Blinded
Part Eight
//Schuldich.// Crawford, dressed in a black suit, stood next to the buffet table.
//Yeees?// Came Schuldich's reply. He was across the hall, leaning against a wall and nursing a glass of champaign. He was dressed in a black suit as well, but decided he did not like ties or the top buttons of the white shirt.
//Do exactly as I tell you to. Don't pull any stunts.// The image of blood soaking through white shirt came to mind again.
//Oh master, why'd you think I'd do that?// The blonde seemed to be feeling fine, even allowing himself to enjoy the food here, although Crawford did catch him swallowing a good amount of painkillers before leaving the house earlier. He raised his glass of champaign to Crawford's direction, smiling. //The champaign's good, try some.//
//I don't drink on the job. And I'm driving later.//
//Oh, a law-abiding assassin, I see.//
Their job was to kill the client's own father during his retirement party. The party was large with a guest list of around a hundred people, taking up the ground floor and gardens of a mansion. The client, whom Schuldich had affectionately named "The Penguin" because of his appearance, was amongst the guests, doing the job of the host. He had made arrangements with SS, but had not met his assassins.
It was time.
//Upstairs.// Crawford politely pushed his way through the thick crowd of people to the main grand staircase, joined by Schuldich a moment later. Crawford gestured for the guest washroom.
Schuldich checked the cubicals. Empty. They washed their hands and put gloves on, and waited. They were instructed to kill without blood, as the client did not want blood in the mansion, and to them, the quickest methods were strangulation or breaking a neck.
//No weapons. Very artful. Very kung-fu.//
//Shh. He's outside. Should be coming in - now.//
The target was on his way downstairs to make a speech. He stopped outside the washroom, telling his servant to wait a moment.
"Sir." Crawford said politely as the man entered the room. "Your son wishes to tell you that he has prepared the best retirement present for you."
//Cheesy speech.//
//Instructions from The Penguin.// Crawford frowned. Everything was as planned so far. Just one more step. He slowly let out a breath he had been holding. What he visioned must have been wrong, he could not see next day's events to any good amount of accuracy anyway. Schuldich getting hurt would mean his failure in giving correct instructions or making Schuldich follow them. Schuldich getting hurt might mean scarring the German. Schuldich getting hurt might mean losing that absoulte faith the German had for him, or even losing the man.
Crawford hated that idea.
//Go for his neck.//
Before Schuldich moved, the door bursted open and a man stepped in, arm extended with a silenced gun. "Back off."
What the hell -
"I knew my brat was planning something." The father crossed his arms on his chest, looking amused. "So easy to catch you out, and you call yourselves the SS?"
Schuldich narrowed his eyes at the barrel pointing at them. //You goddamn precog, you didn't see this coming?//
//... No.// Crawford had no time to think why this happened, only how to get out of it.
//What do you see next?//
//He's going to shoot you first, through your left eye.// Crawford felt his muscles tensing up. So that would be where the blood came from? //Don't move at all, I'll jump him. On three.//
//Wait fuck no he - //
//Just don't move! One. Two.//
Crawford barely saw the gun suddenly turning towards him and the movement of the German on his left, so fast the black of his suit and the white of his shirt and hair blurred. Schuldich rammed his shoulder into their attacker to knock him off balance, then moving just as fast, stepped behind their target and grabbing the sides of the head with gloved hands, broke the neck with a loud crack.
A silent bullet was fired.
//Fuck! Go!// Crawford was already at the door, and Schuldich ran with him, the gunman chasing behind. Whatever happened, he would question the German later. He told him not to move! And the man was suppose to shoot Schuldich first, not suddenly turn the gun at him!
They ran into the study, the gunman's shots only missing them narrowly.
//Told you not to pull any stunts!//
//Crawford that man's - // Schuldich cut himself off when the gunman arrived, lunging himself at the larger man. The force threw the man off his feet, the two landing onto the carpeted floor with a thud. The gun fell from his hand.
Crawford scrambled over to the gun when the man threw Schuldich off himself and tried to get up. One shot to the head, three more in the chest just to make sure. It was one of the most unstylish killings he had ever done, maybe just better than that time he had to put a man through a wood shredder.
//Fucking hell.// Schuldich, slumped on the carpet, swore silently. //This hurts, man!//
Blood was soaking through his clothes where the first bullet in the washroom hit him in the shoulder. There was his blood on the carpet.
No. Shit no. Fuck. Schuldich was hurt. //Idiot!// Crawford went over the examine the damage. The suit was pierced on one side only, meaning there was no exit wound and the bullet was still buried inside. And somehow Crawford knew it was his error of judgement that caused it. //I told you not to move! You know how little blood they need to profile your DNA? And you've got it all over!//
//That guy's a precog.// Schuldich winced as he stood. The bullets were silent and no one knew what had just happened yet, but they had to move fast. //A precog who doesn't know how to shield his mind. He saw us coming and saw you were going to jump him. He knew what I was gonna do as well, I just moved too fast for him.//
A precognitive with no training? One that the SS did not catch? Someone whose gift was definitely stronger than him. A stronger willpower. Fuck it!
Crawford found a large briefcase and made Schuldich take off his suit jacket, putting it inside. He would have to bring it home and burn it. For the blood on the carpet, he grabbed the bottle of writing ink on the desk and poured it over. Even if someone noticed there was blood, it would make getting evidence very difficult.
He needed something to control the bleeding. Yanking off his tie, Crawford knotted it on the wound, exerting enough pressure to hopefully restrain the bloodflow.
//Put this on.// Crawford shrugged off his own jacket and passed it to the German, helping him to button it up, covering the blood on his shirt. //Move fast, before it soaks through this one as well. Was there blood in the washroom?// If there was, he had to go back and deal with that too.
//No.// They were already moving, finding another staircase back downstairs, merging themselves into the crowd once more. Schuldich moved quickly but stiffly, his face pale from blood loss and pain. By the time they reached the gardens, his jacket was stained with blood again, but darkness of the night helped them and they left, slipping into their car unnoticed.
"You don't mind blood in your car?"
"Shut up."
Schuldich laid across the passenger seats, using the briefcase Crawford took as a pillow. The bullet was in his left shoulder, so he leaned on the right one. There was so much pain in his voice, Crawford could tell he was shivering becasue of it. "I didn't have enough time to tell you... Didn't mean to ignore your instructions..."
Crawford ignored him and kick in the acceleration. Schuldich worried about this? Now? If Schuldich had not been suffering from what he called "the voices", he would have made him scan for dangers. Why did it have to be this job, at this time, that the telepath got a backlash? Thinking they could rely on precognition alone had been stupid and they were caught out. If it had not been the German, Crawford would have been killed. So whose fault was it? His, for not pulling the team out when the telepath was not fit enough for it. His first real failure in life almost had the two of them killed.
"We can't go home, by the way." Schuldich said as if he suddenly remembered something. "The precog knew where we live. I don't know who else does, but I saw it in his head."
Crawford slowed their car. So that house was compromised. But where could they go? He needed a place where he could see to Schuldich's wound and contact the SS. Hospital was out of the question. He could not walk into a hotel with a man soaked in blood. A motel? He was not so sure he could treat the injury well in a dimly lit, dirty room...
"Dammit!" A hand hit the steering wheel as Crawford swore. He turned the car around, keeping his speed within legal limits as to not catch any attention. There had got to be a safe place to go!
Crawford never thought he would come back to this place again. It had been four year since he packed a small suitcase and left everything behind him.
"Where're we going?" Schuldich voice was still strong, but his breathing was rapid and heavy. Crawford took it as a good sign that Schuldich was still conscious.
Crawford parked the car in the underground carpark. It was a good thing he still remembered his own sixteen-digit security code. He opened the door for the German.
"Where are we, Crawford?" Schuldich asked again when they stepped out the elevator, arriving at a pair of large, waxed wooden doors.
"My house." Crawford began punching in numbers in a pad on the wall, stopping when Schuldich waved his good arm at him.
"There's someone inside."
What? Crawford reached for the silenced gun in his pocket, one he took from the job just minutes ago. Time was of the essence, he could not be bothered to get a vision, whoever inside had to die.
Before he finished entering the security code, the door opened. Crawford pushed Schuldich to stand behind him, an arm lifting his gun.
Blue eyes. Blonde hair. A dirty shade of blonde, cropped short, gelled to defy gravity.
Glyn.
Crawford had no idea how long they stood. No one moved. Even Schuldich's ragged breathing was quieter.
He could not let anyone know their location.
Kill him.
He had a bleeding man standing behind him that he must see to.
He had to kill him.
Glyn stared down the barrel of the gun, blue eyes lifting to look at him. His best friend.
He had to kill him.
"... Brad?"
He could not repeat the mistake he made with Jamie.
He had to kill him.
He could not make the same mistake again.
He clicked the gun's safety back on. "Glyn, don't ask, just help me."
Crawford pushed pass his best friend, who stood, stunned, gesturing Schuldich to follow him to the bathroom. Blood dripped from Schuldich's left sleeve, and Crawford was glad he did not use carpet in the apartment.
"What's going on, Brad!" Glyn rushed to them, hands gripped both sides of the doorframe as he watched Brad ease the jacket off Schuldich's shoulders, revealing a pink shirt that was white not long ago. The tie was still in place. Crawford did not want to move it until he had some fresh bandages ready.
He gritted his teeth. Schuldich did not even as much as whimper. The goddamn telepath was pretending to be fine. He was getting very good at pretending. "Go buy me some bandages or whatever first aid supplies you can find. Painkillers too."
"But Brad - " Glyn stuttered at the sight, obviously wanting to suggest an ambulance.
"Please." Crawford gave up, finally turning to look at Glyn in the eye. "I can't explain right now."
Their eyes fixed on each other for several seconds. Crawford hoped his voice had been strong enough, and he was right, Glyn nodded once and was out of the apartment.
"Schuldich."
"Yo." The German gasped in pain when Crawford pushed the tie aside slightly.
"Talk to me." He examined the wound, which was just above the collarbone. There was a 24-hour store nearby, if Glyn was fast, he would be back with supplies in less than five minutes. Common medical knowledge told Crawford his priority was to make sure Schuldich stayed conscious. "Just keep talking."
"I'm good at that." Schuldich smiled, tossing his hair out of the way as he sat down on the edge of the bathtub. "Nice apartment."
"Thank you." Crawford answered, going through the cabinet for any tools he could use.
"You lived on your own?"
"Yes, I bought the apartment myself."
"How old were you?"
"Eighteen."
"Jesus Christ."
"Are you still hearing voices?"
"They always there. Always. But this hurts enough to distract me!"
"I'm glad." Crawford leaned close to the wound, squeezing water over it using a sponge. If the bullet was not lodged too deep, he could try to take it out with tweezers he just found in the cabinet. "How're you feeling?"
"I hate precogs!" Schuldich spat out, throwing his head back. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck!"
"I'm sorry." The words were out before he knew. It was rare for him to apologise, precognition made it unusual for him to make mistakes. But he was sorry, even though it was because of a more powerful precognitive who twisted the future he saw.
Schuldich still managed to smile. Had he practiced his smile or something? "Apology accepted. Your friend's back."
The front door opened and shut, Glyn came back with a plastic bag full of antiseptic, gauze bandages and painkillers. "I'm not sure if these will do, but I got what I found."
"Perfect. Thanks. Go out, you probably don't want to watch this."
Casting a worried look at the long-haired young man, Glyn took half a step back, not sure what he wanted to do.
"Glyn, he'll live, it just won't be pleasant to watch. Go."
After it was all over and he had Schuldich dried and dressed in the clothes from his wardrobe, he made the German lie down in his bed and take all of the painkillers, although whether it helped at all remained a mystery. Drug-induced sleep took over Schuldich in no time.
There was something wrong with all this. Crawford stepped back from the bed, wondering what it was. It just did not look right -
"Must be the first person I've ever seen to get into your room. Even your bed." Standing outside the bedroom, Glyn crossed arms over his chest, smiling at his old friend.
Oh yes, that was it. Nobody except him had ever slept in that bed.
"Thanks, Glyn." Crawford walked to him, pulling him in for a hug, secretly glad that he had already changed into something clean and dry as well. They slapped each other's back, the way men always did when they embraced, laughing. "Just thanks."
"No prob, consider it a repayment for all the homework I copied off you. I probably wouldn't have my degree without you!"
After several moments of good laughing, Crawford finally sighed, shaking his head. "You're going to ask me where I went the last four years."
Glyn smiled, rather sympathetically. "I already guessed. You don't need to breach job practice by telling me."
//I planted a little idea into his head. Told him we're CIA agents. He thinks we're working undercover.// A voice rang in Crawford's head, pained but amused.
//Go to sleep.// Crawford snorted inside his head. He had been fooled by the German's pretended sleep earlier.
//Going to, right now. I'm not going to listen to you two. Call me when you need me.//
"Have you called for help yet?"
Crawford had contacted the SS and told them about their situation. He nodded. "They'll be here in a few hours. Tomorrow latest. It's dangerous right now, but no one knows about this apartment." He told Glyn, keeping details vague.
Glyn smiled, looking relieved. He had not changed at all. His face, his smile, the way he spoke, it all reminded Crawford of the old times. The days when he was free to be his own master, when he could share his friends' laughter and tears without holding anything back, when he actually had company he enjoyed. He could laze around on a weekend, rent horror movies to watch with friends, have a good game of fencing...
Although there had been no choice given to him by the SS, the price he paid in exchange for power was too high. He wanted his freedom back in his hands.
"You got lucky. I just hired someone to clean this place last week. It was covered in dust!" As usual, Glyn's words were animated, his gestures highly exaggerated. He had always lacked grace and subtlty. He picked up a large envelope on the coffee table, passing it to Crawford. "I was just dropping by to leave you these. Look!"
The envelope was thick and heavy. Crawford pulled out its contents. Wedding pictures.
"Just last week, man! You were my first choice for bestman, Brad..."
They went through the photographs together. Glyn took his time to explain what happened in each one, eventually filling Crawford in on all that happened in the past four years. How he found a job and lost it, then borrowing enough money to start a small business. How he met his would-be wife, his proposal, the wedding. What all their old friends were doing. His plans for the future. How many children he wanted to have...
"And listen to this: Mel's pregnant." Glyn grinned, pointing at his wife in the photographs. "It's a boy. We're calling him Brad. Mel wanted to call him Bradley, but I figure just Brad's fine, heh?"
Glyn was naming his first child Brad.
Brad Myers.
"Hey, my name's Glyn. You're Bradley Crawford, huh?"
"Just Brad's fine."
Crawford felt weak. It hurt inside. He was going to be the bestman. They named their first child after him. Where was he when all that happened?
"How long now? Three, four months?"
"Four months!" Glyn grinned proudly.
"And you said your wedding was last week." Crawford smiled wickedly, nudging his best friend. "What the hell happened?"
"Ow! Accident, okay? We only found out way after the engagement! What are you trying to imply?!"
Crawford snorted, doing his best to look like he did not believe a word of it.
Glyn pulled a face at him. "Can you be there when Brad arrives? Can I contact you somehow? You want to be his godfather, right?"
Godfather? Him? "I don't think... Sorry, Glyn. I can't. I want to be the godfather, but I can't be there."
Fuck the SS.
"... Hey, no big deal! Just contact me whenever you can. You can always find me through the uni's alumni network." Glyn's voice dropped. "I hope you're happy, Brad. You don't look the way you did anymore."
What could he say? "I'm coping."
"I dunno... I just... You look as if..."
"It was good at first." Crawford admitted. "Now I just want out. It'll take some time."
"But at least you've got a good friend? Someone you can trust?" Glyn looked towards the bedroom. "How about that European with a funny accent? Looks like you just went through life and death together."
A good friend? Someone he could trust? Schuldich?
Crawford never thought of putting those ideas in the same sentence before.
"Yes." Someone who very probably had saved his life that night. Could he trust Schuldich? "Yes. I can trust him with my life."
"I knew it, man, you give out light! You literally shine. Everywhere you go, people are bound to be drawn to you like moths to light!"
"I don't think that's a very good metaphor, Glyn, considering moths die of the heat, and my friend there has a hole in his shoulder."
"Shit, you know I don't mean it like that."
Crawford just smirked at his friend. Glyn was smart, but sometimes so careless it was a wonder he never ran into major troubles. But it was this energy, this impulsiveness that Crawford liked about him. They balanced each other.
He tried for a vision when Glyn went to the bathroom. The SS backup team would arrive in an hour.
"Glyn, I think you better go. It's about time."
If SS found out about this meeting, what would happen to Glyn?
Would the death be painful?
Maybe he should do it himself?
Or maybe... //Schuldich? Are you still awake?//
//Hurts too much to sleep, O-Master.//
//Can you clean Glyn's memories of tonight?// Crawford knew it was too much to ask. Schuldich might not have the power or the strength for that, still hurting with backlash and a bullet wound.
//... Are you sure you want to do that? He's really happy to see you.//
//It's either that, or he has to die now.//
//Fine. I've done it once, only a couple of second's memories, not a few hours, but I'll try.//
Schuldich padded out of the bedroom, his face pale, eyes dark. Ignoring Glyn's surprised gasp, Schuldich grabbed the taller man by his shoulders. Then both men's eyes were blank. Crawford's skin tingled from the flow of energy in the room. No wonder SS had hopes that Schuldich would one day be as powerful as Neumann.
A moment later, it was done. Schuldich pushed Glyn out the front door, and perhaps through mind persuasion or control, sent him to take the elevator down.
Then the German's eyes slid closed.
"Schuldich!"
Schuldich went down like a rock, limbs and hair sprawled in all directions on the cold floor. He smiled, an arm reaching up to touch the American's face when he rushed over. "Brad, I'm so glad you're safe."
Crawford just stared, speechless.
"I thought you got kidnapped or mugged! You know, my best friend just - poof!- disappeared. You don't look so good. You smile differently now."
"Schuldich!"
"You were always so good at getting what you want. I don't know what you're doing now, but you never let things get the better of you. Come on, Brad - SCHEIßE (FUCK)!" Schuldich's hand left Crawford's face, tangling into his own hair instead. The German's face began to twist in pain. "Brad, you trust - HALT DEN MUND (SHUT UP)!!"
What the hell?
That had to be Glyn's mind. What was going on? Had he taken the last step to not only destroy Schuldich physically, but mentally as well?
"Come on, get up." Crawford helped Schuldich up, mindful of the bandaged shoulder. "Go to bed."
"Crawford could you - someone you can trust with your life. I'm happy you found such a person."
"Lie down."
"Crawford I need something that'll knock me right out." When his back touched the mattress, all the energy seemed to have slipped out of Schuldich's thin frame. "I'm going to call my little boy Brad. He's going to be the best little boy - don't worry Crawford, this is normal, it takes a while to take his memories off mine. Just ignore anything I say now."
"Just sleep, the backup team will be here."
It took only a moment for Schuldich to finally, truly fall asleep. Crawford reviewed what he had just witnessed. Of all those telepaths who killed themselves, how many were because they lost sight of who they were? How much could reading someone's thoughts damage one's own head? What if he could hear what everyone thought, would the wave of noise kill him?
He saw it. He almost just destroyed Schuldich. Having eaten next to nothing the last few days, hearing voices in his head, weak from blood loss, drugged to the eyebrows, Schuldich chose to risk his own sanity to save Glyn's life, simply because Crawford asked him to.
That goddamn idiot!
Schuldich shakes his head. He cannot remember much of what he said after entering Glyn's mind, but he remembered that pain, the way thousands of voices were amplified in his head, Glyn's mind dominating them all. For a few brief moments, he was Glyn. He felt the keen affection Glyn had for his friend, the relief of seeing him alive, and the joy of spending the last few hours with him. It was Glyn who reached up to touch Brad's face. Or perhaps it was him, he cannot tell anymore.
Crawford does not move when Schuldich holds up an arm, touching his face with his fingertips. If he chooses not to feel Schuldich, it is as if the fingers go straight through him. But he allows it.
Yes, this was what he did. He touched that face. It was that night that Schuldich found out Crawford was not as evil as he seemed to be.
//It's good you let him live.// The German whispers, fingers stroking Crawford's face absent-mindedly. //Thanks to Jamie again.//
"I didn't know how much it'd cost you." Crawford's reply is also a whisper.
After the backup team arrived and took Schuldich into their care, they had more than a physical injury to deal with. Schuldich's mind was almost in pieces. Although he did not talk again as if he was Glyn, he suffered an identiy crisis. Any doctors who had not learned mind-shielding were not allowed near Schuldich, for they would only add burden to the telepath's mind. That left very few doctors available. They used the stablising drugs their laboratories developed, and hoped for the best. Crawford visited often. It was his failure that brought this about, and he was not a man to walk away from his own mistakes. Apparently Neumann came by as well, but they never met each other. Neumann was avoiding him.
Sometimes Crawford just stood to watch for a few minutes. Sometimes he recalled the times they spent together, telling Schuldich about their first meeting; the jobs; the Chinese food they had on Mondays; and that club they went to, all through telepathy. He had no idea if Schuldich heard him at all.
//Sometimes, yeah.//
"Did that actually help?"
//To a certain extent.// Schuldich leaves it at that. Crawford's voice, a strong, deep presence in his mind, was what stablised him, not the drugs. To have someone constantly reminding him who he was and which bits to pick out from all the memories in his head helped him rebuild himself. But that did not stop him from wanting to knock himself out and stay asleep forever. That was why they had to strap him to his bed. It took SS a month to put the telepath back together.
"I don't know why you never told me what telepathy did to you. Were you trying to drive yourself insane?"
//Told you. You wanted a strong teammate. I wasn't going to let you throw me out.//"
"Does that justify risking your sanity?"
//Of course.//
The quick reply sends a shiver down Crawford's spine. "Correction. You're already crazy."
//Nah, I'm just crazy about a precog.//
[to be continued]