Metallseele
Chapter 5: The Speed of Pain
Stephen switched the channel for the nth time, and then settled for the premiere snooker league just because it looked weird and foreign to him. Near his sitting position on the couch was a bag of potato chips and a couple of chocolate wrappers strewn about the floor and the couch. His feet were nestled onto the fluffy white carpet and his left arm was draped on the back of the furniture, the other free to accommodate his want to fish food beside him and pop it into his mouth.
The glory of weekends... Stephen thought, grinning while the player named Ebdon missed a pretty easy shot, which he concluded while the commentator went chuckling and commenting like a bullet train. The other player stood up, face impassive and concentrated then professionally shot the small balls into the pockets. Audience clapped at the impressive skill, yet the face of the player on the table still remained indifferent; as if he didn't hear the compliments being directed to him.
Stephen dipped a hand in the bag of chips, extracting a large piece of potato chip and crunched it in his mouth. He wondered... That face of the player resembled Bradley's _expression last night when they were waiting for their mother. Stephen bit his lip as the memories onslaught him quite painfully. He was still a child, but why does he act like someone... someone older than the child's age? And what about those things he sees?
A child who has a mind of a seven year-old and sees things. What does his innocence provide for his well-being? Stephen sighed dismissively, switching the channel until he reached the 50th channel in their cable TV. Nothing really interested him in the shows which their TV was showing, so he decided to turn it off, and settled on the couch, emptying the bag of junk food.
But Bradley still worried him. After what happened last night, what would be the outcome? His parents loved Brad so much that they hated to hurt him, but they already did, so what should they do? Their disappearance had nothing to do with the issue; they were at work, as usual, but still... If they were home, what would happen? Bradley was perhaps already awake in his room, far from recovering of his shock. It was their mother who hurt him, which was the least Stephen expected, and to Brad likewise.
"Sir Stephen?" a shy voice broke in Stephen's thoughts. The boy turned around, brushing the stubborn brown hair out of his eyes. It was the young maid.
"Yes?"
"Madam Crawford instructed me to tell you to wake Sir Bradley at ten o'clock. It's already time, sir," the young maid said, hands clasped nervously on her front.
"Okay," Stephen retorted shakily, finally coming to a nervousness building inside him. He carelessly placed the bag of chips down the couch, slipping into his slippers hastily and hurried up the stairs. Before knocking, he leaned to the door, determining if Bradley was awake or asleep. Weird enough, there was no sound coming from the inside.
Stephen assumed he was asleep, but at 10? Before he could twist the knob, the door opened freely, shoving him inside the room. Not fast enough to grab the doorframe, he fell onto the carpet, back first, then looked up at the glassy amber orbs staring down at him. There was no smile of amusement printed on his face and his lips were drawn into a tight line of seriousness... and of something else.
"You fell," Bradley uttered softly, not even extending a hand. The small child was still in his dark pajamas, yet his features exuded neatness despite the clothing. Stephen found it hard to say a word, less of the continued wince from the pain building on his back.
Stephen's breathing returned to normal, and he sat up, rubbing his back, then finally found his voice. "Obviously, Brad. You're not helpful today. Help me up," he extended his hand, and with a small sigh, Bradley grasped the hand and pulled him up.
"So you're already awake. I'm supposed to wake you up, but you're already up. How long have you been awake?" the brunette asked, brushing back the annoying locks of hair falling into his face. Looking down at Brad, he felt a sense of newness from the kid. Somehow, it didn't appeal to Stephen.
"About seven o'clock," Brad answered shortly, standing still and face focused blankly at his older brother. "I couldn't drift to sleep again, so I just lay down until now."
"Are you all right?" Stephen blurted out, and hated himself for even asking. That's an obvious thing to even ask, but the face of his brother didn't change a bit. Yet his eyes turned tired, and Brad closed them, while shifting from one foot to another.
"The truth is, not quite."
"I understand," Stephen gritted his teeth. "Breakfast?"
"I'm not hungry -" before the child could finish the statement, he was pulled to the stairs, then to the dining room. "Why did I even ask? It's mandatory to eat breakfast for a little kid like you," Stephen grumbled under his breath as he started to give instructions to the maids. Not long after, asparagus soup and a croissant were served to Brad, and the little child stared at the plates dispassionately, as if he had just gone to a restaurant and filled his stomach until he couldn't breathe.
"Eat, I command you," Stephen took the seat in front of Bradley, staring at his brother irritably. It sickened him to play big brother or even a babysitter, however, it couldn't be helped. Apparently, he's the only one in the family to make Bradley comfortable now.
Slowly, Brad picked up the utensil, scooping a spoonful of soup then stared at it. He let the thick liquid spill onto the bowl and did it again until Stephen popped a nerve on his temple.
"And I thought you were mature for your age! Oh, how stupid of me!" Stephen rolled his eyes then slammed his hand on the table, causing the utensils to clatter and the table to vibrate. "Bradley, wake up, you're not dreaming! That is soup. S-O-U-P. Do you know soup, even? Oh, goodness. Now I sound like a nanny," Stephen scowled, crossing his arms on his chest, gritting his teeth angrily.
Of course, it wasn't Bradley's fault why he could not eat; it was their parents´ fault. For being so careless, so insensitive and... stupid. Stephen thought heatedly, while watching the child lose the blank _expression and turn into wonder and a bit of guilt.
"Sorry. I don't have the appetite, that's all."
"Then you must lose the stubbornness and just damningly eat. If you complain later of stomach problems, I'll really leave you alone 'til you roll on the floor."
"That's not nice."
Stephen exasperatedly leaned on the back of the chair and sighed loudly. "Naturally, it's not nice. But I'll do it, nevertheless. Just eat, is that understood? It's weekend, so don't let me suffer," Stephen huffed and walked away to the living room.
Bradley stirred the soup, and then decided to go to his brother's words. He placed a spoonful of soup near his lips and sipped. Warm and comforting, it slid down his throat, yet after his eighth spoonful of soup, the soup tasted bland and lukewarm, which slid down his throat coldly. He started with the croissant, but it was like cardboard and he couldn't eat another bite of it. Face contorted in worry and pain, he pushed the plates away, then sipped his juice, which tasted more like vomit than orange.
"Miss Lara..." Bradley called from the counter, then a small, young girl emerged from behind it, in a maid's uniform.
"Yes, Sir Brad?"
"Please clean up the dining table. I'm already full. Thank you," with that, Bradley stealthily made his way upstairs, glancing from time to time at his brother watching TV and nibbling on his potato chips. The TV showed an action rodeo movie which didn't even appeal Stephen in the past, he knew. Giving one last glance at his older brother, Brad went to his room, closing the door, making sure it's locked.
+ + + + + +
"Mom..." a pair of amber eyes stared at steel grey ones, swirling in a background of red. "Do you love me?"
"What do you think?" soft, angelic voice... a hand tangled in raven hair. A warm breath tingling his skin...
"You love me, Mom. Of course, right?"
Silence. A silent deep chuckle, crescending to a loud laugh. Then silence. Then the laugh. Then a loud, deafening voice laughing again, pausing to deliver the answer in the same boisterous voice.
"What are you saying? I love you?" Sarcasm, disbelief, amusement, anger. "What are you talking about?" Two bloodshot grey eyes. A pair of tear-streaked cheeks. A hand hitting on the soft skin of the face. And three words yelled in disdain:
"I HATE YOU!"
The little form on the bed bolted upright, breathing heavily, grasping his chest fearfully, heartbeats increasing. Raven hair fell on the teary amber eyes, further making it moist. His face was sweating, as well as his whole body. When he finally caught his own breath, he turned to observe himself, and made sure he was just dreaming a while ago.
Bradley was still in his dark pajamas, yet he was not nestled in the sheets, meaning he just slept there without knowing. The clock told him it was already eleven o'clock in the morning, so he decided to take a shower and go down to the living room.
The little child stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower. Warm water cascaded down his small shoulders, soothing his muscles quite nicely. His head was partly aching from the sleep, he thought. Or from the dream, most probably. The screams were incredibly life-like that it almost tore his head apart. And the look of his mother... he shook his head to make the image disappear.
For the meantime, he decided, Bradley wanted to spare himself of the pain of thinking of his mother. Hard as it was, for he still longed the presence of his dear Mom - the mother he used to know not like the person he saw last night, but he needed it.
He turned off the water and then caught the sight of his hands wet from the shower. In wonder, he stared at it as the water slowly slid down until it reached the curve of his hands, then falling to the bathroom floor.
All of a sudden, it turned crimson, thick red liquid flowing down his fingers, tainting his nails, and the odour suffocating. Eyes widening from the change, he violently thrashed his hands, but in vain of releasing the fearsome sight. Bradley caught images of people decapitated and a pistol drenched in red, further making him sick on his stomach. He suppressed his screams of fear and closed his eyes; the only available option for him to not see. But blood and gore seemed to be permanent in his mind, swimming in the decapitated bodies lying on some unfamiliar territory. Brad tore his hair, and his head was painfully throbbing like it would burst. Slowly, like a fading picture, it disappeared to infinite darkness of his mind, and he gasped; the tension slowly dissipating. Breathing ragged and rasp, he sat down the bathroom floor, eyes opening slowly to invite the image of his palms, expecting to see what seemed to be blood, but instead saw the droplets of water lying on top of it.
Brad breathed deeply and stared at his hands. Were it those visions he was seeing like then? Or was he just going mad? If he told Stephen this, would he really tell his Mom to send him away to an asylum? The visions were getting morbid everyday, and Brad was confused of this; there was no possible explanation for it. For some reason, what he saw in his head came true at times, so that would mean the latest vision would? He shivered, and got a towel, the steam of the bathroom fading, leaving the cold emptiness of the room.
If it would come true, then whose blood was it? Bradley thought, slipping into his bathrobe. For no reason at all, the earlier dream went again to his head, reminding him of the blood-shot eyes of his mother...
"Mom? No..." Brad whispered, cradling his pounding head on his hands.
++++
Brad went downstairs, ignoring the food prepared on the table. He went straight to the living room, and seeing Stephen seated on the couch, Brad settled on the leather chair, hands folded on his lap, watching what was on the TV. He rarely watched TV, because most of the time then, they would spend the weekends out of the house, and if Brad were alone in the house, he would just read some books in their library. And now, being in a chaotic mental mess, he decided to try something new.
It was a concert Stephen was watching of a band who all had long hair and weird make-up. The backdrop of the stage literally screamed violence and darkness to Bradley, but Stephen didn't seem to notice it, for he watched it with delight printed on his face.
"Something wrong?" the brunette asked, eyes still locked on the TV.
"Nothing," the raven-haired child looked down, staring at his feet. There was silence for Stephen's part for some moments before he finally replied. "I'm going out," he said nonchalantly. "Later."
"Uh? Where are you going?"
"Is that important to you?" Stephen spat loudly.
"You're my brother," Brad bit his lower lip. "I want to go with you."
Stephen smirked, then laughed, the laugh not reaching his steel grey eyes. "I'm going to meet my friends. I'm surprised. You're interested to know the background of my friends, hmm? Determine if I'm bad as they are?" He laughed again, but his eyes remained impassive.
Brad went silent, watching the band thrash around, hauling their guitars on the air, then playing brusquely. Fireworks the colour of crimson fired up into the air, creating a glow around the stage, which created a morbid mental image in Bradley's thoughts, which was bloodshed.
Stephen sighed tiredly, letting his left hand fall to his lap noisily. He brought his right hand up to his hair, brushing it briefly and stood up. "Okay, you can come. But only today. This is not going to be a weekend event." He turned the television off and stood up. "So get dressed, or I'll leave you."
Bradley stared at his brother's back, stretching his arm all the while. He reconsidered the thought of eating, but immediately discarded it, fearing the anorexic reaction to the food, brought by the unknown emotion hitting him in his head. He also went to his bedroom to get dressed, to fully obey his brother.
+ + +
"Stephen!" a brunette shouted from the distance, bathing in the blinding sunlight on the deserted grounds. The afternoon was very humid, the wind was not blowing, and the air remained hot and dry, making the afternoon hardly a time for strolling. Behind the brunette, a small figure emerged, head down, and locks of raven hair cascading on his forehead.
The lad in question titled his head, while kicking the dry gravel on his feet. "What?" an annoyed sideward glance was thrown at the small figure, then resumed its stare on the gravel.
"You already quittin' on babysitting your brother? Well, it's only fifteen minutes," the brunette said as he came close to Stephen. He carelessly sat on the grounds, then lay on the grass, looking up at the blond guy slumped on one of the benches. "Can he make a record of being a good 'ol brother for an hour? What do you think, Davis?"
"Think not," Davis retorted, an automatic lopsided grin on his face. The sunlight fell on his blond locks, making it look like they were glowing. Stephen bared his teeth at his two friends, then sat beside the brunette, twisting a blade of grass.
"Can we go somewhere else? This place is making me sick," Stephen remarked, snapping the grass bit by bit. At the word 'sick', his younger brother glanced at him, brows knitted in worry.
"Where then? School?" Davis laughed, stopping when a car sped up near them. Stephen groaned inwardly, as his memory said it was their mother's Porsche, and therefore the almighty queen was inside. His mother was least of his worries, but he was worried a bit, how Brad would react if they met each other today.
"Damn," Stephen muttered, lowering his look so that his hair would partly cover his eyes. Glancing sidewards, he saw his brother likewise staring at the Porsche, and from the blank look, Stephen concluded that his brother was in the same state as him.
"Who's that?" the brunette asked, poking Stephen on the side. "Gorgeous car. Those things are the stuff I see on TV!"
"Who the heck is that? Stephen, you know the owner?" Davis placed a hand on Stephen's shoulder, lending his weight on the sitting guy. Annoyed, Stephen shrugged the hand off, and edged away from his friends, to the spot where his mother possibly wouldn't see him.
The driver's door of the Porsche opened, and out stepped a tall woman with raven hair, a pair of blue-tinted sunglasses perched on her head. Fortunate for Stephen, for his mother evidently didn't see him because her stare was just focused on her raven-haired son who was standing some few feet from her.
"Bradley..." she uttered, brows knitted in a near-crying _expression.
"Mom," the child uttered, though still not changing the blank _expression on his face. His mother clamped a hand on her mouth, reminding Stephen of those sappy no-plot drama series on TV.
Both friends turned to Stephen, mouth slightly agape. It was Davis who first said something, in an unbelievable tone.
"She's your Mom? Why didn't you tell us in the first place?"
"Apparently, she is. Why should I bother telling you? You're going to find out, anyway!" Stephen hissed, throwing both his friends a dirty look. The brown-haired boy rolled his eyes as a so-clichéd-you-could-vomit scene unfolded on his sight. His mother hurried in her stiletto sandals to her loving son to embrace him. Though the only flaw in the near-retching scene was the _expression on Brad's face.
Stephen inwardly shivered as he saw Brad's blank _expression. Shouldn't he be happy to be at once be reunited with his mother? This Bradley he sees now seemed to be out of himself, and much like a grown-up with reason and mature thinking. Not a child would don a blank look once his mother tries to be at peace and love again with her son...
Courtney Crawford hugged Brad's small frame tightly, sacrificing her smooth knees by digging them on the ground for better access on the hug. "Bradley... I'm very sorry. Just forget about everything bad that happened, please?"
A blank look. Stephen cursed under his breath. 'What is this?' Stephen thought irritably.
"Mom... do you hate me?" Bradley whispered, caramel eyes locked onto the steel grey ones that belonged to his mother.
"Why? Of course not... Don't think like that. I love you always," his mother said, hugging Brad again. Stephen gagged, now physically which created gasps from both sides.
"Not your type of setting, eh?" the brunette taunted Stephen, smirking. "This is award winning, so there's no time to be embarrassed." Stephen shot his friend a glare, then resumed watching the mother and son reunion beneath the mass of hair. Davis snickered.
Finally, Courtney began to stand up, of course brushing the dirt off her knees before fully standing up. She took Brad's hand tightly, then set off to the car. "Let's go. We'll spend this afternoon together," his mother said happily, not even glancing at the surroundings. Bradley looked at Stephen for a moment, eyes blank, but lips turned up in a smile while he was getting into the car of his mother.
"She forgot about you, Stephen. That sucks," Davis commented, shaking his head. Stephen slapped Davis' back of the head, then walked from them, cursing under his breath.
"Shut up, idiots," he spat, while the two followed him. On the corner of his eyes, he watched the Porsche speed away from the park, and inside, he felt a pang of ache, which he constantly ignored, yet still remained in his mind.
+ + +
Bradley watched his mother hum a fast song, a smile lightening her features, and her hands tapping with the rhythm. Her eyes, which had large eyebags under them were rimmed with kohl-coloured eyeliner, and her lips were smudged with blackish lipstick, which made Brad think of the Goths he saw in TV.
"You know Bradley," his mother said, chewing on her lower lip absentmindedly. "I figured we never get together these days. I think a little reunion would be a nice idea, don't you think?"
Brad looked at his mother's grey eyes, and nodded. "Yes, I do think so," Brad said, after thinking that his nod wouldn't be heard by his mother. The smile widened on her face, then she continued the fast tune she had been humming a while ago.
The raven-haired child watched the cars outside his window, which were inferior to their car. And on every car that passed them, an image of Stephen kept appearing on Brad's mind.
"Stephen..." Brad murmured.
+ + +
Davis followed Stephen close, trying to match the taller boy's large steps. The brunette was also doing the same, although not succeeding. The brunette sighed melodramatically, swiping the back of his hand on his sweating forehead.
"Oh help me God! Why is our dear friend acting like a bitch," the brunette said loudly, spreading his arms in effect. At that, Stephen stopped, staring daggers at the boy who had just insulted him. Davis stopped as well, catching his breath, his back bent, and his hands gripping his knees.
"A bitch, you say?" Stephen asked, glaring at his friend. Davis glanced at them both and shook his head. A soft 'nonsense' was muttered under the blond's breath.
"Yes, you heard right! Why are you acting this way? I thought we would have fun today!"
"Fun?" Davis said, then chuckled. When Stephen turned to glare at the brunette, the blond hurried between them, arms separating the two. "Hey, hey! We're eleven years old(*), to fight like kids!"
Stephen resumed walking, hands shoved in his pockets. He was overly annoyed at the fact that his mother hadn't even paid for her mistakes that night. He thought that his mother had considered the event a normal thing that kids would experience, but in fact, it had a disturbing effect on children, like Bradley.
"Okay, I apologize," the brunette told Stephen, landing into step beside him. "It's just that you don't tell us what's wrong. It pisses me off, 'coz you're the one who planned this get-along."
"Hehehe... get-along... crap," Stephen laughed, slapping Davis on the back. "Nothing's wrong, actually, Vienfer. I'm just angry with my brother and tried not to vent it to the two of you," he lied, though hiding it successfully by not showing his friends his face.
"Why would you get angry with your brother? He seems to be kind and quiet a while ago," Davis asked, kicking the stones on his way.
"He's weird too," Stephen continued, dismissing the remark from Davis. "He tells me that he sees things which actually happens after some hours," Stephen thoughtfully looked at the skies. "It's as if he's predicting it."
The brunette called Vienfer turned to Stephen, his face an _expression of amazement. "You mean, he's like, a psychic?"
"Dunno... if he is, then he's a freak," Stephen concluded.
+ + +
Brad looked around the vicinity, amazed at how the lights moved so fast that he couldn't distinguish the colours. The two of them walked into a fairly dim room, seeing people gathered in large groups, others were solitary, others with few companions. Bradley was amazed, too, how the place seemed to hold a thousand people, and still, there were plenty of room for a hundred to stand in a foot's distance.
The hand that had been gripping Bradley's hand pulled him quickly to a room, which had dim yellow light, and there were no multicoloured lights roaming about the room. There were many tables beside the wall, and on the side was a long, long bar which lined liquors in different bottles and long-stemmed glasses hanging upside-down, in an array of sizes. They went to a table near the bar, his mother donning a wide smile.
A waiter quickly approached them, in an all-black attire, the man's hair carefully styled, which made Brad think that he's fit more of a bartender, instead of being a waiter.
"We'll have two orders of tomato fettuccine with scallops, one zesty bloody mary, and one chilled fruit punch. Yes, that's all," Courtney told the waiter, and then immediately after the waiter left, she smiled at Brad, and held his tiny hands.
"This place is so beautiful, don't you think? I really like this place, and now we're going to eat in it," she said, pure merriment in her grey eyes. For a moment, her _expression saddened, but replaced by a wide smile again. "I'm very sorry about all that I have done. Do you forgive me?"
Bradley stared blankly at his mother, then gave her a small smile. "I do forgive you," he replied shortly, wondering why his mother was so excited. Surely, it wasn't Brad she was excited with, but there's something else...
The waiter appeared again, with their orders. The pasta looked delicious enough that Brad remembered his hunger, and wanted to eat at once. He forgot his manners and dug into his food, shoving the fork in his mouth, liking the taste in his mouth.
"Hungry, aren't you? Haven't you eaten lunch?" his mother remarked.
Brad nodded his head briefly and then resumed eating his pasta. Suddenly, his mother exclaimed a name, which caused him to look up, while drinking his punch. There was a very tall man with almost cropped reddish orange hair, and handsome features. Magenta spectacles with silver rims were on the man's eyes, further emphasizing the built of his face.
"Luege! What a surprise," his mother said in a honey-tainted voice. The man smiled, revealing near-perfect teeth.
"Hello. Who's the kiddie?" the man asked in an accented voice. The spectacled eyes turned to Bradley, and the child nodded to acknowledge the man's presence.
Courtney seemed to hesitate for a moment, then replied softly, "He's my son, Bradley. Say hi to Luege, Bradley," she said to the child, who stared blankly at his mother, then did what he was told. He waved his little hand quickly, then tucked it under the table hastily.
"Bradley, excuse us, we have something to talk about," his mother stood up, and went to the farthest place near the bar where Brad couldn't see them.
"Luege! Was your appearance a coincidence, or did you do it intentionally?" Courtney said heatedly, her previously smiling face turned into a gaunt _expression.
Luege raised his hands, as if for defense. "Hey, I was thinking of drinking a glass or two when I walked in on the two of you. It was pure coincidence, I swear."
"Well, fine. Just don't do it again, for the child may think other things about us."
"Bradley? Are you kidding me?"
"He's more mature than you think he is," Courtney said, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Oh fine. Meine Liebe... how about tonight?" Luege wrapped his muscular arms around her waist, drawing her close to his body. Courtney shrugged him off, ignoring the man's intentions towards her.
"Tonight, I'm occupied. I'm sorry, Luege. Yesterday I was a wreck, and I don't want to let it happen again."
"Wreck?" Luege's cellphone rang, and he ignored it, putting it in his pocket.
"Nevermind. See you tomorrow, or the day after that mein Lieber," she spat, and walked away, to her son once again.
+++
"It has been found out that the target is in category one, third position, probably.
"It wasn't exact. The information which was obtained was incomplete.
"Yes sir. More information will be given the next time.
"Yes, of course. I will. Sic, sic (**).
"Suus nomen (***)? Crawford. Sic. Ave.(****)"
TBC.
+ + + +
(*) - I thought that Stephen's age in chapter 1, which was 9 is too
inappropriate for him. So now, he's 11.
(**) - Latin word for 'yes'. I don't know if this is correct, for I only got it
from my english/latin freelang dictionary in my computer.
(***) - Latin phrase for 'his name'.
(****) - Latin word for 'goodbye'. Really, like Ave Maria. Heheh (Ave Caesar!! lol)
Beta note: Luege = Lüge = ´lie´ in german XD (waaah! You bad beta! hehe)
AN: Because of college adjustments and craps related to it, this chapter had been delayed for long days, even months. So now, thanks to my unstable mind, I've finished this chapter! Thanks to my great beta, Picaro! Luv ya! ~.^ And as usual, thanks to all the people who reviewed. (Though I wish you would put your e-mail addresses so I can mail the answers to your questions.) You're the reason why I finished this chapter. Hope you liked the story, because I really enjoyed writing it!