Blinded
Part Three
Crawford enjoys control. Unlike Schuldich, who can use mind control, Crawford manipulates in his own way by proving his absolute superiority to those of his rank, and absolute obedience to those he cannot yet win. He is a rounded person, with sharp corners hidden all over, promising blood and pain to anyone who gets in his way. Schuldich learned that since the first day Crawford recruited him into Schwarz. He can almost imagine how Crawford murdered his own parents already.
Crawford is also a man with a fierce sweet tooth, and has liked mint chocolate ever since he was little. He always has a bar of it somewhere on his work desk or in a coat pocket. He still likes cookies-and-cream ice-cream too, Schuldich has noticed this fact long before Crawford admitted to it in his story. When Schwarz lived together for the job in Japan, Nagi thought the constant supply of ice-cream belonged to Schuldich, and the German just let the boy think whatever he wanted. There were many things about Crawford only Schuldich were aware of, because he was the only one who bothered to notice these things.
The wine bottle beside the bed is empty. Schuldich stands, looking out the window, thinking about all that his former leader has told him, about the events that provoked the start of this long tale. Young Crawford was exactly how Schuldich imagined he would be, yet a complete stranger. There is something all this is leading to, something Crawford is trying to tell him, but only able to through the story of his life, and Schuldich knows he will not find out what it is until the very end.
The night is beginning to give way to brightness of day. It is going to be a grim day with grey sky, which Schuldich has learned is typical English weather. As the sky brightens and birds begin to sing, Schuldich notices this room faces seaward, overlooking the waterfront where his dead body laid.
Behind him, on the bed, Crawford begins to stir. Crawford never sleeps long, even with alcohol in his system. Six hours, seven at most is all the rest he takes every night. Schuldich studies the movement with anticipation. Watching Crawford sleep is not as entertaining as Schuldich imagined, because the man does not talk in his sleep or does anything strange - Crawford does not put up a mask. What Schuldich sees is what he is, so there is no "unmasking" to watch during his sleep. But what can he do in the long hours of Crawford's resting time? He had done enough travelling and sight seeing in the four years he spent searching for the American, and he just wants to stop now. He just wants to stay in this room for as long as Crawford permits him to.
What will happen in the future? Only Crawford will know. But staying here in Crawford's presence is the only thing that is holding Schuldich together now. Only three days ago he had walked into this room finding Crawford not able to see him. What will he do if Crawford does not want to see him anymore, or simply fails to recognise his existence? Crawford is the only one who recognises his presence, the only one to remind him of who he is. Schuldich knows that if he forgets who he himself is, the way he looks, his own manners of speech, he will just disappear and cease to exist. And with a mind reader, it is all too easy to lose oneself. Recognition from Crawford is the only thing he can hold on to.
He never was anybody before Crawford found him. If Crawford lets go, he goes back to being nobody and fades away. It probably does not matter. He will not want to stay around if Crawford lets go, anyway.
Schuldich thinks he understands Jamie's decision of staying in the car.
It is probably just a matter of time before Crawford lets go. Weeks? Months? Or maybe a couple of years if Schuldich is lucky. From what he knows, the American never holds onto something for long. He always knows when to move on.
//To Brad, I'm probably only as good as an illusion.//
//What are you, anyway?//
Schuldich almost jumps at the question, aware that he has projected his thoughts towards the American by accident. Crawford has already left the bed, and is now inside the bathroom to clean up. He did not change out of his clothes to sleep last night.
//... I don't know. A ghost I guess. Or maybe a blob of energy or just a brain wave?// Schuldich sits on the spot of the bed where Crawford just slept in, it should feel warm, and memories are reminding him what physical warmth felt like. //I don't see anything else like me floating around.//
The sound of shower escapes from the bathroom door. //Because you're a telepath?//
//Maybe.// Schuldich fingers the bed sheets. //Maybe all telepaths end up like me. Our minds just don't rest. I really don't know.//
//Perhaps all paranormals end up like you. We're all the same in essence, you know that.//
//Well I'll just have to wait for you to die and see, heh?//
Crawford replies with a snort.
Brad had control of his precognition by the time he was seventeen. Once he learned how to handle seeing both the future in his head and the present with his eyes at the same time, boxing became easy. Everything became easy.
He and Glyn ended up applying for the same university, for the same course. Life was as it was in high school. Brad Crawford was still popular, he still led the fencing team, still went to classes his parents made him go at the weekends.
The real thrill about university was women.
"New girl again?" Swinging his sports bag over a shoulder, Glyn glanced at the girl Brad kissed just before walking away with him. "Nice. What's her name?"
"Zoë."
Glyn laughed, obviously jealous and did not care that he was showing it. "We aren't here for a year yet, and she's like the fifth girl I see with you. I thought girls talk amongst themselves and have a blacklist."
"Fourth, actually." Brad smirked as he pushed open the doors to the sports hall. "They do talk. It's just about getting them to think what you want them to think."
"You're the only guy I've ever known who can pull this off." Glyn rolled his eyes. He was used to this kind of talk from Bradley Crawford. "Don't your parents say anything?"
"I don't bring them home." Brad smirked again, lifting an eyebrow with a certain look on his face. "I just go to their rooms."
"Neat. Just neat." They were inside the changing room, getting ready for training. "Hey, you've done the chem lab? Can I copy your results later? Got a party to go to on Saturday - hey, you come too, okay?"
"You know I can't." Brad had to go to the shooting course followed by music classes every Saturday.
"Shit, gods, I'm sorry." The blonde winced. "Your parents just don't let you go do they?"
"They'll have to, sooner or later."
Brad's eighteenth birthday was celebrated with style. The party was thrown in Glyn's home to avoid Brad's parents - Glyn was only too happy to organise the whole thing. There was plenty of food, alcohol, cake-throwing and dancing everywhere one turned.
"You know what, Brad, this could be the single biggest birthday party of the year - " Glyn turned, and noticed that Brad was no longer beside him. At six foot two, it was not difficult for him to look over heads of people to find Brad out in the garden talking with a Chinese girl with large black eyes and shiny, long black hair.
The girl Glyn wanted to ask out.
Glyn walked over quietly to listen to their conversation. All Cantonese. He almost forgot that Brad was fluent in the Asian tongue. The word "Glyn" appeared in the conversation twice, and the girl giggled each time it was mentioned. Glyn was not sure what to make of it, his friend would not make a move on a girl he wanted, right? Brad was not known for bad-mouthing his friends...
"You could be more subtle, Glyn."
Glyn almost yelped in surprise. Brad was standing beside him, nursing a glass of cocktail, and the girl was walking away, but turning back to smile at them. "What... what were you two talking about?"
"Why?" Brad waved at the girl, and she waved back.
"Because - " Glyn caught his tongue. He did not tell Brad that he wanted to ask her out.
A piece of paper appeared before his eyes, held between Brad's index and middle fingers. "Her number."
"What..." Glyn took the number and stared at it.
"No boyfriend. She thinks you're cute."
"Jesus, how did you know? How do you do that?" Glyn elbowed his friend, relieved and thankful.
"I see you at least five times a week, I need to be blind not to know." Brad smirked. "As for how I do it, it's trade secret."
The day after, Brad woke up with the worst hangover in his life.
"Morning." The hall smelled of incense. His mother was burning incense sticks for Jamie and Harriet like she did every morning. Brad wondered what it was all for. He understood a little about Chinese culture and religion, but there was no way he could believe that his dead siblings would hear her prayers or receive the gifts she burnt for them over the years. Perhaps it was all about the guilt factor.
Whatever. She would be joining Jamie and Harriet soon enough.
"You're a bit late today, Brad." Dad looked up from the financial pages of the newspaper. "Had fun last night?"
"I did." Brad sat down to have his breakfast hurriedly. He had to go to the shooting class in half an hour, and even though he now had his own car - birthday present from his father - driving there would still take exactly that amount of time. But skipping breakfast was never permitted in this house. He would be late, and he did not want to, because shooting courses were cool, and useful. Very useful.
He would be late unless he sped, of course, which he was going to, because Mum and Dad would never know. Dead people would never know.
"What time did you come home last night? Four? Really, kids these days." His mother joined him at the table. "It's your rifle exam today?"
Brad nodded, not ready to talk with his mouth full.
"Well then hurry up, you'll be late." His mother frowned. "You're going to get the concealed weapon certificate after that. You must keep learning."
"Yes, keep practising." His father joined in. "It's the only way to get better."
//I will, believe me.// Brad smiled to himself. Despite the pain in his head, he felt incredibly good, because those people confirmed tonight would be the night.
"Oh, I almost forgot, there's this computing class I saw, maybe Brad should take it..." Mum was talking to Dad now. "I was going to take Brad to sign up today, but since he woke late..."
They were doing it again. Talking about more courses to take. Planning his future. Complaining about the amount of time he spent at university. Making comments about his friends.
They were dragging it out as always, their topics always revolving around their child. Brad swallowed his food so quickly he almost choked, grabbed his bag and practically ran out of the house.
Those people were outside, waiting for him.
"I don't need a lift." Brad showed his new car key. "What is it?"
"The organisation wishes to send you their congratulations." Only one of them ever spoke, the mind reader with tanned, almost bronzed skin and sun bleached hair, as if he just came back from a beach holiday. He looked like he was only two or three years older than Brad.
"For my birthday, or for tonight?"
"The former." The man smiled, his manners business-like. "And the latter too if you pull it off well."
//I planned it, not you, remember. Don't underestimate me.//
"We don't. We value you highly. You have no idea how rare it is the organisation tracks the progress of their future recruits over such a long period of time."
"We'll see." Brad got into his new car and turned the key. "Excuse me, I'm going to be late." With that, he drove off, knowing that the man would visit him again very soon.
It had been years. Brad was not sure when it started, it could have been the year Jamie died or even before that, but he only noticed these people three years ago, and the talking did not begin until last year.
"We have something you want."
Power. Control. Thrill.
"And you have something we want."
Clairvoyance.
"Let's make a deal."
Argh. Messy. The jacket was ruined.
With that thought in mind, Brad stabbed the corpse several times more, making blood splatter on his cheeks as well.
Police arrived minutes after he made the phonecall. He put down the knife and held his hands in the air. His face was blank when they handcuffed him, and after arriving at the station, he did not speak until Mister Potts, a good friend of his father and the family lawyer, arrived.
Mister Potts was shocked by the blood on Brad. "My God, are you hurt?"
Brad shook his head, silent. Mister Potts held him tight in his arms. "Oh Brad, how can this happen to you?"
"I don't know..." //Because I foresaw it.//
"He wouldn't talk, Mister..." The officer eyed the business card the lawyer gave him. "... Potts. I hope you can help us. You see we aren't cuffing him now. We can pretty much guess what happened. It's unlikely we'll press any charges - unless Mister Crawford here refuses to talk and makes himself look like a criminal."
Brad looked up at his lawyer, his expression lost and confused.
"You two can have a minute to discuss things first if you want."
"No need. I know this kid well." Mister Potts put his hands on Brad's shoulders and squeezed hard. "Go on, Brad. Tell them what happened."
Brad bit his lips and took a deep breath. "After dinner, I rang Glyn - my friend Glyn Myers - to go out for a drink..."
"What time was that?"
"Around nine. I picked up my girlfriend..."
"Her name please?"
"Zoë O'Connor. We went to the cafe at the student union near my university and met another group of friends. We left at around twelve, and they wanted a ride in my car. It's a birthday present from Dad yesterday..."
Brad stopped and bowed his head. Behind him, Mister Potts gave his shoulders another squeeze, and he continued.
"I got home at around one. I heard Mum yelling and screaming upstairs, and Dad was shouting. Something like 'please don't hurt us'. I knew something was wrong, so I went to the kitchen and got a knife..."
"Is that the same one you were holding when we arrived?"
"... Yes. I ran up the stairs. On my way up I heard gun shots."
"How many?"
"Three... Four... I can't remember." Brad looked up at the officer, who gestured for him to continue. "When I got to my parents' bedroom, there was this stranger standing with his back to me, at the doorway. I looked past him and I..." Brad broke off again, his breathing becoming hectic. "Mum and Dad were on the floor with blood pooling out their chests."
"Sweet Jesus." Mister Potts drew a deep breath.
"I was right behind the man. I think he heard me. He turned around and saw me. He yelled something, and then I... I... "
"Mister Crawford, please continue." The officer looked at him sympathetically.
"I think I stabbed him."
"How many times?"
"I don't know."
"Initial post-mortem suggests there are over 7 stab wounds on the body. Were they all done by you?"
"I don't know."
"Was there anyone else in the house?"
"Not that I know of."
"Sir." Mister Potts interrupted, his voice full of sorrow and anger. "I wish to bring my client to seek medical attention right now."
"I'll have the medical arranged." The officer nodded. Multiple stab wounds in an act of self defense in a situation like this was not uncommon at all. "Mister Crawford, please read this transcript." He pushed his clipboard across the table. "And sign at the bottom if everything there is correct. And please make a list of the people you saw tonight, starting from nine o'clock, at the bottom. Give us their contact details if you have them."
Brad did so sliently. Behind him, Mister Potts told him there was nothing to worry about, that there was no chance they would arrest him, and the district attorney would close the case very soon.
"We'll take you to another room to wait." The officer opened the door for them. "In the meanwhile, we'll allow you to call your insurance company, if you have one."
Oh yes, Brad considered that a long time ago.
//Oscar-winning performance!// Schuldich laughs right out, clapping his hands as if he is enjoying a good movie. //Here I thought I'm the dramatic one! What happened next?//
"The DA gathered information about a young citizen who had a good family, good education and bright future, and decided to let him go. The insurnace company paid him three million." Crawford laughs softly, almost soundlessly. He did not lie to the officer or Mister Potts at all, and it was self defense. Only he knew beforehand it would happen.
//Jesus! That mind reader though. Neumann, right? Rosenkreuz had their eyes on you since you were twelve?//
"I guess."
Schuldich curses under his breath. Everyone who knows him knows how much he hates that place. And anyone who really knows him came from that place. Rosenkreuz sure helped him understand and make full use of his abilities, but the price to pay was too high.
//I'm going to have lunch.// Crawford picks up his coat from where it is on the chair and puts it on. Schuldich smiles at the sight. Chocolate brown ribbed turtle-neck, black pants, definitely designer shoes and a medium-length, grey wool coat. As usual, what Crawford is wearing matches so well it is as if it has been picked out by a personal shopper.
//Ah. Okay.// Schuldich lifts an arm and waves once, not turning to look at the American from where he is standing at the window.
Crawford stops. //You aren't coming?//
//Eh? Sure, if you want me to.//
//Not if you don't want to.// Crawford arches an eyebrow.
Lunch? Strange suggestion, that, considering Schuldich cannot eat anymore. The fact that Crawford suggested Schuldich may not want to go, too. Both strange. //You seem to not have grasp the concept that I'll always cling to you like goo, unless you wash me off.//
//Then why weren't you clinging just now?//
//I didn't know you find eating lunch with a dead guy a good pass time.//
They go to a coffee and sandwich shop, one of those the British seems to be so fascinated about these days. Lunch for Crawford consists of chicken and roasted peppers panini, chocolate muffin and tea.
//Oh look, that's where I was. With pieces missing.// Schuldich points. Through the glass wall, he can see the waterfront again. //Think about it. If Nags was there to give me the kiss of life...// A snicker. //I'll hop around on one leg and yell at him 'You shithead! Find me my arm and leg before you do that you bloody idiot!'. I'll try to kick him and fall over!//
Crawford looks out, too, though he does not find Schuldich's joke funny. //How can you make jokes about that?//
Schuldich glances back at Crawford, smiling gently, then looks out again without a reply. He is dead, he deals with it. He does not know this type of existence is good for him now, but he will do his best to hold on to it. He is doing his best not to recall the pain of death, not to think he is alone in his type of existence. Schuldich reminds himself again the American before him is the only one who shed tears for him, and he will not let go... that easily.
Crawford takes off his glasses before drinking the tea to avoid steaming. He is long-sighted, but not enough to necessitate glasses. Without them, he looks much younger than he actually is, too young for anyone to trust him as the leader of an SS-branch. Nagi and Farfarello did not know this.
//You should trash those.// Schuldich makes a face. Crawford does look good with the glasses, but to Schuldich, they are a bit pretentious, and that is his speciality, not Crawford's.
//Why? You never took my advice about the bandanna.//
//I haven't worn that for four years already! You still remember?//
//I remember lots of things.// There is a hint of a smirk in that statement, but Crawford's face is kept expressionless, as he is supposedly eating lunch alone.
//I have a feeling I don't want to hear this.// Schuldich makes a face at the American. //You're thinking about my screw-ups aren't you?//
//I didn't say anything.// There is definitely cold laughter in that voice.
Schuldich hisses, although playfully. //One day, I'm going to screw your mind so bad you won't remember a damn thing.//
//If you don't want to hear the rest of it, then try me.//
[to be continued]
Author's note: I was going to put it in the credits at the very end of the fic, but I think I should write it here as well. Loads of people helped me with this fic:
Kagaya, who helped me with the ideas and my English, tied up the plot holes, and tolerated my endless stream of "but what if" questions. Without her, this fic would not exist. (And she owes me a sequel to "Red Sea", heh)
Blaze, who likes anime but has no interest in fanfiction whatsoever but put up with my fangirl syndromes and actually listened to me discussing the plot of this fic whilst washing dishes. I guess he didn't have much choice *grin* The way he asked "is he gay?" when I talked about Schu really made my day. *snickers*
The folks at WKML, who helped me with translations, US court procedures, gun ownership and stuff. I ended up not using most of the info though. Argh >_
To all the people above, thank you!