Cold Blood
He looked into the mirror. His forehead was glistening in sweat, his eyes were flashing with feverishness; anyone who stared at him in that moment could think he was sick, but he wasn't, his pale skin and the violent burn into his eyes wasn't because of a starting infirmity, but for a ended infirmity. An infirmity destroyed by him, finalized by him.
He looked at his hands, supported by the boudoir. His left hand was roughly closed, his knuckles were almost pale because of his grip; slowly, very slowly, he put his hand up and opened his fist with difficulty, he was so anxious, so excited and so happy… The fist opened, and he saw with great joy that thing hiding in it, an apparently simple, disposable, dispensable thing, but for him, it will always keep the most glorious memory of his life.
His lips smiled, tensed and trembling. His laugh wasn't as usual, it sounded like a dark, vibrating echo, a bestial and wild call sprouting from his bowels. The laugh became a horselaugh as his hands were ruffling his hair. He'd never felt so happy and alive.
-I'm free…-he murmured as he looked himself in the mirror. –I'm free… Oh dear God, I'm free!
He laughed, and laughed more… Oh, such a great happiness was that! He laughed until his ribs hurted, until he fell down, tired and smiling, on the floor. Tomorrow, he said to himself, he'll organize a picnic, a hunting party, a dinner worthy of one hundred kings, everything to celebrate the most desired, the sweetest victory.
-Why didn't I think of this before? –he said. –I've never felt so alive…
…
He wasn't sure how the idea came to his mind. Those last days he was under stress, with constant headaches and bad mood, without the will of play anything at his piano. The restlessness lasted for long insomnia nights and anxiety days; his best doctors couldn't but tell him they had not idea what was wrong with him…. Until the answer literally jumped onto his face.
-Austria! Be happy! The awesome me has come to visit you!
The voice, the steps, the mocking face, the laugh into his horrible red eyes… Of course, how didn't he think that? All that horrible summer he was fighting against him and just now he understood… Prussia.
Gilbert used to walk all by all the house, showing off with the gallantry of a King, feeling like the owner of the place, speaking with his known pomposity and with his so… so… shameless manners. He, Roderick, didn't know how or when the hate against the albino started to grow into his heart, but he truly wanted… kick him out of his house, or perhaps kill with a frying pan to his hateful "Gilbird", or rip off his beloved iron cross and throw it out of the window… But anytime he started to have those thoughts, he discarded it immediately. Fight against Gilbert was a mortal risk, and besides Roderick were an elegant, courteous and thorough gentleman, not a warrior or a murderer; the blood wasn't his business.
An afternoon, Roderick was trying to relax, reading a little book who Alfred gave to him. His insistence didn't let him say "no" when Alfred gave the book to him with his face full of joy. The author was from America's house, and he though Roderick would enjoy it. It wasn't true, but Roderick though he'd be rude if he refused the gift, so he accepted it. It was a good idea after all, that writer had fascinating ideas; some of his tales were very terrify and mysterious, but amazing. Specially, the tale about the black cat with just one eye made Roderick moved and shudder.
-Austria!
Two hands took the book away from him, Roderick saw Gilbert in from of him, browsing the pages as fast as he could.
-Gilbert, I beg you with all kindness… -he said. –Give me back that book now.
-No pictures… no margins… no nothing! Who wrote this, Arthur? I don't think so; he has more elegant things tan this…
Gilbert launched the book to the floor and started to walk away. Roderick lifted the book as the albino murmured:
-There are more awesome things on the sole of my boot than in that little book.
-Hmm… -Roderick took the book and sit back onto his couch, rereading to find the tale he was Reading. But he stopped on another title. It was composed for just three words, but there was something powerful, mysterious and supernatural in them, like a danger filled with adrenaline and passion. Roderick stared to read… once and one more time, tasting every Word, pausing with patience every dot, feeling how his heart was beating faster and faster as the tale was going, and he could stay forever reading it if his boss wasn't come to him, saying quietly:
-Austria, please… go to sleep. It's almost midnight.
But he couldn't sleep. Violent dreams, as no one he had before, took his mind and disturbed him; he used to wake up, gasping and nervous. Then, he lighted up a candle and started to read that tale again, and as he read more and more, the words and acts looked more real to him, and the conviction that the book was trying to say something to him appeared… but what?
He fought during a few days, trying to concentrate in other stuff like his piano, or writing, or riding his horse, but anytime something used to incomodate him.
Anytime he was riding, a huge and white horse appeared in front of him, and the one who was riding over his immaculate back was… Gilbert.
-A riding competition! Okay, Austria? Or are you afraid of lose as always? ¡Kessekessekesse!
Anytime he was writing, Gilbert appeared over his shoulder, Reading aloud:
-Dear diary, this afternoon I've been meditating, drinking a good cup of coffee… because I'm a complete loser! –and then he walked away, laughing -Loser! Loser!
Anytime he was playing the piano, Gilbert used to hit the keyboard with all his strength, until one day he hit a key so hard he broke the G major.
-Oh! I'm very sorry, Austria… -he murmured, trying to not laugh. –I'll ask West if he can give you a new piano… a much better piano than this old scrap… whatever, bye!
But Roderick didn't move. He was breathing brokenly, caressing the piano as a little boy who's touching his most beloved and dead pet. Gilbert… he was the cause of all that suffering, he was the guilty of any accident, any bothering, any injury…Furious, he walked onto is couch and took the Little book one more time, Reading again that tale who had obsessed him. He didn't notice that, anytime Gilbert already made him bother, he read the tale again, and then, his face turned red and his eyes blazed, and his heart throbbed faster and faster, like a war drum. Just like now.
It'd be wonderful, he though as he read the great climax of the story, if Gilbert disappeared. Disappeared from his life and the others forever. It'd be wonderful if… if he'd suffer the same destiny as the old man in that tale…
Roderick closed his eyes, breathing slowly. He recreated the scenario in his mind: the door of the room opened, letting in a little light from a lamp; over the bed, a little bulge was lying, with a horrible, red eye open. That eye made him mad, furious, and he wanted close it forever. Then, he left the light get into the room fully, and he saw there, lying on the bed, not the old man of the tale, but Gilbert, pale and scared, catched in the middle of the night. He Heard him Yell, but the scream just last one second, because Roderick launched over him, like in the tale and… and then, Gilbert stopped of move, and stared lying on the floor, with his eyes closed for the eternity.
Roderick gasped and opened his eyes. He was alone, and that was good because his forehead was soaked in sweat and his eyes blazed, with insanity. He'd never thought something like that in his whole life, but now… Now he understood. He finally knew what was the message of that tale.
He smiled. He smiled as never, with a sadistic, insane and happy smile.
Gilbert would die. His hours were numbered, and Roderick was his sandglass.
Roderick planned everything during one week. He spent his nights Reading books about murder, trying to find a good way of kill Gilbert without being discovered. The seventh night he had the plan, but not the weapon. He was thinking of that when a servant interrupted him.
-Herr Austria, the new strings for his violin has come.
-What? Oh, yes, of course.
He almost forgot that. Roderick opened the boudoir's drawer and took from it the broken string of his piano. He examine it with curiosity… it was a good string; Gilbert should have a great strength to broke it. He pulled the string with all his strength, but it didn't cede. It was a very, very strong string…
-Herr Austria!
-Yes, I'm coming!
Roderick saved the string into his pants pocket.
The eighth night came. Everything was silence and peace. There was just two sounds: the tic-tac from the clock…
And Roderick's beating heart.
He didn't spent all that nights just reading, but spying to the hateful Prussian. Thanks to that, he knew that all night, after midnight, Gilbert used to walk into the lounge to drink all the liqueur. That night, he was waiting for him, hiding into the shadows of the dark lounge, sitting at the piano, with his fingers suspender over the keys, waiting, waiting….
The soft steps of Gilbert sounded on the stairs. A few seconds later, Roderick knew the Prussian was close to the lounge, and then, he stared to play the piano. The Beethoven's Moonlight sonata sounded by the entire lounge, impregnating everything with his sad and dark rhythm.
-Mein Gott! –Gilbert shouted. –What is that?
The Prussian penetrated into the lounge. Roderick stopped to play and hid into the shadows, against the dark wall. Meanwhile, Gilbert was looking at everywhere, narrowing his eyes as possible. Roderick was looking at him; those red eyes made him furious, he knew the time was coming… but he hasn't a weapon. Now he'd have to improvise, and that would be a severe disadvantage. Nervously, the Austrian put his hands into his pants pockets, and he found in them a rough, hard and thin thing. The piano's string.
Gilbert stared in front of the piano. His fingertips caressed the keys carefully. He wasn't a coward, but that bizarre experience had not an explanation, and that didn't like to him at all. He swallowed,then ran a hand across his forehead to dry his sweat and pulled the collar of his military uniform, trying to remain calm. He didn't know why, but his heart was shivering, beating with violence against his chest. Behind him, Roderick heard his heartbeat too, and he knew, he felt the great moment was coming.
Gilbert's fingers pulled the keys, one by one, at the rhythm of the clockwise. His index finger pulled the G major, that didn't make any sound; he remembered that key was broken, but yet that abrupt silence was enough to make him moan, a restless and frightened moaning. That whimper was the signal Roderick was waiting for. The last molehill of Gilbert's sandglass was fallen. His hour has coming.
The moon hid into a dark cloud. The silence covered the atmosphere, and Gilbert, consumed with anguish, glanced behind him, looking at the darkness, and didn't give a rest to his eyes until the moon came back. Feeling the most precious relief, Gilbert sighed.
The next thing that happened was that, suddenly, he felt something rough and thin, like a leash, engaged to his throat and tighten around it.
He couldn't yell, just a weak and whistling squeal came from his mouth. A silent fight occurred in that moment. Gilbert fought a double battle, kicking as hard as he could and trying desperately to take the leash away and breathe. Behind him, Roderick stared calmed, quiet and serious, ignoring the kicking of his victim and pulling the string with both hands, trying to not break Gilbert's neck. He wanted kill him, but first, he'll make him suffer at least a small part of the desperation he has induced to him. Anytime he tightened the string a little more, hearing with joy the gags of his victim; suddenly, he found a great mirror just a few steps away from the place they was staring, and Roderick decided he wanted see Gilbert's face, so he pushed him with the elbows and made him stare in from of the mirror.
What Roderick saw filled his soul with crazed satisfaction: Gilbert was still kicking, but he was most concentrated in try to catch a breath. His eyes were wide opened, his fingers were trying to take the string out of his neck, he was gasping with his tongue out, and a trail of saliva was running down his chin; his face, blue and dislocated, completed the view. All his pride and arrogance was vanished, he just was there, choking by the underestimated hand of his enemy.
Gilbert gets horrified when he suddenly saw Roderick's face looking at him from behind, reflecting in the mirror. Almost breathless, he gasped:
-A…Austria?
-You though you could make anything you wanted, isn't it, Gilbert? –Roderick whispered. – You though you could take my cities and take over my house with impunity. I suffered through all this years the weight of your hand suffocating the life off of my land… Tell me, how does it feel when a most powerful hand is strangling you, as you're there, defenseless and vulnerable, until it takes away every drop of vital air?
-Austria… stop the joke… I can't breathe…
-No, Gilbert, this is not a joke. Welcome to the real world.
Gilbert stopped of kicking. His fingers, trembling, kept trying to break the string for a few more minutes; bit by bit, he stopped of shudder, his eyes unfocused, his last gasping died into his lacerated throat; but yet, Roderick pressed the string a little more. Gilbert's hands fell to his sides, and the light into his eyes quenched. Roderick Heard a low gride and he released the string, letting Gilbert fall to the floor. He leaned to flip Gilbert and examine him, pressing his hand against his enemy's heart.
Gilbert was dead.
Roderick stared at him in silence. He looked at the face of his enemy (his eyes unfocused, his mouth half-closed) to his neck; when he took the string off of him, he noticed the string had fractured the windpipe; that explained the small trail of blood running out of Gilbert's mouth.
The clock marked the 1:00 a.m. Suddenly, Roderick turned back into normality and ran away, letting Gilbert's corpse in the lounge. Finally, Roderick entered into his room and walked to de boudoir, when he looked at his ungainly appearance and noticed he was still holding the string.
-Why didn't I think of this before? I've never felt so alive. –he said as he took a look to the string with a great excitement. The revenge was consumed, the enemy has fallen, and now everything would be happy and he could sleep peacefully again.
Peace… that's what he wanted. The next morning he'll pretend be horrified when the servants find Gilbert's death body in the lounge, he'd find a scapegoat. But now, he just wanted enjoy the moment and remember it forever…
Forever…
-AUSTRIA!
-What?
Gilbert, perched on him and smiling, was hitting him on the head with a pillow.
-Wake up, Austria, you big dawdler, it's time for the breakfast. West has coming and he told me he has an awesome piano for you, of course, not as awesome as I am. Come on, move!
Prussia jumped out of the bed and ran, with his Gilbird flying next to him. Roderick stood up, took his glasses on and took a look around.
Everything was just a dream. He was safe and sane, and Prussia was still alive and bothering him. At least his hands weren't stained with a crime.
Suddenly, Hungary went into his room.
-Herr Austria, everybody is waiting for you in… Oh… -the woman blinked, disconcerted. –Herr Austria, are you okay?
-Of course I am. –he answered, smiling with a strange smile.
-Did you have a good night?
-Of course, the best night of my life.
-It seems like you had a beautiful dream. –Hungary murmured with a sweet voice. Austria smiled again, with a creepy grin.
-The best dream I've never had…