Carmine Butterflies

.

.

.

CHAPTER 1

.

.

It was agreeable that St. John's was perhaps the most successful and well run boarding school in all of the United States of America. What with its impenetrable towers, strictly watched security, whitewashed walls and white-collar personnel. In fact, it could very well resemble some kind of tightly run prison for those who were a menace to society. Truth of the matter was, it wasn't that far off from being one.

To the world, St. John's was just that. A school for the rich and well polished, since that's where most of their kids were sent off to. However, those who did have 'students' within the guarded walls knew the unsettling truth; in perspective, sometimes they knew too much for the wards' liking. The word prison was but an understatement.

Hollow echoes of heeled work shoes against linoleum floors bounced off the white walls but were drowned out by a sea of sounds much more disconcerting. Sounds that put a chill to the bones like some clichéd horror movie; predictable but causing a serious case of anxiety nonetheless. Rattling keys were agitated a bit more in order to fruitlessly flush out the enraged howls of the 'gifted children'. The questions that were asked night after night never lost the gut-wrenching feeling they brought along, no matter how repeated they were. Claims of innocence and injustice were declared signs of unbidden dementia, and some were, the great majority. But others, such as the 'student' in room number 07041776 were indeed unjustly locked up in that hellhole they called a school.

The ward unlocked the 'room' door and signaled the 'student' to follow. A routine checkup was in agenda for the lucky young man, sort of like a physical. If one would call a shot of vitamins and another of sedatives a checkup. But as the pleasant and pliant boy he was, he followed without question. Questions always went unanswered anyway, so it would have just been a waste of breath and saliva. 'Don't be ungrateful, count your blessings' were about the only answers they were ever graced with. He knew he didn't deserve to be there. It was all a repetitive nightmare that had no end and no beginning. Not a memory as to how he got there and without hope of ever getting out. At least it was a decent place. He had a bed, a jacket that kept the cold air-conditioning at bay, though he could do without having his arms strapped, three meals a day, an occasional visitor he never saw and television on weekends if the others behaved. Never mind if it was some boring educational programming, anything was better than looking at white padded walls twenty-four-o-seven.

He didn't listen to the moans and agonized sobs that reached him as he walked by the 'rooms'; looking straight at the inhabitants through the steel-barred 'doors' as they writhed and wept, begging for freedom and for someone to just listen to them without declaring them insane. When one has lived all their life in that place, it teaches you to ignore the decaying mental states of the students, the prisoners, the patients.

Patients. That's what they truly were. Some more than others, but patients all the same. They all got the same treatment; they all were declared mentally unstable. The majority lost their minds months after they were locked up without reason or explanation; others were crazy to begin with. Every other month a new 'student' was brought in, and that was when the usual quiet was severely interrupted. They eventually learnt to calm down and accept their fate, but their subconscious, their dreams, dictated otherwise as they wailed hysterically in their sleep… It was always the screams for 'mommy' that got to him, because it always made him wonder without failing.

Did his mother choose to send him there? Was she cold and bothered by his presence? Was she caring and gentle; was he ripped away from her mercilessly and thrown into the cell that had now been his home for the past seventeen years? Or was it his father? Was it really their choice to lock him away from the world? Did he do something unwanted as a child? Was he an unwanted or accidental child? Was it him? Was it her? Was it him? Why? Why? WHY?

Questions, questions and more questions. Unanswered, ignored, irrelevant. No matter how much he begged, no matter how much he threatened. No matter how much he kicked and screamed and cried like a newborn child. Nothing. There was always nothing; never nothing. No, not all the patients arrived insane, but they did a damn good job at breaking them.

He shouldn't think. He'll stop thinking the moment they give him the shot, it always worked at keeping his nightmares at bay; all except one. Bile began to form in his throat; skinny wrists trembled in the too large cuffs, making an eerie sound all too fitting for the atmosphere. The ward beckoned for him to hurry. A breakdown was the last thing he needed after a long and trying day with the rest of those loons. The man led the boy down a long, windowless corridor, a single door resting at the end. With every step they took, the door seemed father away like some kind of distorted nightmare. "You know the rules; I don't have to run you by them, do I?"

The boy shook his head. He knew them well. Be quiet, take what is given, don't bite the nurses, do what you are told and don't ask questions. All rules were always followed under one condition, that his nurse was the one to tend to him. No one else. Blue eyes looked at the door, blindly read the sign above it with a grimace. St. John's Asylum. Not School or Home, but Asylum. It was an office accessed only by the personnel and the 'students', not the visitors, hence the name in display. He couldn't really see the sign, since his glasses had been removed years ago after a small incident and his eyesight wasn't all that good. But that place never changed; it was still there, he was sure of it. Haunting and mocking its visitors.

A loud creaking made him stare blankly at the now open door, and there stood a woman, gently smiling up at him as she gestured him to enter.

His nurse was kind, or as kind as she was allowed to be when all staff members were to be emotionally distant. She had been the one to care for him since he had arrived at that place at a tender age; the woman had been thrilled and saddened. No infant had the right to be locked up in some mental institution. "Good evening, Alfred. How are you feeling today?" She wasn't expecting an answer and it never came. The young blonde, Alfred, hadn't spoken in Heavens knew how long. "You should really work on those social skills, darling. You'll forget how to speak if you keep this up." The woman tried her best to at least get some kind of reaction, but a zombie had more life in it than the boy. Shame really; the young man was extravagantly handsome. With eyes blue enough to rival the sky outside those infernal walls and hair as gold as the very sun, although faded with the lack of life.

It was when she leaned in to cup the boy's cheek that another nurse chastised her. "Elizaveta. Don't." The male nurse gave her a steady glance through his small spectacles before continuing with his duty of setting out the correct medication needed. His wife might have been a rough bitch with the world around her, but she was always a sucker for weak little children, even when they were children no more.

"Oh, hush you. Come along now, up on that scale you go." Elizaveta escorted Alfred through the usual; checking his height, weight, taking a few blood samples and as a reward, offering him a lollipop. It was a taboo to do so, but one little dose of sugar wouldn't kill him. Hooking up the young man to a machine in order to check his heart rate, she took the opportunity that her husband had wandered off into the next room to talk a bit more freely. "He came to pay you a visit again, that man." The monitor kicked up for a few seconds before resuming undisturbed again. "I offered him access to the main floor, but he refused again. He's a strange one, I tell you. Never wants to see you even when he sacredly comes year after year…"

Blue eyes followed her as he moved across the room. His elusive visitor that would always remain a mystery. Never left a name, snuck by security undetected, not even the security cameras caught a glimpse of him. Only Elizaveta and a small handful of other nurses had seen him, but they always refused to describe him. There's no way to do so, they said time after time. Curiosity was what kept Alfred from losing it, hoping that one day the man would come and whisk him out of that place no matter who he was.

The checkup went by fairly quickly, to his dismay. Padded walls and a cold bed were things he didn't want to be surrounded by at the moment. Having actual humans as company, no matter how 'professional' it was, was much better than disturbed solitude. The liquid that had just been pumped into his veins promised him a dreamless slumber for the next few days, which was about the only good thing he could get out of it. By the time he would shake the effect off, it would be the weekend. Hopefully no one would misbehave.

As the boy was being escorted back to his cell, numb and dragging his feet, an uneasy Elizaveta stood at the doorway, biting at her nails as she watched him. Her husband joined her eventually, looking worried at her reaction. "What is it?"

"Roderich… Is it normal for someone to have a good heart when all they have is legumes, cabbage and milk three times a day?"

The male nurse was taken aback by the question. Thinking for a moment as he adjusted his glasses over the bridge of his nose. Her question made no sense, really. "I suppose so. How come?"

"Look at this." The woman took out the printed results of the heart monitor and traced them with her delicate fingertips. "It's impossible for someone who does no physical activity whatsoever to have such a strong heart. He's in perfect health."

Roderich walked over to the files cabinet and rummaged through the records, taking out a beige manila folder and flipping through it. "His record's clean. He's never had any kind of condition; why would he having a strong heart make you uneasy?" Light-colored eyes stared at the woman for a moment, before returning to further study the file.

"I didn't say it made me uneasy… but it's unnatural."

"He's young; young people have stronger vitals than your average adult. It's perfectly normal, Elizaveta. Now, forget about that and let's get this place ready for our next patient." Roderich slipped the folder back into the file cabinet and locked it, safely placing the key back on the desk.

Later that night, Alfred lost all hope of watching any television on the weekend. Of all times, a newcomer was brought in kicking and screaming injustice. Judging by the foreign language, the new kid wasn't even American. So they were going global now, how wonderful. Education was a rarity, ironically enough for a place referred to as a school, but that didn't mean he was some stupid analphabet. He greedily ate whatever books he was rarely given and was pretty good in history and science. Math and languages was a dead zone though. He tried to make out anything of what the other was saying, but nothing struck him. Maybe it was Spanish…?

Time ticked by, and all hopes of sleeping were also vanished. It was to be expected really, but there was no worse a feeling than practically falling over from sleep, and not be able to. The drugs were pumping through him mercilessly; fogging his mind and making him see multicolored lights in front of his eyes. Sitting up on the bed, Alfred curled up with his knees to his chest and resorted to the only thing he could do. Pray.

At least, what he thought praying was. If complaining and repeating the same questions over and over again was the right way, then good. This time, however, not only did he ask the questions, but he also politely asked for the answers to them. He also gave thanks for the lollipop Elizaveta had given him. Once he was done, he lay down and curled up into a fetal position to try and get some shut eye. Then he remembered. Sitting up again, he joined his hand in front of himself again, he had almost forgotten. Please keep the stranger safe… Unusual was an understatement; but it would be no good if something bad were to happen to the only person who came to visit him. What if he was the only family he had? The thought shook him to the core.

Through the sedatives, he could feel the anxiety rising. At times like those, he would normally reach for the only thing he had belonging to his forgotten past; a small, silver crucifix that hung from a thin chain. But even that was removed with time… Especially when he had tried, various times, to end his life with it. It wasn't a pleasant memory, since with that came the straightjacket. Not that it was entirely bad; it had its pros and cons, one of them being the inability to scratch an itch. That was torture in itself. The consequences of your actions, they had told him. He had only frowned and sat still as they strapped him in.

"P-Please… let someone come… anyone…" Even his voice sounded foreign to himself. Too long had he been a good boy, being subjected to inhumane isolation from the world outside, he deserved some kind of enlightenment. Any kind.

Eventually the drugs took him under, but the slumber was far from being dreamless. Sceneries and sounds were familiar yet foreign to him, to the point where he couldn't discern what was a memory, a dream or a simple fantasy he had created for the sake of entertainment. The latter was discarded, in his disturbed but logical mind. No one could conjure up a world to the point where so many details were lucid yet elusive. It was too detailed of a setting, too precise. Where every orphan dreamt of a family of their own, of returning to their parents' arms and leading a happy life full of candy, balloons and warm beds, his subconscious showed him that mockery of a dream.

It wasn't him who ran down the cold stone corridors of some ancient fortress, lungs screaming for air to the point of hurting, but he saw himself there nonetheless. Granted a full view of the macabre spectacle about to begin. Torches cast shadows around the enclosed area, hiding creatures that escaped the imagination, lurking, closing in to strike at the precise moment. Fear did not exist in that realm, just an emotion so severe that it bewildered his human psyche; disabled him to move or fight, but he still moved on into the darkness.

Some kind of sound stood above all else. Impossible to hear to human ears, but it was still there. It rang within his head, altering emotions and beckoning him to lower his defenses, something he refused to do. It reached deep, too deep in him no matter how hard he tried to fight it, but it was necessary. A new world would be revealed to him if he accepted the silent invitation but there was no choice to make; the decision was made, and he would be forced to listen to that keen message being whispered inside his head. Frightening, alluring…

Light; swinging light. Slashing light that cut the darkness like a knife, a blade… a sword. Precise and measured movements caught and reflected small rays of light from an unknown source. Two lights now, but it was no longer that mellow feeling that continuously accompanied him through the dark. Danger was near; he was no longer safe; the dancing lights were the reflections of blades locked in a fight. He needed to run to safety, run to the stranger that was always but never there, waiting in the shadows. Alfred turned on his heels and ran, and this time, it was him running, feeling the chilling horror seeping into his bones.

Even with the absence of his glasses, he could see the changing walls around him, how they shifted and morphed into something else completely. There was no floor beneath him now, no ceiling, just the walls now impossible to see due to the multitude of people standing before them. People; people he couldn't discern. Faces protected by masks, some deformed and others completely featureless. But they were all looking at him; waiting, expecting, hateful.

He skidded to a stop when someone called out to him; a voice, two voices. He searched from where he stood, craning his neck in order to look over the multitude to no avail. He needed to get out, an escape, some sort of shelter from… from… the cold hands that were now resting on his tense shoulders. Long fingers squeezed and kneaded before slipping down the slender arms, pressing palm against palm, twinning fingers with obvious malicious intent. It disabled him to move. Cold, forced breath splayed across his suddenly exposed neck as a hand came to grab his chin, jerking his head to side in order to face the person, the thing, behind him. But blue eyes squeezed shut, tightly, before getting a glimpse.

"D-Deliver us… f-f-from evil!" Alfred tried to gasp out, but his voice had been robbed. Defenseless, hopeless and unable to call out for help. The dream, like so many times before, had turned into a nightmare; one he couldn't escape from. But then, hope dawned on him… Refreshing, forgiving, and willing to protect.

The stranger stood before him, both arms at his sides, one grasping a wicked sword, the other dripping with… with… blood. His protector; the only living… living… what? He wasn't among the living to begin with… No footsteps rang out as he approached with furious intent, as if he were merely hovering above the damp stones beneath his shoes.

Alfred would never see his face; never had the chance to for he was always ripped away from the scene at the nick of time. Only the eyes of his stranger remained with him until long after he woke… Eyes the color of…

Something cold smacked mercilessly onto his face, pulling him out completely with a startled cry. Gentle hands shook his shoulders hurriedly; his legs thrashing about violently as if on their own volition. He stopped instantly though, dumbfounded with himself when he noticed that he was no longer in his dream. Elizaveta was holding on to him, trying to keep him pinned to the bed as he whimpered and trembled, wide-eyed, as if he had seen the devil itself. As he stilled, Alfred gazed into the green eyes that looked so worriedly into his. Eyes so green… Green like his savior's… but never, nowhere near, as his. The stranger's eyes were a shade of green so deep that it set nature to shame. Yes, they were much, much deeper…

And much more powerful.

"… Answer me! What happened? Is everything alright? Do you feel sick?" It was then that Alfred registered his nurse speaking to him. Without a word, she yanked him to his feet and dragged him out of his cell and back towards the office where Roderich stared at her as if she'd gone mad.

"What are you doing? You know you can't—"

"I couldn't just leave him screaming like that!"

"You're going to end up getting us both fired, you madwoman! I ought to lock you up along with them!"

"Oh be quiet. I'll take him back as soon as I get him fixed up. Looks deep enough for stitches."

"I'll go fetch the jacket." Elizaveta turned a deadly glare to the brunette by her side, daring him to move a muscle. "If we don't strap him in, Heaven knows what else he'll do to himself. It's for his own good, darling."

The woman's frown deepened as she nodded. She escorted the young man to a large sofa, setting him down and fetching for some cotton and alcohol. Alfred winced when the cold substance slid across his cheek, burning wickedly, and it was then that he noticed the cut there. Must have scratched himself during the euphoria… Maybe the jacket wasn't such a bad idea. Better to be unable to scratch an itch than end up clawing his eyes out. "Huh, I guess stitches won't be needed after all." With the outmost care, she applied a small Band-Aid. "That must have been some nightmare."

Alfred graced her with a small nod, making her eyes go wide. That was perhaps the most emotion she had gotten out of him since he was a child. Curling his arms around himself, the blonde sighed, trembling softly as he gazed absently at the peach walls of the office.

"Promise not to tell a soul." Fine eyebrows knitted at that; she had his undying attention. "I'll get you some warm milk to help you sleep better; but you have to promise not to tell." Another nod, this one a bit more pronounced as he eased from his protective ball. "Excellent then. Wait here for a moment, I'll be right back." Looking both ways for any signs of Roderich, she slipped into their private little break-room when she didn't catch the slightest glimpse.

Blue eyes drifted shut for half a moment, sleep coming back with a vengeance, but he fought it back with all his might. Instead, he turned his attention to the small television set on top of the table. A smile made its way to his lips almost instantly, but it vanished just as quickly as it came. The change in music was pleasant, that was for sure, but his eyes and mind did not agree with that. Not only was the current song… well, frightening, but the man singing it was…

Him.

The man strode across the stage with slow, sensuous steps; a long, black trench coat fluttering every time he swayed his hips. He was menacing, imposing, intimidating… beautiful. Inhumanly beautiful. Then again, what did he know about beauty when all he saw were the same faces day after day. Alfred continued to watch, enraptured, as the performer propped a foot against a speaker, leaning over and taking the microphone stand with him, screaming into it. It was aggressive and dark, the song, but it was interesting. Of course, everything was always interesting when it was a first time, and this was the first concert he had ever seen.

Physically, he wasn't so sure. But it was the moment the cameras zoomed into the deathly pale face again that it hit him yet again, ripping his attention away from the screen. Those eyes… were the same eyes. It was him; the stranger, the man from his nightmare…! Terrified didn't even begin to describe how he felt right there and then.

Both Roderich and Elizaveta ran into the room when the boy began to scream near the point of hysteria. Impossible it was, trying to restrain him. He thrashed and wailed, gashed his nails against any surface he could find. His mind was torn between running away from the threatening aura the artist strutted and asking, prodding, desiring the pull the television close in order to look more closely. He opted for the latter when he dove forward, wanting to touch the screen; as if somehow he'd be able to touch the blonde man on some distant stage.

The nurses struggled to keep him still and quite, but they were failing miserably. Shouts and groans came from the cells, signaling that the other patients were getting restless as well. The situation was getting a bit out of control. Roderich attempted to wrestle the boy into the jacket while Elizaveta tried to hold him down, but he was too damn strong. To the point where it was shocking. At the end of his line, the male nurse did the only thing he could do. Reaching for the sedatives on the table, he drove it right into the vein on Alfred's neck, knocking him out almost instantly.

The following seconds seemed endless. As they gazed at the unconscious boy on the floor, Roderich immediately set to work in setting him into his straightjacket. "I told you. I told you! Now pray to God he doesn't OD!" Ire set into his amethyst eyes as he stormed out of the office, shouting at the other patients uncaringly.

Elizaveta was left behind to cry and shiver at the overwhelming emotions that began to settle in. For a moment there, she had been deathly frightened; had feared for her and her husband's life even. The boy was too strong for someone who ate little to nothing on a daily basis. Meat wasn't even on the menu, in fact; and the sedatives would have at least done something to knock him a notch down. But they didn't. The institution had done its job well, had cracked the boy beyond repair and if truth be told, something in her died that day.

Taking a subconscious step back, she broke down.

Calming Roderich down would be a hassle, the patients even a bigger one. Thankfully, she allowed her knees to give out once she was on the couch. No, it hadn't been the first time a situation had gotten out of control in her very hands, but there was this lingering feeling of hurt that came with this one as she stared down at an unconscious Alfred.

Turning to glare at the television, she wondered what had riled the boy up, and what she saw made perfect sense.

No; no it didn't make sense. At all. Yes, that was the man that paid a yearly visit to the boy; she was very well aware of whom he was and what he did for a living. One of St. John's biggest investors too, so practically everyone knew him. Apart from the legions of followers he had and all. Now, the part that didn't make sense, was the point that never had Alfred laid eyes on him. Never heard his music, his voice; never seen his face. She should know; she had been Alfred's unofficial guardian since the moment he was brought to those cursed walls. No one ever went in to see him; never did he get any letters, nothing. It was disconcerting in the least.

Decision made, she'd question the visitor a bit the next time he paid a visit. And she wouldn't allow him to leave until all suspicious had been cleared. She wanted answers and answers she'll get even if it killed her. That boy, originally, did not deserve to be there. He had suffered unjustly for reasons unknown to everyone in the staff, even the higher ups. That man had to know at least some part of the truth. Elizaveta would take the case in her own hands and she wasn't about to rest until she knew the truth and nothing but.

Might as well start out with the obvious. Locking the door to the main hall, she made her way as silently as possible to the file cabinet Roderich had rummaged through before. Fishing for the key on the desk, she slid it in place with trembling hands. Her heart beat loudly in her eyes as she hoped she wouldn't get caught and kicked out; God pray they wouldn't catch her. Finely plucked eyebrows raised in confusion for a moment. File after file she searched, and none of them had Alfred's name on it. She knew the majority of the patients there by name, so she discarded looking through those. Instead she opted to skim across those she didn't know, but none of them were a match. At the back, however, she found an unmarked file.

Bingo.

It wasn't helpful in the least. No date of birth, just the year, should be twenty that same one. No blood type, no city of precedence, no family, no clinical files besides the fact that he was allergic to aspirin… absolutely nothing. Just a name and no surname. Just Alfred. It was impossible. No institute would ever take someone in without a background, and that could only mean one thing. Someone high up did know what was going on, and by the cross hanging around her neck, she swore she'd get to the bottom of it.

.ccc

.

.

.

AN: I swore to myself that I would /NOT/ post two fics at once... and yet, here I go. Have a vampire AU; because I have a thing for them. :'D R&R is always welcome. ~