To those of you that are reading:

So ... I'm addicted to writing this story ... D:

I literally can't stop. Everyone's worried about me. I may be developing carpal tunnel.

BUT DON'T WORRY. That just means more for you to read! :D

snakeyeslover2: HE TAKES HER SECRETS... HE PUTS HIS STRAW IN THEM... AND HE DRINKS THEM UP!

Rose of Dusk: Indeed he is! And thank you my love! c: As for translations of what Richtofen's saying: Usually I just have him say simple, self-explanatory things, like "yes" (ja) and "no" (nein), or emotional outbursts in (probably inaccurate) German, like "Shut up!" (Schnauze!) or "What's this?" (Was ist das?). In the case of Nikolai's singing, when Kitty overhears him talking to himself, I wanted to show that he talks to himself in German. (FYI: He's saying "What an ugly voice...!" Was für eine hässliche Stimme!) And then of course he picks on Kitty for wearing the mousy gray WWI style costume-trousers, Langhosen.

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Edward and Kathleen have a heart-to-heart.

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Between Dream and Reality
Zwischen Traum und Wirklichkeit

CHAPTER TEN

Puppeteer and Marionette
Puppenspieler und Marionette

I followed Richtofen toward the balcony hall, terrified.

There was no telling what he had up his sleeve. I kept an eye out for Tank, or Nikolai, or even Takeo… any one of them could serve as an excuse to delay whatever was about to happen. But none of them were visible on the short walk through the hall.

He led me out onto the balcony itself, among the crumbling theater seats. There was a thin path hugging the wall, which we followed. On a whim, I glanced out at the distant stage, hoping to see a zombie or two. But all was quiet. There was no moaning, no shrieking. Not even one measly maggot.

I realized Richtofen had stopped walking about a second before I ran into him. My nose almost touched his back. I jerked away, frowning.

"Zhis way," he muttered, holding a door open and facing me with cold eyes.

I met his gaze as I walked by, trying to look as hateful as possible. His eyes narrowed.

I'd stepped into a small, square room. Inside was a broken theater seat, a desk and chair, and a projector. Above the desk was a pinboard, decorated with scientific documents. Anatomical studies, brain diagrams, comparison charts. I heard the door slam and jumped, turning to see Richtofen standing behind me. His presence made the room seem even smaller.

"Sit," he ordered, his voice sharp.

I looked around the room in confusion, considering the chair, the desk, the stool beside the projector.

Annoyed, he lunged forward, brushing past me. He grabbed the stool and yanked it over.

"Sit," he said again.

I stepped slowly in front of the stool, smoothing the back of my trousers before I sat.

He strolled over to the desk, taking off his gloves and folding them on the tabletop. Then he picked up a stack of papers. He paged through them quickly, his back to me, licking his thumb to gain traction. I leaned over to get a better look at what he was reading. It was all in German. That, or strange mathematical equations. The handwriting was meticulously neat, and the pages with equations were organized into clearly marked sections.

Of course.

He finally reached a blank sheet, shuffling it to the front of the stack.

Then he pulled out the chair and turned it to face me, taking a seat.

"Vhen are you from?" he asked, abrupt.

I blinked. "What?"

Richtofen pulled a pen from one of his pockets, testing it on the paper. "Vhen are you from?" He looked up to meet my eyes. To my surprise, his expression was neither stony nor psychotic. Instead, it was wide open, intellectual. Curious. I frowned. How many faces did this man have?

"You do remember our agreement," he murmured, eyes glinting. It was a warning, not a question.

I steeled myself. "It's not an agreement," I said, feeling my heart rate quicken. I crossed my arms. "I never agreed upon anything."

He looked at me through narrowed eyes.

I held his gaze, defiant.

"You just decided that since you saved my life, you had a say over the rest of it," I continued, the words spilling out. I hoped I sounded as angry as I felt. "That's not an agreement. That's an assumption."

He lifted his left hand to rub his chin.

"Hmm. I see your logic," he murmured. But before I could relax, he continued. "Zhat, however, changes nothing. I shtill have no reservations about ending your life."

I stared at him, livid. "How can you be so heartless?" I hissed.

The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them, and I was glad. He needed to face this. I needed him to face this.

His scarred eyebrow quirked, amused.

Not quite the reaction I'd expected.

"Vhy do you care?" he asked, genuinely curious.

I laughed humorlessly. "Because I'm a human being," I said, incredulous, raising my eyebrows. "And last time I checked, you were too."

Richtofen held my gaze for a moment, silent. Then he looked down at the paper and jotted a few notes. The scratching of the pen was infuriating.

"You have nothing to say about that?" I asked, staring at him. "Really?"

He kept writing.

Fury boiled in my stomach.

Finally, he lifted the pen, tracing the rear of it against the scar on his cheek. He scanned his notes.

Then he lifted his eyes to meet mine again. They were still calm and inquisitive. Interested.

"I vant you to tell me vhy my apathy disturbs you," he murmured.

My eyes widened in shock. "Isn't that self-explanatory?"

He just stared at me. "I'm waiting," he said, his voice soft.

I took an exasperated breath, scratching my eyebrow nervously, running a hand through my hair. He watched all of this in fascination.

"Because regular people… care," I finally said, looking at him in disbelief. "I don't see how someone as brilliant as you can't grasp that."

His eyes flashed. "Und vhy vould you assume zhat I am brilliant?" he asked, deadly curious.

My heart skipped. I couldn't tell him the truth. Not about that.

"Because you saved me from death," I said, too fast.

He ran his thumb across his bottom lip, searching my face. "Do not lie to me Kazhleen," he said, closing his eyes.

It was shocking to hear him say my name.

I blinked.

How did I lie to him without sounding like a liar?

"You created the zombies," I covered, trying to convince myself. "You've been working on the teleporter." I nodded to the stack of paperwork in his lap. "All those papers filled with equations… Those aren't things a normal person is capable of."

He stared at me, unimpressed.

"You are a very bad liar," Richtofen murmured.

I exhaled. "You wouldn't believe the truth if I told you!" I snapped, a lock of my hair falling across my face. I brushed it back.

His eyes lit up. "Try me," he whispered.

I pursed my lips, trying to figure out how to word it.

How do you tell someone they're fictional? Especially after kissing an equally fictional person? I groaned, pressing my hands against my scalp.

"This is so fucked up," I mumbled.

"Tell me ze truth," he ordered, watching me.

I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. "Where I'm from, you don't exist." My voice was almost a whisper. I couldn't look at him.

"How do you mean?" he asked.

"You're fictional. Made up for a story."

Silence.

"Strange," he muttered. "Und vhy do you think you have come to be here, vhere obviously I am very real?"

I lifted my head, looking at him.

He was staring at me, intense. His eyes were starting to look a little manic.

I shook my head, unclear about this part myself. "I touched an electronic device in my house, and passed out. When I woke up, I was here."

Richtofen watched me unblinkingly.

Then he turned back to his notes, jotting something else down. He rubbed his chin. He lifted a finger to trace his scar, his eyes narrow. "Ze M.P.D. is more powerful than I thought," he murmured, excited. "Drawing life from other planes of existence… Other realities… vith ze ability to combine zhem…" He was breathless.

Then he frowned.

He turned to face me again.

"Unbutton ze top of that jacket."

I stared at him, scandalized. "What?"

To my horror, he was getting up out of his chair, crossing over to me. "I want to check ze injury," he said.

I looked up at him through narrowed eyes. "I thought you didn't care if I died."

He stood in front of me, silent. "Unbutton," he muttered.

Keeping my eyes on his face, I unfastened the first few buttons of the jacket; just enough to reveal the epicenter of my injury. He leaned down to examine it, invasive as always, pressing his left hand flush against my skin. I shuddered. He ignored it, tracing the healing scar with his thumb.

"Ze swelling is gone," he said quietly. "Und ze discoloration is fading."

"Really?" I looked down in surprise.

My skin still looked blotchy, but now it just seemed like a regular bruise. I pretended not to notice how shocking Richtofen's hand looked, so close to my breasts. It was also huge. What did they feed him as a child?

"You may button yourself," he muttered, withdrawing from my personal bubble.

I gladly obliged, as quickly as possible.

He'd turned to his desk, replacing the stack of papers.

Feeling brave, I took a chance. "You never answered my question."

Richtofen turned to look at me, eyebrows raised. "Vhat question?"

"Why did you check my injury? I thought you didn't care if I died. So why check it?"

He narrowed his eyes at me. "You never asked me zhat."

I bit my lip, brushing back my hair. "Well," I murmured, "I'm asking you now."

He was quiet. His eyes flickered across my face.

"I am a doctor," he said mysteriously, looking into my eyes. "A doctor of science."

I frowned. "What does that have to do with anything?"

He sat back down in his chair, slowly, his eyes never leaving my face. "I've studied many things in ze pursuit of knowledge," he murmured, almost to himself. He was staring deep into my eyes. "Physiology, psychology, microbiology." He bent over, running a hand through his hair, looking up at me through his lashes. "Physics. Thermodynamics." He closed his eyes, shaking his head. "In spite of zhis, some solutions remain unclear."

Frustration reared up in my chest, but I knew I'd have to be patient if I wanted my answer.

He sat up, opening his eyes to stare into my face again.

"I could say zhat ze only reason I checked your injury vas because I vas medically curious about ze recovery," he said, his words rushing together. "Und zhat vas part of my motivation, of course." His eyes flickered. "One shmall part of a much greater whole."

Mystified, I looked into his eyes. "Then what was the rest?"

He was very quiet, examining me.

"Vhen I find out, I vill tell you," he murmured.

"Is that a promise?" I asked, doubtful.

He stood from the chair, looking down at me, his eyes tense. Tormented.

He brushed his hair back with a trembling hand.

"Yes," he whispered.

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OH GOD WHAT'S HAPPENING...

Let me know what you think!

"BUT I NEED YOUR GIFTS! HOW CAN I HAVE ZHEM!?" "BUT I NEED YOUR REVIEWS! HOW CAN I HAVE ZHEM!?"