendulum Swings ( Chapter 8 )

Disclaimers : Sniff… Why? Oh why can't I own Weiss Kreuz? Just for one day, an hour, a minute… Pweez!!! Alright, alright! I don't own it and never will. *goes of pouting*.

Title: When Blood Soils One's Hands

Author: Black Mirror (stone_devil_666@hotmail.com)

Pairings : Just wait and see! I'm not gonna spoil the fun.

Summary: A mission goes wrong, teenagers from a certain school start missing, love is refused… welcome to Weiss!

Type: Angst and Romance

Rating: PG-13

Status: Work in progress

Warnings: YAOI!!! Partial child-rape, blood, murder… All those lovely things we like. Don't say I haven't warned you! Oh! And there might be bad language. Yes, I've made Ken swear. }:p Oh, Raven is mine and I would beg you not to steal him. If you like him enough to steal him, I'll let you borrow him. I also add that some of the torture will be referring to the catholic religion. I hope no one sees that as an inconvenience. Now, stop reading this and stroll down to the fic. }:)

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When Blood Soils One's Hands

Chapter VIII

The Pendulum Swings

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// One thing I don't know why

It doesn't even matter how hard you try

Keep that in mind I designed this rhyme

To explain in due time all I know

Time is a valuable thing

Watch it fly by as the pendulum swings

Watch it count down to the end of the day

The clock ticks life away it's so unreal

Didn't look out below

Watch the time go right out the window

Trying to hold on but didn't even know

Wasted it all just to watch you go

I kept everything inside and even though I tried

It all fell apart

What it meant to me will eventually be a memory of a time when

I tried so hard //

In the End / Linkin Park

~*~

For a person who didn't hate computers, I was starting to be pretty discouraged, infuriated and pissed off. After three straight hours in front of the same unlocked password, my eyes were dangling out of their sockets and my mouth hung open, chin resting against the keyboard. I had to get some more Tylenols before my head went from the pounding stage to the exploding one. I swear this was like a minor concussion case: I was going to die of brain swelling while Aya and Yohji were enjoying their pleasant stroll. Welcome all to the life of the unwanted little me. Though I do understand you must take note of the circumstances in which the scenario is displayed and this one seemed good enough for the insignificant little me to be completely rejected and forgotten. Don't you start thinking I'm being egocentric. I'm just tired and pissed. That's all!

Again, I turned to the computer screen trying to see through my glassy vision and half-closed eyelids. This was hell! I needed Omi. I know a few tricks, but hacking the central police security network. . . I mean give me a break. I remember having followed Yohji when he duplicated the system, but the password changes regularly so it wouldn't help to keep it written down. I had the user name in hand -it was actually marked on my hand- : N. Sakawa. Now, what could that damn password be.

With fists jammed tight, I rubbed my eyes and yawned wide-mouthed. I didn't even bother to politely cover my mouth. Who was there to see me anyhow. I then stretched a little and backed the chair. Shifting all my weight to my arms which rested on the computer desk, I slowly got up and stretched again. Don't you just feel totally relaxed after a good session of stretching? Well, that's when I'm at my best.

I walked towards the kitchen, making my way through the many pots and plants that had been placed any old how on the floor. It was raining outside again and Aya hadn't found any better place to set the one's that usually remained outside. There usually weren't that many customers when it rained and so I decided to close the shop early to go work on retrieving Omittchi. One hell of a good job I'd done! I was at the point zero. I hadn't moved at all since the beginning of the game. This sucked and I was utterly pissed.

I heard a few voices approaching the front door -voices that I soon recognized as Yohji's and Aya's. Well, at least they were back earlier than I thought they'd be. Makes more company to be around -though you may think I don't enjoy Yohji's company all that much, it is `entertaining' to engage verbal fights every second or two.

All attention drifting off to those two voices, I didn't even realize the aquarium screensaver that filled the screen. I was trying to make out what they were saying, but the muffled sounds were practically impossible to decipher. I did manage to hear some of the things Yohji babbled on and on about when he started hiking the few stairs that lead to the front door. Still, since every word wasn't clear, I couldn't make out what the `oh-so-interesting' subject was about. I remember hearing:

"-and then. . . that. . . would you. . . I wouldn't- . . . "

Very precise in his descriptions isn't he? Alright, so those I merely bits and pieces of sentences. I didn't get a chance to pick on him of the entire night, I have a right to start whenever I want. . .

There was one thing though that I do remember hearing clearly:

"Hey Aya, you should check this out."

Then. . . everything was surprisingly silent. I know Aya isn't the great talker, but from Yohji's voice, he seemed to be showing him something of actual interest. I wondered what-

Curiosity yet again getting the better of me, I tiptoed to the front door and opened it silently. Trying to mask my fatigue with a broad grin, I exclaimed:

"Care to share the `hey Aya, you should check this out' discovery?"

I crossed both arms over my chest and still never received and answer. All I did get was a thrown rectangular object. Black, rectangular, light. . . yes, you could have guessed. The tape.

The way I make it sound it's like I'm introducing an old, cliché, black and white horror movie or something, but I don't know if it is possible for you to understand the full extent of this `arrival'. Minutes, perhaps even hours of seeing Omi suffer. Now that he was awake, who knew what they'd been doing to him. Unconsciously, I'd been dreading this moment yet anxiously awaiting it all at once.

I could feel the shock overcoming me. I wondered why for I knew that this moment would come. We'd learned as much in the last video tape that had been sent to us. It was late at night, dawn was merely seven to eight hours away. Both hands holding the tape as if it were a precious treasure, I didn't know what to do, how to act, what to say. What could I say? Is there a single sentence that could fit in such a devastating and overpowering situation. Again, for the millionth time, I felt hopeless and utterly useless. Useless: that must be the feeling I fear the most. I dread it. Something happens and you know you can't do anything about. Just sit and try to relax whilst all tumbles to the ground. Just watch with unblinking eyes as all turns into abyss. Your eyes void of expression.

The notion of time slowly slipping away hit me with its full force yet again and I moved towards the VCR and television.

//Time is a valuable thing

Watch it fly by as the pendulum swings

Watch it count down to the end of the day

The clock ticks life away it's so unreal //

How truthful. . .

"Hey, Kenken" I wondered why Yohji would use that dumb nickname at a time like this. Maybe, just maybe, was he as terrified as I but his eternal self-image would not allow such a thing as worry to remove the masks of the perfectly brainless blond playboy. Maybe, just maybe, was he just another afflicted one of use. Maybe, just maybe… "Aren't ya gonna pop it in or something?"

I searched his voice, looking for a hint of worry, of distress, but found none. His mask, I had always known, was diamond strong.

Noticing I wasn't moving from my position anymore, trapped up in my own thoughts, Aya moved forward and stole the tape from my hands. He slid it into the VCR's slot and went back to lean against the wall. I wasn't sure I really wanted to see this. Did I really?

I sat on the carpeted floor, remembering what had happened last time. Well, it wouldn't happen twice if I could help it. For the few first minutes, the tape displayed nothing. The screen was completely covered in black and fuzzy shadows of gray.

I was left to ponder. Was the tape broken? Would we have no news of Omi? And though I remembered being uncertain as to watch the tape or not, I knew I had to. I had to have news of Omi. I had to know everything wasn't as bad as I had first thought. Omi was fine. They would soon simply say they want a certain amount of money, which I would gladly give them.

Manx's report soon came back to me with a great blow I wasn't certain I could handle:

"The reason we were able to relate these victims together was mostly because of tapes. This sect is known to send tapes to exhibit their actions. In one of them, the Raven claims: `We are on a mission for God. Well now, doesn't that make you helpless'. These aren't ordinary killers, they say God sends them images of how he wants the victims to be tortured. They also have precise descriptions of the boy they have to look for."

I had to face the facts: Omi wasn't going to be alright until we found him and brought him back here, home with us, where he belongs. I wondered why my feelings for Omi were so strong. Probably because he'd been a best-friend and probably also the image of the little brother I'd never had. I'd always cherished Omi this much, though some may think of it as unusual. He had always been very dear to me.

Unconsciously, both of my hands reached to my chest, over my heart. I don't remember how long I remained in that position because at that exact point something else came to my attention. Something that I could not simply ignore. Something I knew would probably render me restless. Someone appeared on the television screen. I knew who he was and I knew of his little game. I knew everything apart from one detail: I did not know what to do. . .

"Hell. . . o to you all again. Now a short notice before I begin this very dramatic motion picture: remember not to sit too close to the television, it may damage your sight."

I was taken aback by the comment and, even in this dark room, I could still make out that Yohji seemed as intrigued as I. We were all left to wonder if he was simply insane or if it was a well-thought-out show he was putting on. We were left without an answer. That seemed to be happening a lot lately.

Yohji backed away from the screen a little, not knowing what to expect.

"Well, now that we've got that settled, why don't I tell you what have been the main events happening here. First of all, your dear little friend did not wake up yesterday. He stirred all night but didn't dare open his eyes until this morning. He ws awake for a second or two and then back to sleep. Must have had a miscalculation when brewing the soporific. How sad, you now children you can die if you absorb a too great amount of sleeping drugs. You kids shouldn't try this at home."

What was coming over him? Yesterday he had seemed overly sexual and down-right mystically gothic. The kind of guy who'd had fun shooting trespassing cats with his GI Joe shotgun. You know, the taboo kind that would keep their eyeballs in jars. Blues with the blues and yellows with the yellows. And now, he just seemed completely insane in a weird kind of way. Well, when you're insane, you usually are weird, but you know what I mean, right?

"He's just waking up now. He has lovely eyes, doesn't he? Like an endless sea of sapphires glowing under the silver moonlight of a full orb. Rare are those who actually have this type of flawless and accurate blue, not just an imitation. Blue, what was the meaning of blue? I don't seem to remember."

He picked up a huge book that seemed to have been stolen from a museum; it seemed ancient. Again, I was left to ponder on his actions, but Yohji was to one who spoke up -though he did not say anything useful and I am growing tired of useless comments:

"What the hell is wrong with this psychotic lunatic?"

His index following his fast reading, you could see him flip through the pages with care and attention. I took this short lapse of time to look around him. The same setting as yesterdays. Nothing had change, or so I thought. I couldn't tell for sure, because the room was as empty as the previous. The one thing I did recognize was the lighting and the small window. They were the same.

"Here it is!" Raven exclaimed, "the meaning of blue. Personal culture, you know. Blue: color symbolizing the spirit and curing, recovery. Well he'll be needing that, though I doubt he'll ever get a chance to recover." He laughed. A lone laugh I knew I'd easily grow tired of hearing.

"Want to know the meaning of black? I am sure you do. Now, where was it. I had my finger on it earlier. Ah! There you are. . . " I remembered him doing the same thing in search of a tattoo. His repetitions were irritating me. Purposely or not, they were.

"Black: color of the chastisement and communication with the dead. Symbolizes the end. Well, now, how appropriate."

He paused and I wondered why. I'd been wondering so much that I had completely forgotten about my headache. At least, as far as that goes, I am a cured man!

"Well, now I'm sure you all attended school and don't need me as your tutor so what not skip all this and get every down to the more interesting stuff. Why don't we see how our little kitten's awakening is going so far? But, of course, we'll make sure he doesn't know we're filming all this. It could compromise my plans."

I unconsciously spoke aloud my thoughts:

"How is Omi not going to notice the camera? They're practically impossible to miss."

"Not if it's miniature" Yohji answered. "It could be the size of a pen and no one would ever notice it."

I nodded and didn't dare speak again. The glares Aya had been throwing my way when I had verbalized my thoughts were comprehensible enough to know he wanted my trap shut.

"You see, we are going to test your little bishounen's honesty and honor. Let's see how long he can hold his tongue."

Not knowing what to think, I simply watched in awe as two `men' dressed from head to toe in capes dragged the infamous cross in the room. I wondered at first if Omi had already awakened or not, but when I saw his head toss to the side, my question was resolved. The camera made a close-up on his face which mostly seemed void of emotion. He seemed a little lost and confused, but either than that, he didn't even seemed pained by the nails which held him tightly pinned to the wooden fixture. His head tossed from one side to the other, having no support excluding the small plank which seemed rather uncomfortable. Though almost awake, his eyes remained closed. He frowned, his eyesbrows nearly touching. He opened his mouth and panted. It seemed the pained was finally catching up with him.

"Well now, kitten, how about showing us those wonderful eyes."

Again, a frown deformed Omi's angelic features. He seemed to be trying to identify the unknown voice. After all, he had only heard it once when delivering the flowers.

"Wh-who?" he asked shakily.

Raven smirked. There was this sentence that seemed to be written all over his face, betrayed by his grimace: `this is going to be fun'.

"Why, don't you recognize me, little kitten? Come on, I'm sure you can pick a guess."

Slowly, Omi opened his eyes, taking in his surroundings in a glimpse. His eyes widened when he noticed he was not familiar with this gloomy environment. He turned to the speaker and his breathing seemed to accelerate. He must have identified him at that moment as the man who had asked for the flower arrangement.

"Let's see now. Care to take another guess?"

Omi gasped but did not answer.

"Yes, little boy, that is correct. I am your worst nightmare."

This got me confused. I wondered at first what he meant by that and then it clicked: worst nightmare as in the worst man who would ever lay hands on him. And you can believe me when I say that he would repay for everything he did to him. I would make him pay double, even triple.

"I would like some information."

Omi tried to free his hands, but that only ended up hurting him even more -or so his expression silently stated.

Raven moved forward, advancing, getting progressively closer and closer to Omi. He bent down until he reached his height. The cross had been laid on a table and so the black-clothed fool kneeled on the filthy ground. He proceeded by moving his lips and slithering tongue nearer to the blond boy's ear. He grabbed his ear lob between his teeth and whispered just loud enough for us to hear:

"I would like to know where you've hidden the body. Where have you buried Arosaki."

A new, Omi's eyes widened, doubling there size -alright I tend to exaggerate. And, though the freak continued to lick his ear, exploring every bit of it, Omi's mouth remained shut. Like all of us, he would rather die than give the enemy any sort of information. That is, I have to admit, what scared me the most. We knew what this `sect of the charred dove' was capable of and I knew for a fact that none of us could bare to lose him. Not even Aya.

"That gothic freak is only after Arosaki!" Yohji yelled in rage. "What the hell would he want a dead body for. What does all this have to do with Omi's torturing?"

Seeing that bastard harass Omi like that made me want to jump up and punch him in the face. In this situation and with this conditions, I would probably end up cutting my hand after smashing right thru the television screen, but the guilt and the repulse that filled me was greater than all I had ever felt. Be it Omi or any other `not-yet-eighteen-year-old-boy-or-girl', these manners were disgusting. I felt I boiling rage explode in my guts and I balled both of my hands in fists. I could feel my nails dig into my palms, but I couldn't care less. There seemed to be an invisible tension that had seized control of my entire body, one I could not order around. I pressed my lower and upper jaw together, trying to calm my nerves by doing so, but nothing did it.

"Fuck! If I knew what that sadistic creep was I'd tell him myself. Why does he get so work up with this dead guy's corpse. Who gives a damn!"

"Yohji," Aya replied in a cold tone "if we knew where he was we wouldn't tell him where Arosaki is-"

A look of questioning appeared on his face which I knew must have been imitated perfectly on mine. I don't think Aya should be aloud to live in the same world as very sane people. I'm not too sure it's all correctly working up there in that little red head of his.

"Yohji, if we knew where he was, he'd already be dead."

Now that's more like. Aya can now be surely taken off the `to go to the asylum' list. Though I recommend he stays on Santa-Claus' black list. Yeah, it suits him much better.

I opened my hands and noticed eight small cuts in the palm of my hands, five of which were surrounded by small beads of crimson-red blood. I would turn him into pulp.

"Now, now, don't be shy. Tell uncle Raven where you and your little boy friends hid the body."

Pressing on, he moved his lips along Omi's neck, leaving small bite marks along the way. I bit my lower lip in hatred. Yes, I would turn him into pulp!

Two frivolous hands reached for the border of his shirt and slowly, playfully moved it upwards. Dark red nails traced along his ribs and child muscles, leaving red mark behind them, a reminder of their passage that would soon dissipate.

Again, Omi gasped and his back arched as much as it could with his captive hands as warm teeth nibble at his nipple. A teasing tongue left trails of saliva where it wondered.

"Come now, we are all anxious to know."

Omi panted, not able to control the sudden heat that seemed to be affecting him greatly. I couldn't believe this. All I wished was for Omi to talk. To say betray us all. Who would give a damn anyhow; Arosaki was dead. Who would care?

The one and only thought that kept hunting my mind mostly went like this: is he going to rape him? True, he was on to a good start, but no one could be that cruel, right? I couldn't believe I was having these thoughts. I remembered chasing after rapists hundreds and thousands of times. I knew they existed, yet I didn't know. . . well, I mean. . . this couldn't really happen to someone you knew. I'm not sure you understand what I mean, but everything you see on the news, the deaths, the suicides, the harassments, all the victims had friends and family. And all those people must have thought the same thing: this can happen to another, but not to us. Well, I think you have to live it to understand it. I guess, living the drama is different then listening to it. I just can't put it into words. The closes `expression' I've found to summarize it is: this is fucking hell. Yah ,pretty drastic, I know.

I gazed at the television with both eyes opened wide and unblinking. When I turned my attention to the VCR I noticed it displayed how long we'd been watching the tape. I couldn't believe my eyes: an hour and a half. What could have taken so long?

Just then the screen went utterly black. Slowly, one by one, eight letters appeared on the bottom of the screen; c-e-n-s-o-r-e-d.

I repeat: this is fucking hell. And welcome in the middle of it.

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