Chapter 38
Flight of Crows
The end of May.
In the afternoons, water dripped from melting icicles.
Spring.
It didn't bring anything bright or beautiful this year; instead, it brought home something Toris had never wanted, and Ivan's long-awaited opportunity to tap into Ludwig's absolute darkness finally came, but never how Ivan had imagined it would.
And, god in heaven, Toris regretted that he had ever lived to see it.
A mild, unassuming day. Peaceful. Irina came home crying.
She had been out all day. Unusual, yeah, but Toris had been so distracted by the dread of trying to track down Gilbert that he honestly hadn't taken notice until the door clicked shut and she had stumbled right by him. She bolted straight for the bathroom, and Toris really only stopped her because it sounded like she was crying, and Irina didn't cry too much.
He reached out and grabbed her by the arm to hold her still, and he only meant to ask, 'What's wrong?'
Maybe she had been having an 'Ivan moment', remembering the past and thinking strange things as she did. They shared that as well as their hair.
Didn't get the chance to speak; her appearance immediately startled him into silence.
It took him a minute to see, and another to comprehend. The first thing he noticed, if only for the contrast, were the bruises on her face. She was so pale, as pale as Ludwig was, that it was easy to see. The next thing he saw was her ripped blouse, half-hidden beneath her coat. Her skirt was dirty, muddy. Dried blood in the corner of her mouth.
Toris was stunned at first, more than anything.
Who out here would ever have the nerve to lay hands on Irina, knowing who she was and where she lived? He knew the answer before his shaking mind even asked the question, but even so the audacity just seemed outrageous. What had they been thinking? Who did they think they were? Did they think that all of the talk about Ivan was smoke? That the rumors were just that? Did they think their superiors would protect them? That Ivan would just turn aside, helplessly?
Madness.
"What happened?" Toris finally asked, although his voice was so low that she might not have heard him at all.
Distracted as he was by the trickle of blood making its way down her ankle and onto the floor. Barefoot. Why was she barefoot?
She didn't answer him. Just kept trying to break away from him and escape into the bathroom.
Stupid. Why had he even asked? He knew, just as he knew who had done it. Didn't know what to say, though. What to do. What could he say to her? Nothing would have sounded right. What could a man ever really say to a woman after somethin' like that?
He was terrified of calling for Ivan, terrified of his reaction and his wrath, but fuckin' Christ, he just didn't know what else to do.
The way she'd been done over.
So he opened his mouth, Irina's wrists still gripped in hands, and cried, "Ivan! Ivan!" He never screamed for Ivan, not like that, not here, so he knew it wouldn't be long before Ivan came running. If only to see what Toris had fucked up so badly.
Irina kept trying to break free of his grip, wrenching and twisting. Looked more angry than distraught now, as if Toris had agitated her somehow by forcing her still. He tightened his grip, because if she could get a hand free he had no doubt that she was gonna clock him right in the nose.
Her crying had long since stopped, if she had ever really been crying in the first place.
A low, frightening utter.
"Let go of me."
The look she sent him then nearly froze him up, as piercing and intent as it was. As furious as she was hurt. Hate. As if she coulda set the world on fire as easily as Ivan did.
...hell, she kinda looked like Ivan when she was mad, too. That same expression on her face that so often graced Ivan's. The same crinkle of her nose. The same darkness in her eyes. She wrenched again, harder than ever, and as she did she let loose something close to a snarl. He almost let her go, then, out of fear, but too late; heavy boots clunking down the stairs, dull thuds down the hall, and Ivan came skidding around the corner more than marching.
Only when Toris looked up, it wasn't Ivan. Ludwig.
Ludwig was there first. Were they so alike now that Ludwig heard someone screaming Ivan's name and assumed they were calling him? Those horrible little details. Small things. Ludwig wasn't real anymore.
He stood there, staring at Toris, and Toris stared back at him with hardly any recognition.
Didn't feel Irina in his hands anymore.
Ludwig terrified him. That might have been the first time, though, that he could have said Ludwig terrified him more than Ivan did. Toris knew Ivan, well enough at least. He could sense the changing pressure in Ivan's moods. He could see irritation and annoyance in Ivan. He could tell when Ivan was moody or feeling dangerous. He could see when Ivan was content.
Couldn't get anything from Ludwig. Not a fuckin' thing.
It was as if a phantom had appeared in front of him, and Toris could see him plain as day and yet somehow could only look right through him. A magnetic field; he was there, all the compasses said he was, but you couldn't see him or feel him.
Toris opened his mouth, and faltered under Ludwig's eyes. As much as Ludwig had asked him lately, 'Who am I?', Toris felt the need then to ask, 'Who are you?'
A stranger.
Ivan wasn't far behind, though, appearing beside Ludwig and towering over him with a somewhat frazzled appearance. Ivan and Ludwig were almost the same height, but it usually felt as though Ivan towered over everyone all the same.
Neither of them spoke as they stood there, staring at Toris with wide eyes; not looks of fright, nor alarm, but something more like surprise, as if they couldn't believe that Toris' had had the gall to raise his voice and cry Ivan's name. Toris, who was really just dirt to them.
He never got the chance to speak, and was grateful, because he wouldn't have known what to say. Couldn't say it, not to Ivan.
Ivan's eyes fell upon Irina, and Toris saw the first stirring of a very real alarm as his brow scrunched. A sharp inhale.
Hard to illicit, from a man like Ivan.
Ludwig still seemed thoroughly calm, even as Ivan bolted forward and shoved Toris aside to grab Irina. Probably bruising her more, the way he clenched her upper arms within his great hands.
Toris glanced back, to where Ludwig was still standing rather casually. Unfazed and perhaps a bit perplexed. Just a light lift of his brow and a tilt of his head, as he tried to process this information and figure out what had happened. No panic or anger like Ivan. Curiosity. Took Ludwig a lot longer to get it than Toris had expected, but maybe that was the lingering part of Ludwig that had been naive and certain the world wasn't a terrible place. The innocent side of Ludwig, the last shred of him, just didn't understand.
Ivan was getting frantic. He had Irina's wrists now, and shook her, voice high-pitched as he cried, "I told you! I told you! Didn't I tell you not to go out alone? Didn't I? Why don't you listen? I told you!"
That wasn't fair—Irina couldn't live cooped up inside a house her entire life. Not her fault. Ivan's, for putting her into an unavoidable situation. For knowing those men were trouble and not putting them into place long before. It wasn't her fault.
She didn't utter a word as Ivan shook her. Just stared up at him, giving him that same terrifying look she had shot Toris. Ivan didn't scare her. Never had. Sometimes, Toris was reminded that the same crazy man had created the both of them. Everything that was in Ivan was in Irina too, somewhere. If she had had the power that Ivan did, maybe she would have tried to rule the world, too.
When she looked like that...
Ivan's wrath didn't last long, though, and it was honestly the most emotion Toris had ever seen Ivan express, aside from anger, when he shook his head, lost his voice, and pressed his forehead down into her collar. As if, in a way, it had been him that had been hurt.
Toris couldn't really say if Ivan felt things like normal people did, but there was no doubt he was feeling something right now. Irina had raised Ivan, as best she could. She was the only person on earth that Ivan really owed anything to. In return, he had tried to protect her from the world and things he found unsatisfactory.
Ha! Both of them had failed so miserably. Ivan was a train-wreck and Irina was just as vulnerable to the world as anyone.
Toris happened to glance back at Ludwig, then, and saw something interesting.
Understanding.
It was then, when Ivan seemed in distress, that it finally seemed to click in Ludwig's head. Toris observed quietly as Ludwig looked at the bruises on Irina's face, then down at the blood on her leg, and back up. It was clear then that Ludwig finally understood. It had clicked.
And, oh, Toris regretted he had ever seen that, either.
Somehow, someway, even as Ivan clutched Irina and as Irina stared up above his shoulder rather blankly, it was Ludwig far in the back that kept Toris' eye. The way Ludwig looked. It hit Toris then, so suddenly, so harshly, that he could see it. That abstract, intangible thing Ivan had spoken so breathlessly about. He could see it. It had always been underneath the surface, but now it was there in the open. It was there. It was out.
Darkness. Ludwig's darkness.
It was silent, but Toris could see it. Ludwig stood still at first, completely immobile and frozen in place, that curiosity replaced with astonishment, his eyes wide and horrified and stance loose and weak. Barely breathing.
Then, the dark water stirred. It was subtle, at first. A clench of his fists at his sides. The furrowing of his brow. Quickening of breath and the tensing of his shoulders. Clamping of his jaw.
A ripple.
Then it was obvious. The bursting of a storm in his eyes; dark. His clenched fists twitched. A tint of red on his face. Narrowed eyes. Dilated pupils. Pulse racing in his neck.
A wave.
Toris could only stand there at the ledge and watch the shore below. Nothing would shut those gates now that they were open. No point in even trying. The worst part of it all was somehow being forced to wonder if Ludwig actually cared a little about Irina, or if Ludwig was so angry now because some part of Ivan had been touched. If Ludwig's nerves were grated by Irina's ordeal or because Irina in distress made it possible that Ivan was only human, too.
To Ludwig, Ivan was untouchable. God. Irina was held up on that same pedestal, because she was Ivan's sister. Blood. A vulnerability in Irina could mean one in Ivan. If Irina could be hurt, then so could Ivan, and that probably didn't make a goddamn bit of sense to Ludwig.
When Ludwig's wrath finally broke, when his teeth ground and his fingernails dug into his palms, when he turned and kicked open the door so hard that it nearly broke, when he stalked off on foot, somehow Toris knew.
That look on his face.
Ludwig was out to avenge Ivan, not Irina. Ivan had been done wrong. Ludwig set out now to make it right. In Ludwig's head, maybe he couldn't be a god, but he could service one.
The door swung on the hinges. Wind blowing from outside.
Ludwig was gone.
Toris gaped at it for far longer than he would have liked to admit, reluctant to follow. Didn't really want to see what Ludwig's wrath looked like. Didn't really want to leave him alone, either, though. Ludwig was bold, always had been, and it had gotten him into trouble so many times before.
He finally found the nerve to lift his foot, but was a step too late; Ivan had already bolted to the door and was running down the drive.
Ivan didn't run very often, heavy as he was. Would have been comical, perhaps, if it had been in any other circumstance, to see stocky Ivan bolting like that. Not funny now; seeing his hair whipping behind him and his coat billowing spurred Toris into a sprint behind him, because Ludwig had gone off on his own with a clouded head and no experience.
The town was quiet beyond the road.
The trees swayed. Here and there, patches of snow and ice that refused to melt.
An explosion.
Shots, in the distance. Echoes in the silent town. Birds flocked out of the trees in droves, squawking and screeching. Toris was sure his fuckin' heart was gonna give out from the panic.
Another shot.
Toris didn't remember exactly when he started running like he was, but he clearly remembered that he had outpaced Ivan for once, leaving him behind, sprinting so quickly that he skidded in patches of ice and still managed to keep running. Adrenaline spurred him on, even though he really didn't want to know what lay ahead.
Another corner, another street, another skid, and suddenly Toris was in front of the KGB office, just a block away, with wide eyes and a red face. His chest heaved from the effort; an ache in his side. Couldn't hear anything beyond his own breathing and the blood pounding in his ears, but it might not have mattered.
Silence. Utter, unbreakable silence.
Oh, Ludwig. What had he gotten himself into? Why couldn't he have waited?
Blood. The first thing he noticed, on the open door.
Ivan came trotting up behind then, panting and wheezing, and he fell back far behind Toris. Toris looked back at him, waiting for Ivan's wrath, but was shocked to see Ivan an emotional mess for the second time in one day. A look of helplessness. His hands were shaking. Toris wanted to call to Ivan, to spur him on and get him going, because he didn't want to be the first one in, but he didn't even try. Ivan just stood there in the street, breathing through his mouth and drops of sweat running down his face, frozen in place, and it struck Toris the look in his eyes.
Fear.
He hadn't ever seen that from Ivan. Hadn't known it was even possible.
Stuck there in place as Ivan was, staring at the office helplessly and clearly unable to move, Toris realized that he would be forced to initiate and be the one to go inside. Ivan was out of commission.
The door to the office hung wide open, swaying to and fro in the breeze. Dots of red against the white paint. Everything was silent. No noise from within. Toris crept closer, hand upon his gun the whole while as he tried to keep from shaking. Had the town ever felt as desolate and frightening as it did then, with no one around and a lone door creaking back and forth?
The birds had all gone.
Another step, and another horror. From the wide open door, there on the ground, jutting out from the threshold and onto the sidewalk, there was a pale, unmoving hand, flecked with crimson.
He glanced up. A spatter of red on the frosted window.
Toris turned his eyes back down to that pale, unmoving hand, an unspeakable fear within his chest, and could only pray that it wasn't Ludwig's. Oh, god, let it be anyone but Ludwig. Ludwig, bold and fearless, who had marched into a KGB office and had maybe gotten more than he bargained for. Like he had once before.
Ivan was staring at that hand, too, from where he stood, and it was obvious that he was thinking the same thing, whether he would admit to himself or not. He lifted his foot in the air to take a step forward, and froze up. Steadily, Ivan fell still again. Toris hadn't ever seen him look so damn uncertain and anxious.
The hand did not move.
If anything had happened to Ludwig... Christ, Toris couldn't even fathom the consequences. Ivan would destroy the world from the inside out.
Ivan found his footing suddenly and rushed forward, and, absurdly, Toris thrust out his arm and pushed it in front of Ivan's chest, stopping him short. Ivan was still staring at that hand, unblinking, and actually obeyed when Toris shoved him a pace backwards. Never in his life had he had the nerve to take charge of Ivan like that, and he only had the bravery to do so then because he was delaying what was potentially his own inevitable demise.
If that was Ludwig's hand, then Ivan would kill them all.
The door hinges squeaked as the wind rocked it all the harder, and suddenly there was a footstep from within the building. Toris jumped up straight, jolted with adrenaline, and lifted his gun with his right hand while holding his left out behind him towards Ivan to keep him still. Another step, and another, and with every one, the sound was getting closer to the door. Toris shot a quick glance back at Ivan to make sure he was staying put, but he seemed to be deaf and dumb, and still stared at that hand.
The footsteps were approaching.
Toris squared his shoulders and started creeping towards the open door. Would he be the one that would have to try and avenge Ludwig if he had been the one to fall there in the door? Couldn't stomach the thought.
Another hand suddenly reached out from within, the first sign of life since they had left the house, and grabbed the door-frame. Toris stopped in his tracks, held the gun in both hands, aimed, and prepared to shoot.
A boot slid slowly onto the sidewalk. A click, as Toris cocked his pistol.
Oh, Ludwig, what the hell had the stupid little son of a bitch been thinkin'? Ludwig was so goddamn stubborn, so fuckin' easy to rile up, so fearless—
Gold, as the white sun lit up a tuft of hair.
Ivan made no sound. Didn't move, and Toris didn't either. Funny; he spent most of his time shaking and sputtering around Ivan, but when it came down to it, when the gun was in his hand, when he had no choice but to focus, he was always steady as a rock. Never wavered. Why couldn't he be like that all the time?
A second boot joined the first, and then the man was outside in the light. Toris' gun dropped down like lead, and so did his stomach.
It was Ludwig.
Ludwig. Ludwig was alive.
The relief came upon him so strongly that he thought for a moment that Ivan had ran up and punched him in the back of the head. Ludwig was alive.
Toris stumbled in his tracks as he tried to move forward, lightheaded and dizzy at the sense of elation. Relief. Relief not so much for Ludwig, but for them. Relief that Ludwig hadn't met an ill-end and in doing so cause theirs. Relief that Ivan wouldn't fly into a rage and shoot them all dead. Relief that Ludwig being alive met they would continue to be alive as well.
Relief.
Ludwig came out fully into the street, lifting his head slowly as if he didn't remember where he was, and when he turned his eyes towards Toris, Toris could not help but shudder at the sight of him. Ludwig, his platinum hair lit up white in daylight, his pale skin spattered with blood, stood there for a bit, looking here and there without recognition. Drops of red stained his collar and ran down his neck, flecked his cheek and forehead, tiny specks of blood in his hair, and even his boots were spotted.
Covered in blood.
Ludwig took a heavy step towards no one, and when he turned his eyes towards Ivan's direction, his whole body slumped as though he had not slept in years.
Toris waited for Ivan to react, because he was too cautious to go near this dazed and dangerous Ludwig, but Ivan still just stood there, staring at Ludwig with an expression that was indescribable. Awe. Ivan had been presented with the possibility of losing Ludwig. To have him back, standing here before him, was no doubt overwhelming.
Ludwig wandered back towards the sidewalk, looking so lost, and eventually, through his mindless turning and twisting, his eyes met Ivan's. A quick, lopsided smile, and the contact was broken as soon as it had been made, when Ludwig turned again and started walking towards the buildings. Ludwig's brain was trying to wake up, but couldn't seem to.
A footstep behind him. Toris thought Ivan had come out of his stupor at last, but one step was all Ivan managed. The look on his face, though, had certainly woken up, and it occurred to Toris, somewhat reluctantly, that a Ludwig covered in blood was probably, to Ivan, the most beautiful thing imaginable.
Silence.
Ludwig was as white as a ghost, and his eyes were distant. Despondent. He stood there, unmoving and unblinking, and Ivan stared at him the whole while. A terrible moment of immobility, and then Ludwig suddenly fell back, leaning against the brick wall of the office, sighing. He found Ivan's eyes again, and it was with a frightening, breathless smile that Ludwig said, simply, "I took care of it for you."
Was that Ludwig's voice? Barely audible over the wind.
Ludwig slid down to the ground then, back up against the wall, and buried his face in his hands. Toris, too alarmed to move and too disheartened to speak, watched as Ludwig sat there on the cold sidewalk, murmuring incoherently to himself against his palms, and Toris could see the uncontrollable shaking of his shoulders. He was crying, perhaps.
Finally, mercifully, Ivan regained control of his muscles, and came forward, falling to one knee before Ludwig and leaning in, whispering, "Are you alright?"
No answer. Ludwig continued to mutter to himself.
Toris, feeling suddenly restless, un-cocked his gun and replaced it in its holster. There was no more danger here. He didn't need to look inside the office to know that. He could smell the fuckin' blood, all the way out here.
Ivan reached down and took hold of Ludwig's collar, forcing him to look up. And Toris realized that Ludwig wasn't crying at all. He was laughing.
Ludwig was laughing.
Still huddled there on the sidewalk, Ludwig threw his head back against the building, fucking laughing, Ivan's hands in his shirt, and Toris was quick to correct himself. It wasn't laughter so much as it was cackling. Giggling.
Toris knew, then. The Ivan-Ludwig had come out, and he probably wouldn't go away again. Ivan had spoken so long of bringing out the dark side of Ludwig, and here now he sat.
It took a while for Ludwig to look at them and really see them, even as Ivan knelt there before him, and when he finally did, it was Toris to whom he turned his eyes. A shaking hand was thrown up, carelessly, and Ludwig said, through dying laughter, "They didn't even look at me." Another round of giggling. "Didn't even see me."
Ivan plopped a heavy hand suddenly down onto shaking Ludwig's bloody head, and their gazes met for the first time with comprehension. Toris could see, in the way they watched each other without uttering a word, that even now they were communicating.
Toris heard Ludwig mutter again, "I took care of it."
Ivan's hand fell, smearing the drops of blood on Ludwig's cheek, and Toris left them there to walk over and peer into the office. Wished he hadn't. Found there exactly what he had expected. One of the officers was below the desk, the first to fall apparently, and the other had tried to make for either the door or Ludwig's gun but hadn't gotten far, falling there in the frame.
An unpleasant sight. Messy.
All the same, Toris tread inside, just enough to poke around the desk for the office key, stepping over puddles of blood and bits of matter. Didn't take him long to find the key, something he would always be grateful for, and retreated, kicking the officer's hand out of the way as he went.
He could hear Ivan and Ludwig crooning to each other out in the street.
Toris tested the key quickly to make sure he had the right one, tucked it into his pocket, turned the lock, and shut the door behind him. Ivan was already well off in the distance, dragging stupefied Ludwig along. Toris trotted behind, glancing over his shoulder to make sure that there was no one trying to be curious. The blood-spattered window should have been enough of a deterrent for even the nosiest Mirny residents.
The walk to the house hadn't ever seemed as long as it did then, and when they finally got to the door, Ivan just shoved it open and quickly deposited Ludwig down on the floor. Toris waited for something, anything, but Ivan just stood there, and Ludwig just sat there. How strange, to see them both so motionless. In the end, Ivan drifted off to wherever Irina was, and Ludwig just stared at the floor, breathing so shallowly that he didn't appear to be breathing at all.
What to do? Ludwig scared him.
And yet, as Ivan had vanished, it was Toris who was forced to face his fear and kneel down to grab despondent Ludwig by the arm and pull him to his feet.
Ludwig didn't acknowledge him, not for the rest of the night, not when Toris stripped him of his bloody clothes and doused him with water, not when Toris carefully and cautiously grabbed soap and scrubbed the blood off, not when Toris rubbed his hair dry with the towel, not when Toris removed the bullets from his gun, and not when Toris led him to the couch and sat him down.
In a trance, it seemed.
Later on, when Irina was presumably asleep and Ludwig was too, Ivan appeared, grabbed his coat and went to the door, and Toris followed him, knowing what came now. Cleaning up the damn mess.
The sun was low in the horizon, bathing the town in pink and orange. Ever-green pines tall around on all sides. Pretty, if Toris hadn't known what was in store for him.
No walking this time; Ivan went straight to the car, and tossed the keys in Toris' face.
"Thanks," he griped, without thinking, but Ivan was too far out in space to even hear him.
He had gone off to grab empty gas canisters and toss them in the back.
Plopping himself down in the passenger side, Ivan crossed his arms over his chest like a bratty kid, scowling out the window and not uttering a word. Not that he needed to. Toris knew well enough the procedure by now, and drove right by the KGB office to go to the petrol station instead. It might have been suspicious to be filling up numerous cans of gas, but, Toris supposed, that was one of the great things about Siberia; everyone minded their own fuckin' business and liked it that way. It was better not to know sometimes.
The car stank of petrol so strongly that Toris' head starting pounding, but Ivan didn't seem bothered.
When they pulled up in front of the office, Toris swept the street with a careful glance, and, seeing the coast was clear, he stepped out, and unlocked the door. Ivan sat there still, pouting and looking foul. Woulda rolled his eyes, if Ivan weren't so irritable. What? Did he think Toris would just do it all by himself? Hardly, and he turned around and stared at Ivan until Ivan finally hauled himself out of the vehicle, kicking the car as he went, and stomped inside.
A look around, and Ivan hunkered down and started working.
Toris popped open the trunk, looked around again, and let Ivan's brute strength do the heavy lifting. Well...not lifting. Ivan just grabbed up boots and hauled the men out like one hauled out a leaking pile of garbage. When he chucked them into the car, there was no care given whatsoever. Couldn't really fault him too much for that—when it came down to it, Toris had always just done the same. Anything to touch them as little as possible.
Toris just stayed silent and listened to Ivan curse to himself as he slammed the trunk top down over and over again, shifted the men around some more, slammed the trunk again, unsuccessfully, and then he got mad, like he always did, and slammed the trunk so fervently that something broke, on either side, to give way. All the same, it clicked shut.
Ivan stood there afterwards, seemingly torn about what to do next, and Toris knew that it was because he was reluctant to go back inside and scrub blood off of the walls and floor. Dirty work and Ivan didn't mix. He thought himself above that.
Someone came walking down the street later, and when they glanced over unsuspectingly, Ivan stomped his foot and shrieked, in a shrill, terrifying voice, "What the fuck are ya lookin' at?"
The poor soul literally ran off, as fast as they could. Out here, everybody lived by the 'I didn't see a thing' rule. Survival.
Ivan glowered at the sidewalk for a long while, finally heaved a sigh through his nose, curled his lip, and turned to barge huffily back into the office. Toris followed dutifully, as he always did, and kept a fair distance from Ivan the whole while. Agitated as he was.
Ivan stared at the spattered ceiling, brow crinkled, and Toris rummaged for anything he could use to start scrubbing. Small hand-towels. Soap. That was all there was. Ivan took up his towel testily and snappishly. His 'cleaning' movements were just as jerky; irritable, smudging circles on the wall, smearing blood more than he cleaned it.
Toris didn't say a word. Thinking of Ludwig, as he was. That thing that sat at home. Shouldn't call it Ludwig anymore. But what, then, was there left to call him? Ludwig already answered to Ivan's name. That thought made him scoff aloud, despite himself. Ivan didn't seem to notice, having finally resigned himself to the fact that he would really have to do some dirty work for once in his life.
The smell of it was overwhelming.
Toris glanced upward, and felt a rare turn of his stomach. Took a lot to phase him, much as he had seen and done, but brains sure did get to him sometimes. He had always been quite grateful that Ivan was a clean shot. Ludwig should have taken that lesson to heart.
How were they gonna clean the fuckin' ceiling? Stand on the desk, no doubt, and move it along. He would have to do it. Ivan wouldn't get up there and have bits of matter falling down on his head. Not Ivan, not when there was someone else to do it for him. Even though Ivan's creation had made the mess.
They carried on. The sun went down. Stars came out.
Ivan just muttered and cursed under his breath the entire time, sometimes pausing to run a hand over his forehead, squint his eyes, and hiss air through his teeth. Not nauseous, certainly, but maybe feeling sick in his own way. Not because of the blood so much as Irina, no doubt. Or it could have been something else. Overwhelmed, perhaps, by the strength of Ludwig's capabilities and how quickly he had brought them out. Dismayed that it hadn't been him alone that had made Ludwig snap. Having to share the victory with these dead men.
An entire, awful day of cleaning.
Toris was tempted to say, 'Let's just burn the goddamn thing down', but he already knew what Ivan would say :
'People are cheap; buildings aren't.'
True enough; Ivan would have had more paperwork to fill out at the destruction of a KGB office than he would with the mysterious disappearance of two officers. Men were easily replaceable. Buildings took time to rebuild.
When it was finally as good as it was going to get, Ivan threw his towel on the floor, stood up straight, and said, "Come back and bleach it all tomorrow before someone stops by to be nosy."
Exhausted, Toris just nodded his head.
Toris gathered the towels and any other blood-soaked articles and tossed them in the backseat of the car, and Ivan was more than happy to crank the car up and get the hell out of the street.
Toris looked over his shoulder as they left the town.
They drove out into the middle of the long, desolate, muddy road, found a gap in the trees, and backed the car up. It was dark and isolated. Uninhabited. Another thing that was great about Siberia when your lifestyle sometimes led to extra 'baggage'. They popped the trunk, Ivan pulled the officers out rather unceremoniously, dragged them down into the trees, and tossed them into the first clearing he saw. The forest was soaking wet from melting snow, so no worry about starting a wildfire.
Toris took his time walking down into the forest, the cans of petrol heavy in his hands.
Getting rid of bodies was the worst, especially like this. Probably shoulda just chucked 'em down into the sulfuric diamond mine pool down below. Too late now; Ivan had snatched a can from him and was already splashing the gas. Toris pulled out his lighter and clicked it, absently, and waited for Ivan to back off before he lit it up.
Ivan looked down at them for a good while, no doubt wishing he could kill them all over again, and finally stepped off. Toris lit up one of the towels, and tossed it forward.
The dark, blue night was lit up orange and red.
It went up in flames, like it always did, but that wasn't the hard part. The hard part was keeping it stoked for an entire damn night, because that's how long it usually took to even get it to the point where it didn't look human anymore. To get it to just ashes, another day was needed. Cremation was a lot harder than it sounded.
An hour passed.
The flames weren't so high now, and Toris had wandered off a bit to sit on a log and keep well out of the wind. Couldn't stand the smell. Ivan stood watch, at least for a while.
When it must have been midnight or so, Ivan got bored, like always, and couldn't hang around long enough to where the rest of the cans of gas would be needed. Not a fun experience for him, so one he didn't need to suffer. Instead, he started digging around for the car keys, and Toris knew right off he would be left to this task.
The smoke billowed up above the trees. Wildlife had fled.
"Keep an eye on it," was all Ivan said then, as he started walking to the car.
Irritation.
Going home to coddle Ludwig, no doubt, having no qualms about leaving Toris in the middle of the fuckin' forest and forcing him to walk all the way back into town at dawn. This was Ludwig's damn mess, and therefore it was Ivan's, because Ivan had created this Ludwig as he was now. Not his job. Ivan should have stayed.
Toris glanced over his shoulder, at Ivan stabbing the key into the lock, and he called, a bit sharply, "You can at least come pick me up in the morning."
Toris realized then that he was getting mouthier, and the only explanation he had was that he wanted Ivan to snap at him and punch him in the face. Anything to get a reaction out of him. To not be ignored. He was practically inviting punishment, writhing around in pathetic misery as he was, and still, no matter what he said, Ivan just wouldn't.
No go.
Ivan muttered something under his breath, got into the car, slammed the door, and was gone in a minute. Toris rested his chin in his palm, back to the fire, and stared off into the trees.
He could already see them in his head. Ivan grabbing Ludwig and carrying him upstairs, whispering to him how wonderful he was, how brave, how fuckin' whatever—he was sick of it. Sick of Ludwig always being better without trying.
Ludwig had killed; Ivan went to him now, because Ivan had at home exactly what he had always wanted. A Ludwig with no restraints. A partner, as it was. An equal. If Ivan walked up to a mirror right now and put his palm upon, it would have been Ludwig's bloodstained hand that touched his from the other side as they smiled at each other.
Toris lit up a cigarette and turned his eyes back to the flames, and wondered how much longer it would be before Ivan was burning all of them.
Ivan didn't need them anymore.
Ludwig, spattered with blood.
