My blood is pumping through my veins
It's really not surprising
I hold a force I can't contain.
Somebody get me out of here, I'm tearing at myself
Nobody gives a damn about me, or anybody else.
- 'Medication' by Garbage
++++++++
MetallseeleChapter 6: Do you see it? Can you feel it?
Rain splattered on the pavement as Bradley tried in vain not to wet his school uniform while walking with a black umbrella. Cars sped by him, some kind enough not to drive through a puddle near the boy, yet some indifferent, so that they sped the car onto puddles, wetting the lower part of his pants. The school came into view, and Bradley sighed in relief, thankful that only his pants were abused. Hurrying on the steps, he hastily closed the umbrella, tossing it to the basket with the bunch of others and went inside.
Mr. Roencraft was standing on the facade of the building, a radiant smile on his face, despite the gloomy weather.
"Good morning, Bradley."
Bradley discarded the thought of stomping the dirt off his shoes on the mat and instead looked up and forced a tight smile.
"Good morning, Mr. Roencraft."
For some reason, and Bradley didn't know what, the jovial-looking teacher accompanied him on the hall, even sending him off directly to his homeroom. He knew that the teacher was a kind one to him - the mentor never faltered to give him that impression, but this time, there was probably something in his mind that made him do these things. Otherwise, he would just remain the same, watching him from afar in his classes.
Bradley sat in his usual chair - on the back, away from all the bullies, and propped his chin on his palm, looking with a bored expression at the teacher instructing about mathematics. His fingers played with the pencil on his desk and slowly, his thoughts drifted off somewhere.
A week had passed since his birthday, and he was glad that the occupants of their house had turned to normal once again. The child spend all nights before bedtime with Stephen, who thought that this was getting like a ritual. And Bradley, who was once agitated whenever their mother wasn't present, resorted to a dull silence every time Stephen appeared at the door, with the usual peek of their father after his brother went in. School remained normal as ever, the bullying crowd taunting him and performing violent acts that often resulted to nasty bruises on his arm and legs, which Bradley carefully concealed with his clothes, grateful that the weather was still chilly, for he could wear his jackets and trousers all the time. He never confided in Stephen nor his parents about the events in school, because Bradley knew it would be fruitless; for he had, in this week, witnessed in disturbed anxiety every night of shouting and argument in their house.
He raised a pencil to his hair, beginning to twist it into his dark locks, and gazed at the blackboard blankly, not digesting a single word the teacher wrote on it.
It was one thing he kept to himself permanently. After Stephen finished reading him a story, he would pretend to be asleep, and then opening his eyes, perking his senses up into alertness when his brother finally closed the door. Curiosity was always biting him, and the lack of information about his parents' source of argument raised his confusion. Ignoring the fact that he could get sick staying up beyond his bedtime every night, he lay awake, his senses alert, and listened attentively to the words shouted by the two adults bickering in the living room. Usually they would taunt each other until one was hit, and silence would come, a signal that it had ended. But last night had a bit of improvement. No pointless taunts were shouted to each other, and instead, the topic shifted to him.
"Crawford? Bradley Crawford? CRAWFORD!" Bradley jumped on his chair, arousing some sniggers around him. He looked at the teacher at the board, arms akimbo, staring fixedly at him. "Aren't you listening? I was calling your name hundreds of times! Now, as I see you're now alert, and awake, solve the problem on the board!"
Slowly, Bradley stood up, his face close to feeling hot. If this would come to the knowledge of his parents, he would be really dead. He wished the teacher would change her mind, as well as the principal... He meekly proceeded to the board, getting a piece of chalk, and answered the problem in ease, scribbling fast with the piece of chalk. When he was done, he looked up with a blank expression to their teacher, and calmly walked to his chair.
But come to think of it... Bradley mused, as he sat on his chair, the teacher gawking at him as if he's come from the underground. I wouldn't be dead after all when my parents knew... that is, if they even catch my parents anywhere.
+++
Stephen shoved his hands into his pockets, walking with his head bowed on the corridor, heading for his usual seat in the playground. Though when he arrived at the place, the swings were all wet, puddles swimming on the ground, and circles of water on the seats of the swings. Slapping his hand on his forehead for idiotically forgetting the weather, he turned around and started to walk to the library, still staring at his feet. No later though, another pair of small feet, clad in girlish pointed leather shoes, joined his, and startled, Stephen looked up, only colliding head-first on the person in front of him.
He managed to steady himself on the nearest metal pole, but evidently, the girl he bumped into was hurt; she sat on the floor, rubbing her head furiously. But before Stephen could offer to help the girl stood up quickly, and swiftly, arranging her short skirt and flipping her very long red hair from her face, fixed her intimidating green eyes on Stephen.
Stephen mustered all his might to not to drop his jaw. Here in front of him was the girl he always watched from afar, the girl who's always dancing with all the candles around her...
The girl was still staring at him, unblinking.
"I'm sorry. D-Did I hurt you?"
There was a solid moment of silence as the girl stood like a stone, slightly narrow green eyes fixed at Stephen.
"It has been done. An apology is worthless," she said in a cold, whispery sort of voice, which chilled Stephen even more than the effect of what she had said. Slowly, and with the sign of grace, she turned around and started to walk away. Then, Stephen realized she, too, was heading towards the library, and that it would be an excellent opportunity to talk to her, albeit the attitude she had shown earlier.
Stephen walked after her first, trying to make her notice that he was there in her wake, following. But he didn't succeed, she merely walked, almost gliding with grace towards the library, as if not hearing anything around her. Frustrated, he walked into step with her, and instantly, the effect he wanted came. She looked at him blankly, stopping in her tracks. They were some meters away from the library now.
"What do you want?" she asked.
"I was only going to the library, and I assume you are too?" Stephen said not so confidently, clenching his fist in his pocket.
Again, her green eyes stared coldly at him. "I don't believe you."
"I'm not lying," Stephen said quite defensively. Then, sighing, he placed a hand on his brown hair and rumpled it sheepishly. "I suggest we drop it, it's really no use arguing about the matter. But truly, I am going to the library."
"My name is Vaura. And I know you're Crawford," she said monotonously.
"Stephen," he added dully.
"Stephen," she whispered, as if testing the name on her tongue. With a slow turn, she turned her back on him, and headed for the right corridor, walking past the library, not looking back, her long red hair swaying on her back gracefully.
Stephen stared at the path she took, obviously confused. He had never met a girl, or even any human who acted like her, or even close to her.
+++
"Add some more butterflies to the left of the page," Mr. Roencraft suggested, poking the paper Bradley was working on. The child nodded, and absent-mindedly picked up the red crayon, drawing butterflies in a sort of finesse, and went to work with the clouds again. When Bradley thought the mentor had gone to inspect other works, a chair was pulled, and the teacher sat onto it, a smile on his fair face.
Bradley glanced at his mentor, and then proceeded to work on his art, pretending to be undisturbed by the presence of Mr. Roencraft beside him. He had never ignored someone, who actually intended to be close to him before in his life. There was just something that pulled him to feel that emotion, which he had never felt before.
The raven-haired child could feel Mr. Roencraft's eyes burning on him, and finally, Bradley turned his head to look at the mentor, who, for a some moments donned a blank, contemplative expression, and then shifting to his usual cheerful face.
"Bradley," said Mr. Roencraft, clearing his throat. "I am very worried about you. I know," he cleared his throat again, closing his eyes, then adjusting his glasses. "I know - I have always been notified of your schoolmates bullying you." Bradley looked at his mentor in interest, wondering why he was receiving a speech from his Arts teacher. "Yet there's just some things that a teacher cannot do. For one, I cannot reform the children who bully you. So I would just like to advise you to always take care, okay?"
"Thank you, I will," Bradley answered shortly, grateful that someone still cared for him. He looked back at his drawing, picked up a blue crayon, and drew a cloud, filling it with blue color.
With that, Mr. Roencraft left from Bradley's side, walking to the others to look at their artworks. Sparing the mentor a last glance, the child gave him his most sincere smile, nodding slightly.
The day wore off like most of the days in Bradley's elementary school life. Although the only thing missing was the bullying from the hulking classmates of his, which made him elated; he thought Mr. Roencraft shunned them away from Bradley. Writing class, the last subject Bradley had that day ended early, because the teachers were supposed to have a meeting. This made Bradley glum. It meant he had to wait for some thirty minutes for his father to pick him up, which would be a nasty sign for some bullies who were free to taunt him anytime.
Walking out from the classroom, his gaze fixed on the floor, he started to head to the facade of the building, planning to sit on the stairs, but a rough hand caught him on the biceps, hurling him into a dark room, with Bradley wide-eyed, unable to fling his arms or even scream with an emotion he had never felt before. His heart was frantically beating, almost ripping his chest apart with the intensity. Although he was attacked physiologically, he still could think rationally. There was something in the event that made him think it already happened before: deja vu.
The arm still gripped him tightly, the fingers digging into his bones. A sharp pain surged through him when a nail dug into his sensitive skin. But he didn't utter a wince. Perhaps terror, he thought, stopped it. A muffled voice came from in front of Bradley, indistinguishable from the bullies that had tortured him.
"So, so... here's our play doll, guys," the muffled voice said, and the other two beside him sniggered, and the hand that gripped him trembled with mirth.
"Maybe we should ask him a few questions before his execution, like in the television,", a whispery high pitched voice said, but still, Bradley didn't recognize it. He couldn't hear his own breathing, but the pounding of his heart. He couldn't scream, the fear was consuming him. It seemed as if Bradley's mouth was stitched. However, Bradley managed a small gasp, which made the three laugh again in extreme amusement.
"Oooo, how cute," another muffled voice, but deeper this time said at Bradley's right.
Adjusting his eyes on the darkness, Bradley instead saw a clear, vivid image... Silhouettes of three big boys holding rulers and pencil cases ...a crouched body looking up innocently with big, caramel eyes...
At this, Bradley struggled to get free. He didn't want the vision to happen, it was too disturbing. And he didn't want to die... He didn't want to die...
"The wittle Bwadley is stwuggling fwee!" mimicked the one on the child's left, the arm gripping him so tightly that he felt it would crack. Bradley whimpered silently, but regretted doing so, as the three burst out in hysterical laughter again. He froze in his stance, trembling, knowing perfectly the strange emotion washing fiercely over him. He was scared to death.
"All right..." the muffled voice said, getting something from the floor. "Release him and drop him to the ground," he ordered, and the hand that gripped Bradley threw him in a heap in the floor. The vision was being realized at that moment, and the child was aware of that. In a swift motion, which was he didn't think of, or even proceed in his head, he swiftly kicked the leg of the person in front of him, and slided his leg on the other two, yet unfortunately, the first one he hit recovered quickly; he grabbed Bradley by the collar and raised him in a superb strength that lifted him from the ground. Bradley choked.
"You," the muffled voice was trembling in anger. "Made me angry. You will pay for this," the child choked, his windpipe nearly shut. He threw Bradley on the ground, and he gulped air as quickly as he could, afraid to lose his life.
"W-w-what are y-y-you..." the child gasped quietly, but it seemed that the other three didn't place their attention to him.
"All right, game's over. Enough of this. We have only a few minutes," the muffled voice grunted, and then shuffled noises came out again. The footsteps of the other two went close to the muffled voice, and the noises began to get louder. A flashlight went on below them, casting the shadows of the three big boys in front of him. Caramel eyes widened, when the tools were raised over their heads. There weren't pencil cases or rulers, there were sticks and batons raised above their heads, promising violence and lethality.
Without further ado, they striked on Bradley.
One. A nasty large baton smashed on his shin, then a blinding pain coursed through his senses. He muffled a scream, but someone gripped his throat, shutting his vocal cords. The panic and the fear consumed him, but he had got no escape.
Two. Falling in deep suffering on the floor, the baton once again slammed onto Bradley's side of the head, throwing him on the right side, and hitting his head on the wall, the impact giving the boy a dizzy sensation, and his body slid down the wall, his eyes starting to blank...
Three. Sticks slapped onto his thighs, and eventually a sharp one grazed his leg, ripping the fabric off, and drawing blood from the tender skin. Flowing... flowing... Crimson tide washing the paleness...
And Four...
The weapons were used, the cruelty extended. Sadistic kids, such as them, young like himself committing a crime for what? Bradley didn't know. He didn't know where the weapons were slammed on his body, all he knew was that the fog of thoughts was distracting him from feeling all the pain. He didn't know real pain, yet now... Another blow drove him to slam on the wall, a sharp pain blinding him, and then, as black as the room was, his vision blackened even more, his senses blurred, and he wasn't sure if he already died or just lost his consciousness. The taste on his tongue was bitter, and unfamiliar. The panic subsided, the fear slipped, and the pain remained. But before he passed out from the world, a faraway voice boomed: "Enough... you have done better than I have..."
And he lay dead from the world, the pain unfelt.
++
There were cars everywhere. Cars packed like sardines on a narrow highway. Everyone was screaming, pointing accusing fingers everywhere - from the head of a cop, to the head of an innocent bystander. The horns were blowing simultaneously; deafening noise. The heat of the sun was worsening the condition, it's affects on the already hot heads of the drivers. And in the center of the chaos was Alan Crawford, calm, but ready to burst in his air-conditioned Jaguar.
It was 4:20 pm, twenty minutes late from picking Bradley up from school. He had already called Bradley's school, but the phone was currently in repair. However, in calling Stephen's school, he was successful. He notified his son that he would arrive after half an hour, but from the looks of the situation, he might even spend the night in there.
Apparently, a stupid driver of a truck, which was approximately twenty feet long clashed with another carriage truck. The reason? They forgot to stomp on the break. Remembering all these, Alan Crawford cursed under his breath, thinking how idiotic and careless these drivers were. But perhaps the worst actors were the police. How stupid of them not to fix the mess, they'd just have to redirect the traffic and send the cars to the other side, while barraging the part of the highway to stop the cars from packing in the narrow road.
Cursing rather colorfully, he slammed his fist on the horn and let the horrible sound echo, hopefully, to the moronic drivers of the trucks.
+++
"Bradley, Bradley..."
A soft slap slightly on the cheek, followed by the repeated call.
"Bradley? BRADLEY!" the slap was intensified, and the blurred images in front of the child sharpened a bit, revealing Mr. Roencraft on the driver's seat, of a car the child wasn't familiar with. Blinking his eyes, he found out that he had a bit of a difficulty with his eyesight. Lifting his left hand, he gingerly touched his eye, and a prickling sensation shot from his eye to the whole of his body. He winced loudly, and he shifted his eyes to the ruffled professor beside him.
Everything was fuzzy... "What... What's happening - w-what happened... Mr. Roen..." There were fogs all around. He couldn't focus. Bradley asked flabbergastedly, trying to move his feet, but in vain. When he did, a sharp pain went to his bones up to his spine. Yet everything else felt numb, ironic for the pain caused it entirely; plus, everything felt immovable. Casting a fearful glance at the professor, tiny beads of tears built on the corners of the child's eyes, giving Bradley's colorless cheeks a tinge of pink.
Fogs and clouds of figures obliterated the boy's sight. Though he could still see Mr. Roencraft turning to focus on the windshield, and starting the car. The engine purred silently, and instantly, the air-conditioning ran, chilling the child, and numbing more parts of his body.
"Don't cry. It would be fruitless to, and plus, you have nothing to cry for," the professor stated bluntly, a foreign tone to his usual soft voice. Nonetheless, Bradley assumed, the professor was in a state of panic that he hid it behind his calm. Bradley drew in a breath, and started to breathe evenly to calm his rioting nervous system.
"And don't fall asleep. I wouldn't want you to risk falling into a coma," the professor added, stomping on the gas.
Clouds and blurs. He couldn't see anyone but his mentor. "Where's my Dad?" Bradley demanded, which he wished he had asked earlier. His Dad might be waiting fruitlessly for him in front of the school, and driving himself nuts, with every minute of an absent Bradley. And his mother... his mother...
"Your Dad will be contacted later. Apparently, he was still absent when I drove you out of the building," looking at Bradley, he anticipated his next question. "It's already four thirty. Perhaps he's busy on something, and was unable to call. I will contact him later, okay? For now, just relax and try to focus yourself," this time, the words were spoken softly, and Bradley was glad for that. The boy blinked several times.
Shifting his strained head to the right, he started to watch the cars which passed by; the people walking with their emotionless faces, as if indifferent from the world they're walking onto. Fascinated, and more relaxed than ever, his eyes started to droop, the fogginess and clouds obstructing his sight.
'Don't fall asleep...' Mr. Roencraft's warning echoed in his head. But his head was too heavy, plus the lids were closing for a blissful sleep, which was the best thing he could've done that moment when he was just beaten half to death for no reason.
A strong slap woke Bradley from his grogginess. Mr. Roencraft's dark eyes glinted with anger - no, something quite the contrary to Bradley - it was foreboding. The teacher's lips quirked uneasily, and then with a soft breath, he straightened up and focused his sight onto the road. "I said don't sleep."
Bradley's eyes widened, and he silently willed himself to focus. His hand landed on his thigh, and something warm met his palm. Raising the palm slowly, his eyes widened in horror as the crimson wetness filled his sight. The boy's hand trembled in fear, and further when he saw another line of blood drawing from his thigh.
Suddenly he was onslaught by images, some distant, some... familiar.
All of a sudden, it turned crimson, thick red liquid flowing down his fingers, tainting his nails, and the odor suffocating. Eyes widening from the change, he violently thrashed his hands, but in vain of releasing the fearsome sight.
Eventually the images were becoming destructive. His mind was racing backwards and Bradley was in the verge of fainting when two hands carried him, his heavy head leaning against a warm hard chest. His lids were drawing to the limit, he couldn't control it...
At last, as he landed in the softness of the mattress, the overly sterile smell greeting his senses, suffocating his mind and letting him grant what he so desired. The tired child blinked one last time and finally drifted to unconsciousness, albeit the desperate slaps of the mentor had given him and his words of warning that made him fear. This was the last thing he wanted, and he had claimed it.
+++
Stephen tiptoed, peeking at the top of the fence to see whether a Jaguar was approaching their school. Some of his classmates were still hanging around the school's premises, but he wasn't tempted to join them, since his father would surely bitch about his lateness or whatever rule he had broken that time. Yet after twenty minutes of waiting, perhaps it was the time that he went home alone. After all, he's already eleven, waiting for his puberty to arrive and steal his childish voice and physique.
He opened his book bag and confirmed that he hadn't missed anything. As usual, he had all of his things, but it wouldn't be cool to walk alone to their home. Maybe Vienfer or Davis were still fooling around the school, so it would be nice to search for them now that he's free for an afternoon.
Walking towards the grounds of the school, he instantly spotted Vienfer slouched behind a tree, flipping a cellphone in his hands. His brunette hair shone under the setting sun, and his eyes looked very distant and blank. Stephen grinned and walked to his friend under the shadows of the trees. But before he could greet Vienfer, a mass of red hair appeared from the shadows, covering Vienfer's profile. Instinctually, Stephen slipped in the shadows all the more, watching the event unfold in front of him. It was Vaura, obviously. But what about Vaura and Vienfer?
Vaura sat in front of his friend, blocking Vienfer's profile. From Stephen's stand, he couldn't hear a thing, or even see their expressions.
Inside Stephen, he felt a stab of jealousy from the casualness of the two. Hell, he'd been hawking that girl for months, and then Vienfer's the one who'll fish her without even letting his friends know? That was absurd, and not like his friend. Especially since Vienfer was the type who always wanted to know everything and broadcast everything interesting to his friends. Why this now?
Stephen ran a hand trough his hair, blinking his eyes from the strain of watching the two closely. And then a thought occurred to him which was obscure, as if someone whispered into his brain.
Maybe... maybe they're not really what I thought they were... What was Vaura and Vienfer anyway? No one dons that name in a normal American society...
Ignoring the thought, he just turned around and decided to leave. It was better to interrogate his friend later, and not embarrass himself, and including his friend in front of Vaura. Quietly, he began walking away when a soft voice called him... No, it was as if it was spoken in his head... But...?
"Stephen?"
Whirling around, he found Vaura right behind him, long red hair on her chest, glassy green eyes mysteriously peeking through long lashes. Her pale pink lips forming the words, hypnotizing him, captivating his attention... Words were nothing beneath his ears, that sight was all he beheld - the sight he longed for, prayed for in months... and now she was...
"Stephen... I wanted to tell you this for a long time. I know you've been watching me... And I was watching you. You never knew..."
Her voice had a wicked tone, but its softness gradually took over the sharpness of her tone. Stephen was intoxicated, his head swimming in fogs that he never comprehended what happened next.
Vaura tiptoed carefully, placing her slender fingers on his chest lightly, and placed her lips on the corner of Stephen's lips. A light touch, enticing, making him beg for more... what is happening with him? Why...? What?
Confused half-lidded gray eyes bore into green ones, those eyes making him captive of any of her intentions. What he felt inside him turmoiled, but it was neither love nor admiration. It was submission.
"Do you see it? Can you feel it? A question I reserved just for you... For my longing, for my desire. Now... will you join us?"
Her tone wasn't a question, it was merely a statement. Stephen forgot his earlier confusion, and a certain statement formed in his head, coaxing him to her. 'Ego accipere...'(*) the phrase repeated in his head, not understood, but all the more seductive.
Finally, he just uttered the strange words, echoing in his brain and further from his mouth. "Ego accipere. I definitely accept... I accept..."
Slender fingers twirled in his hair, going down until it laced into the fingers of her captive. "...æternus," (**) she whispered.
+++
The road cleared, and Alan hurried to Brad's school. It was almost an hour after their supposed meeting time. Grabbing his cellphone, he dialed the school's second number from memory, and a tiny tired voice answered.
"Hello, good afternoon, may I help you?"
Alan forgot his politeness, and promptly asked for the purpose of his call. "Is there a Bradley Crawford still in the school premises?"
"Wait, sir, lemme check," disdain was printed in the receiver's voice and soft taps of the keyboard followed.
"Sir, there's still a Bradley Crawford in the -" Alan Crawford clicked the end button and parked in front of the school. There was no small dark-haired boy waiting on the facade. Stepping out of the car, he went in the school, immediately meeting face to face with the bodyguard.
"What do you want, sir?"
"Has a small dark-haired boy named Bradley Crawford left the school premises?"
"Bradley... ah, the kid with Mr. Roencraft! Yes, they have left. But the kid left his things over here," the guard pointed to a corner. "And apparently the kid's not in a good situation either."
Alan's expression hardened at the statement. "Was he bullied or harassed?"
"No, no, sir, not harassed. Probably he was hurt by some kids. You know the school bullies, sir. Apparently the bullies were not found, but the professor was good. Went to the hospital himself with the Crawford kid. Sir?"
Alan was shaking in rage he couldn't stop. Grabbing his son's bag, he hurried before anything could be said by the bodyguard. Twisting the keys from his shaking hand, he managed to turn on the engine.
Roencraft, that name itself wasn't good. Everything associated with that name had to come with a bad reputation. And now that he had held his son capture, what was he having in his mind? Panic surged in the normally calm mind of Alan.
+++
"Negative. Crawford has already left for his son."
"I saw."
"Crawford was hurt, and apparently the vita (***) will not be spotted."
"Yes."
"With him."
"Of course. I will call again."
"Oh, and the target was captured."
"Ave. (****)"
Closing the cellphone slowly, the figure leaned into the shadows, watching the two figures move in the distance, the light blinding his sight. Pulling his dark hair on the side of his face, he twirled it, while smirking at the possibilities of their plan.
"Fun, fun, fun... You'll be a good tool, boy." he whispered to himself, a sadistic smirk forming on his lips.
+++++
(*) Ego accipere - I accept (Latin phrase)
(**) æternus - Eternal. (Latin once again)
(***) vita - life (LATIN! LATIN!!!)
(****) Ave - Farewell. (You know what language it is by now. :P)
Author's notes: I would like to thank the people who reviewed and my great great friend who beta-ed and test-read this chapter, Picaro! I hope you enjoyed reading the chapter, as I've enjoyed writing it. Sorry for the mysterious persons, but they would be focused on more on the next chapter. Thanks once again!