[author's note]
At first - dear returning reader, today I uploaded two chapters, did you read 10 already? ^^ Otherwise, many things won't make sense ^^ as usual, translations at the bottom [/author's note]
Snowbowl 11 – Delusions
More than two hours of trivial matters passed.
Smith prepared another of his omnipresent drinks while talking to them of nothing important. Smith sat down in a free chair, telling them again how lucky everyone was that they found the team. Unthinkable what might have happened if their routes hadn't crossed. Smith, drinking from his glass, never stopping to smile when he explained what an incredible construction this train was, how generous of his client not to care about the expenses as long as the team was safe.
More or less a rehearsal of the speech he had held yesterday, no change in his attitude, no new information. Euphemistic and harmless. He bored them do death.
Demoman chuckled when he saw how Spy almost dozed off and had to be nudged by the nearby sitting Heavy.
Soon they gave up on asking questions, as there never was a satisfying answer. Obviously their host didn't want to explain what exactly had happened to the desert, or why the rescue was so late. They avoided to mention the helicopter and the dead pilot, though. Another subject that proved that there was more to this rescue mission than Smith let on. No excuses, no explanations, no charges. The whole situation was as smooth as their host. And as slippery.
"Oh, by the way, my friends," Smith concluded when he finally was about to leave again. "Maybe you remember, I told you yesterday about the railway. We have to slow down even more. But don't worry, it won't lack on any comfort, I'll see to that. Meanwhile, rest and enjoy yourself." He looked at his watch. "My, that late already! Dinner will be ready soon and served to you. Don't bother with coming to the dining car, dear friends, I know, after all your hardships you deserve to take it easy. Please excuse me now. As enjoyable as our little, cozy chats are, there is work I have to attend to. I will see you tomorrow."
"Enjoyable, my ass." growled Sniper once the door had closed behind their host. "Worse than a fuckin' sleepin' pill."
"Hear himself talk Smith like." Heavy groaned. "Same he said day before. Same tomorrow he do say."
"Aye, lads, lemme tell ye, that goddamned Judas, keepin' us in a bloody golden cage..." Demo ranted.
"Keep your voices down! He could hear you if he were back in Dustbowl." Soldier called them to order, but soon joined them. For a while they discussed, although at a lower volume now, the ridiculous behaviour of that man. All except Spy and Scout.
The boy sat down next to the place where he had heard the French's voice coming from earlier. He hesitated for a moment before he spoke.
"Are ya alright, Frogs, I mean, Spy? Ya kinda quiet, and I... we were worried..."
Opening his eyes lazily, the French looked at the Scout. "Do not worry, Scout, moi, I am fine. Mais Soldier is right, moi is très épuisé... very tired. And j'ai honte... I feel ashamed. Zis is not acceptable, non, it is not..."
"I think I understand... but... it's okay... ya did ya best, right? Sorry I bothered ya, man." Scout answered, a bit helpless, not knowing what were the best words to say to cheer the Spy up.
"Do not apologize, young Scout. Everyzing will be fine. Go, join ze ozers. Moi, I try to sleep." He yawned and closed his eyes again. For a minute or two Scout listened to his even breath.
"'kay. Good luck later."
"Hm... merci, mon ami..." Just an almost unhearable murmur from the already half asleep man.
Dinner was a merry affair this evening. The men beamed with pleasure when they found different kinds of meat on the plates, and more beer. Only Demoman frowned, glancing at Medic from the corner of his good eye. Of course the doctor was watching him, with a similar frown. Demo sighed. Again, no beer or whiskey for him. Cursing the Medic and his own inner demons, he chewed on his steak, flushing it down with water.
After a while Spy joined them. His mood had improved and he joked with Heavy and Sniper while eating some of the vegetables. He raised his glass to Demo. Spy, too, only drank water this time, determined not to weaken his senses, as he explained. Every now and then he felt the Scout staring in his direction. He looked at the blind boy and gave a sigh, but choose to ignore it for now. Instead, he turned to Soldier.
"Alors, mon Soldier, I slept and I ate. I am ready to start zis mission again, oui?" he requested, being restless.
"Yes... No, wait!" the veteran corrected himself. "Nice try, shape-shifting maggot! You try to bitch out from the examination! I understand you cannot wait to begin snooping around again, son. But do as I say anyway."
His voice clearly told Spy that the Soldier wouldn't accept any excuses.
"Do not vorry, Herr Spy. I vill keep it short." Medic rolled his eyes. "You are annoying to deal vizh vhen impatient. I do not intend to deal vizh your restless self longer zhan necessary."
"Bien, Monsieur Medic. Allow me to refresh myself before we start, d'accord?" Spy pushed his chair aside and was about to leave the table.
"Zhank you." Medic nodded. "Pass me zhe bottle of zhe water before you go, bitte. I vill meet you in zhirty minutes in zhe ozher wagon." This would give him enough time to finish his meal and prepare the spare room.
"Good. Mais fais attention!" Spy warned. "We must not trust zis Monsieur Smiz. It might be dangereux, ze waiting alone."
"Oi, I can go, too. Have ma check-up first." Sniper offered, passing the Medic a sly look.
"Sei nicht albern... don't be silly. I have to put my zhings in order, you vill be in zhe vay." Firmly, he rejected the suggestion. "I can take care of myself."
"Doc, ya don't think..." but the Australian's protest was cut short.
"I say you stay here, keine Diskussion. Now shut up!"
"Ladies!" Soldier shouted at them across the table. "Both of you stop that bickering or I have Engineer locking you two up in the bathroom, too!"
Engineer grinned while Scout blushed, Spy only lifted an eyebrow.
"Do not argue, mes amis. I do not wish to share ze shower, so behave-vous, s'il vous plaît!" Spy smiled, amused. "I see you soon, mon ami. But be careful, promis-moi, oui? I do not have... how do you say... a good hunch..."
Demoman chuckled. "Aye, ya dun't hava good feelin' or hava hunch, laddie."
"Ah, zank you, mon ami." Spy laughed and finally left the room.
"Hm, I better get ready, too." Medic sighed. "Zhis Spy is not a very agreeable patient vhen excited. Zhe zooner ve are done, zhe better." So he left as well, through the opposite door.
x x x x x
By now feeling restless himself, Medic rummaged through boxes and shelves, collecting his equipment, choosing carefully what he needed and what not. Some basic blood tests, checking blood pressure, reflexes and maybe, if necessary, injecting a stimulant to sharpen the Spy's senses for a few hours, that should do. He sat down, feeling the first signs of a headache. By the rule he was not a good patient either, so he refused to take a pill against the thumping pain. Instead, he took another sip of water, glad he brought the bottle and his glass along. He searched another box and found his team mates' records. Picking the one for Spy, he sat down again and opened the file.
"Spy. Age unknown. French. Good constitution, mediocre stamina, prone to low blood pressure and migraines as deficiency signs. Heavy smoker, high cancer risk. No handicaps." he read, and closed his eyes, massaging his temples. He himself usually had no problems with his blood pressure and could deal with nutrient removal for a long period, but now he was the one with a migraine. "Too much stress..." he grumbled, when he suddenly felt sick. He jerked back, breathing hard.
"Nein...! Nein, nicht das! Bitte nicht... Das kann nicht sein..." Desperately, he closed his eyes and opened them again. The room changed. Suddenly, the colors were brighter, the opposite wall closer to him than before.
The shadow emerged from the wall, his face hidden behind a mask, only showing the eyes, shining with madness. The features took shape, a well-known face. But all the young man could do was to stare back at him, petrified by drugs and fear. The doctor's jawline as sharp as the scalpel in his hand. In vain he tried to scream when the blade glided over the skin of his chest. His own blood left a warm, wet trail as it flowed down his sides, a sickening tickle...
Medic opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling, his hand clenching his shirt, an old scar throbbing painfully. He tried to focus, to control his breathing. When he pulled himself up at a shelf, another wave of sickness came over him.
"Wie zum Teufel... Meskalin... wer..."
Another shadow at the wall, tall, slim, wearing a hat.
"No, you didn't... you vouldn't..." he whispered.
He fell down on his knees, removed the mask from his face and vomited on the floor. "Steh auf!" a voice shouted, and a foot kicked him hard against his back. "Gehorche oder DU bist der Nächste!"
Scared and crying, he stood up, his legs shaking. When he saw the widened eyes, filled with panic and pain, he almost threw up again. His hand trembling, he picked up the knife and continued to cut open the child's abdomen.
With a groan he awakened. Cold sweat ran down his forehead, but somehow he managed to crawl on his knees and to grab the shelf again. Supported by the wall, he finally stood up, fighting hard to keep balance. The room had lost its contours, walls, chair, gear, papers – everything was spinning, flashing in the brightest and craziest colors. A screaming pain in his head, but when he tried to cry for help, he couldn't. He coughed and gasped when breathing became harder, and he realized something hindered him to inhale properly.
"Wer..." he croaked. "Nein... no, you are not... Du bist nicht... wer..."
But the only answer was a hard push and his back crashed against the wall. He coughed again, suddenly he could breathe, but then he noticed the shadow coming closer.
The man whimpered in pain when he put a sharp piece of glass in the open wound, pushing it down until he hit the bone of the leg. He felt pity for the poor guy but there was nothing he could do for him. Nothing but causing such an impact of pain that his victim passed out, finding some mercy in a blackout. He hoped that man wouldn't notice.
His own leg was healing slowly.
"Aaah!" Somehow he had managed to grab his attacker's wrists, but he couldn't loosen the grip. Pushed against a wall, unable to move or escape... another memory, but this, this situation was different. His throat hurt and his lungs were burning and about to burst, but he couldn't remove the fingers from his neck. The colors dancing in front of his eyes slowly lost their vivacity, his mind almost became blank, but then the pressure against his larynx decreased. He dropped on his knees, coughing and panting, his own hand pressed against his throat, tears flowing.
"W...w..oher..." A stale, metallic taste in his mouth almost made him spit out. Blood. The world took shape again for a moment - only to lose it once more, the influence of the hallucinogen still strong. Somebody laughed.
"I know everything, Herr Doktor. Ready to suffer some more? Don't worry, I will not kill you, not now. Only a bit of domination. Something you are familiar with, right? Puppet!"
The Medic squirmed and struggled to sit up, trying to find out who attacked him. But all he could see was the shadow, losing and regaining its form, sometimes resembling nothing but a colorful mass, or lost ghosts from a past he didn't want to remember.
"Here is some medicine for you, Medic. Let's see if you can find out what it is. Too bad you won't be able to tell me anytime soon." the voice mocked him.
Again, he couldn't tell who it might belong to, he wasn't even sure if he knew it at all or if he simply wasn't able to identify it. Suddenly he felt a sting in his upper arm, a needle thrust down deeply into the flesh, the slight pressure of injected liquid, while a hand had slung its fingers around his throat again. Then both hands strangled him one more time.
All he could feel was pain, burning in his arm, his body, more drops of blood ran from his mouth, but every time before he lost his consciousness the shadow allowed him to breathe. For a second he thought the Sniper stood in front of him, but he refused to believe that. This very moment it was a figure from the past again, while a choir of old enemies and friends joined the manic laughter.
He didn't notice any difference after the shot at first, when suddenly his mind went blank and his body got limp, and he slid down the wall to the ground, falling. Helplessly, he coughed again, the laughter still ringing in his ears, and then, everything went black.
x x x x x x
Sleeping. It was a bit cold, yes, but the blue was so calming, it was like flying. No boundaries, no dangers. Alone, a delicious solitude, unmarred by fears and memories. Sad and painful thoughts simply disappeared before they showed themselves. A little taste of eternity, forever flying, forever free. But yes, it really was cold, where was the blanket? And why was his bed so hard?
Fleeing steps. The laughter faded. Footsteps coming closer, a door opened, closed. Opened again.
He tried to lift his eyelids, but couldn't. Then the pain returned.
"Bloody...! Gawd, what happened...Hey, wake up hey! HELP!" a familiar voice shouted. "HELP! SOMEBODY COME HELP!"
His mind dissolved again, when he felt a warm hand touching his cheek.
"Will! Wilhelm! Come on, mate, wake up! Open ya eyes, fuck, answer me... WILL!"
But he had passed out again.
x x x x x x
A squeaking sound, back and forth. Back and forth. A clock? No...
Where was he? An undefinable noise was rushing through his brain, only bit by bit his thoughts could push it back. The muscles in his arms and legs contracted, twitched, but he didn't move them intentionally, he tried, but couldn't.
He swallowed and was surprised how hard this was, how much it hurt.
'Wo bin ich...'
Suddenly everything came back at once. The headache, the swirls of colors, sickness, aching scars, voices and laughter. Suffocating from being almost choked to death.
His eyes opened widely. Otherwise, his body didn't react, although he felt like trembling. But even those reflexes were blocked as if the nervous system had been interrupted somewhere in his spine. Finally his brain started to process the information his visual nerve sent. First, light.
A swinging light, back and forth. Back and forth. He blinked. Above him, a plain lamp swung slightly, caused by the moving train. A gray ceiling.
It took a moment, but then he realized where he was. It was the other room of the wagon next to theirs. Now he noticed his aching back, obviously he was lying on the table or some other longish structure, caught in his own body. He wasn't alone. He knew it.
He tried to move his hand, but no fingertip twitched. From the corner of his eye he saw a shadow standing at the wall. Or didn't he?
He closed his eyes again, trying to focus. The effect of the first drug had worn off, at least most of it, after all, he had experienced those trips often enough to judge. About the injection... his breath calmed as he directed his thoughts on a rational path. The effect happened all of a sudden, just when he had thought nothing was happening at all. Darkness, the light dream, his body unable to move. Definitely an anesthetic. His brain told his muscles to flinch, but failed. Pain. He definitely felt pain. No analgesic, that was certain. Propofol, maybe?
His eyes open again, he saw the shadow moving, hovering over him. He imagined himself shaking his head. If it was the sedative he thought it was, hallucinations were still possible.
The shadow dissolved.
The lamp swung faster, the squeaking sound grew louder and subsided as the train slowed down.
'Bin ich allein? Nein... aber wer...'
This time, he could move his head, only an inch or two, but it was enough to see a figure, probably sitting, head dropped on the chest. Asleep? He stared in this direction a bit longer until the figure took shape. A familiar shape, tall, slim, and always wearing a hat. Faintly he remembered seeing this man in the other room, but was he real then? Was he now? And what, if he really did... if his presencehadn't been an illusion...
"Nein..." he groaned, unaware he actually made a sound, albeit almost inaudible. But loud enough to attract the attention of the other man. For a second their eyes met and he fainted.
He woke up again, this time his eyesight recovered faster than before, but still unable to move. The person was gone, only an empty chair.
With a shiver he turned his head to the other side, screaming silently only in his head. Now at the wall to his feet he stood, arms crossed, watching him, his face wearing a serious, stern expression.
"Sniper..." Only a whisper. Fear. Bitterness. Sadness.
Again he tried to speak, but his throat hurt too much. Once more darkness overcame him.
"AH!" His own hoarse, screaming voice brought him back to reality, and with reality came the pain in his arm. The muscle contracted and seemed to burn from the bone all the way over his shoulder and spine, right in his head. His hand twitched, this time because he ordered it to move.
"It's okay."
A voice.
He turned his head once more, now his whole body trembled. The Australian... was it really him? Was he still seeing things?
The man sat next to him, his elbow on the table, at the same level as the Medic's hips.
With his chin resting in his hand, the Sniper watched him closely, an expression in his eyes Medic didn't understand.
"Warst Du... vere you... did you..." the German stammered, desperately trying to lift his arms or legs, to no avail.
"Relax, will ya?" Sniper muttered against his palm. "Ya really think I did...?"
He tried to answer, but only succeeded in coughing violently. His throat, his lungs – they hurt too much. Involuntarily he rolled his eyes, gasping for air, but didn't seem to inhale enough. His ribcage moved up and down far to fast, his back arched - now he was finally suffocating.
"Slowly, mate. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Relax." repeated the voice, anxious and calming. Again the Medic felt how a warm hand touched his face. "Breath slowly, Will, hear me? Slow!"
Just before he passed out again, rough lips touched his own while a hand covered his eyes. The smell of stale coffee filled his nose. Whenever he tried to inhale too abruptly, the other man deepened the kiss, forcing him to reduce the speed of his breath. He groaned again and felt a tongue moving against his. Once his breath became regular again, the hand moved from his eyes to his throat. He flinched at the touch, but the fingers only glided gently over the skin.
Sniper released him from the kiss, sat up again and looked at their Medic, now both angry and worried.
"Left ya with some impressive fingerprints, that crook. Blue 'n purple like a bloody sunset at the beach." he growled, then paused before he continued.
"Never look at me again like I'd do somethin' like this to ya, ya hear me?"
Still not strong enough for a simple nod, the German closed his eyes.
"Tell ya somethin', wanker! Only a bloody fool with no pride'd hunt an almost dead game. I want ya, but I'd not get that low. When we hav'a go at it, ya better goddamned enjoy it, too, got it? Hey, Will! Are ya listenin' ta me? Don't dare ta pass out now! Gaah. Useless." Reluctantly, Sniper drew back his hand from the Medic's throat and went away.
"Ich... I'm... vake... bastard..." Still nothing more but a weak whisper, but now he was slowly regaining his wits.
The Australian stopped at the door and looked at the German thoughtfully, his anger subsiding.
"Good. Gotta call the others. Don't worry, 'kay? We get that asshole for ya."
"Danke, Nicholas..."
"Yeah, don't mention it."
xxx to be continued xxx
[author's note]
Okay. I'm still extremely tired, and tomorrow I'll move, then I have to unpack, to settle in, wait for my i-net-connection... I certainly will be online, but I do not know when I find time to continue. Maybe you'll have to wait until the next weekend or a day or two longer, I'm sorry -_-
I strongly recommend the following Nick-Cave-songs:
Mercy Seat for the 2nd longer part
Song of Joy for the last part
For this chapter, I had researched some stuff. A few of the results I share with you:
Mescaline (which was used for experiments around 1940...) .org/wiki/Mescalin
Propofol .org/wiki/Propofol
(okay, I used the German wiki, but I doubt this will help ^^)
Well, at least some action here, oh my ^^ I hope it is enjoyable anyway :)
Sorry for all the German, but I just thought it would be strange if he'd think English under these circumstances all the time ^^
Here they are, the translations:
Spy:
Merci, mon ami = Danke, mein Freund
"Do not argue, mes amis. I do not wish to share ze shower, so behave-vous, s'il vous plaît!" = Do not argue, my friends. …. behave, you two, please!"
Medic:
"Sei nicht albern" = "Don't be silly."
"I say you stay here, keine Diskussion." = "I say you stay here, no discussion!"
"Nein...! Nein, nicht das! Bitte nicht... Das kann nicht sein..." = "No...! No, not that! Please, no... this can't be..."
"Wie zum Teufel... Meskalin... wer..." = "How on earth... Mescaline... who..."
"Steh auf!" = "Stand up!"
"Gehorche oder DU bist der Nächste!" = "Obey or you are next!"
"W...w..oher..." = where
'Wo bin ich...' = 'Where am I?"
'Bin ich allein? Nein... aber wer...' = "'Am I alone? No... but who...'
"Danke" = "Thanks"