Blinded
Part Fourteen
The sounds of water in the shower filters its way out of the bathroom, through the waxed wooden door, reaching Schuldich. He closes his eyes, listening to it. He can recognise the pattern of the sounds the same way he can tell which of Schwarz is coming home, or who is looking for food in the kitchen in the middle of the night, just by listening. Farfarello hardly ever had to open the front door - he was not allowed out alone - but if he did, he turned the lock as if wanting to break it. Nagi's keyring had six keys and the dangling toy from Tot, so he was always noisy at the door. Crawford had four keys, two for the door, one for the car, and one Schuldich never knew the purpose of, but he tended to hold the other keys in his palm when he insert the key to the lock, so he was rather quiet.
As for pigging-out in the middle of the night, that was something Farfarello never did, even if he was not restrained. Nagi did it all the time, but he always tried to keep it quiet, unlike Schuldich himself, who pushed things about and slammed cabinet doors, not caring if he might wake anyone. It was, in truth, his way of inviting others to join him for a quick snack.
And during the better times, if Crawford decided to have a midnight snack as well, which did not happen often, the three of them always ended up cooking something proper. Usually it was Nagi who cooked. Crawford did too, if Schuldich asked nicely. Schuldich never bothered to cook, telling the others that he might poison them. He stocked up on plenty of ready-meals instead.
Schuldich listens closer to the shower. The noise of splashes and movements are definitely Crawford's, which is obvious because it cannot be anyone else now, but somehow Schuldich feels calm listening to it, like a child feeling secure hearing the voices of the parents, then falling asleep without nightmares.
//Schuldich, are you there?//
//Heyo.// Schuldich lifts his chin slightly and calls in recognition. //What can I do for you, O-Master?//
Water dripping. Then the shower is turned of completely. //Nothing. You just went quiet.//
Schuldich pushes himself off the door. //I was just listening.//
//Hm?// Feet on tiled floor. Clothes rustling. Then the door opens. "To what?"
//Nothing that you'll be interested in.// Schuldich shrugs a little.
Crawford frowns. "Listening to people again?"
Schuldich watches Crawford sit at the edge of the bed and dry his hair, not bothering to give an answer. Crawford never blow-dries his hair. He just rubs it with a towel and then comb his fingers through it. Nagi was the same, perhaps following Crawford's example. Farfarello never saw the need of a hairdryer. The only person in the house who touched one was Schuldich, and only if he was in a hurry to go out, because blow-drying gave his hair static and he had to put serum on it. Crawford always gave him the look of "you're ridiculous" when he did that. But Schuldich knew Crawford liked his team to look presentable and static hair definitely did not cut it...
It has been four years, but little things like these stick to the German's mind. There is no way he will ever forget the old habits of each of Schwarz. Is he the only one in Schwarz to remember these things?
No point thinking about that now. He moves around on the bed so that he can lean backwards to rest on Crawford's back. //Believe what I say about Nags. You know, little kids always copied adults to look cool, but Nags copied you a lot, because he thought that might make you happy. He really looked up to you.// He says, getting back to the subject raised before Crawford went to the shower.
Crawford sighs. "I didn't notice."
//As long as you know now. That's what I'm for, Brad, I take care of these things.//
A pause. "I thought you might have made a better leader than I did."
Schuldich's eyes grow wide. He pushes himself up, turning around. //What the hell?//
"I did. You know I didn't like being a leader."
//Lone wolf.// The German grins. //But you enjoyed it towards the end. And you know I don't have any leadership qualities even if my life depends on it.//
"You have. You just didn't know it." Crawford throws the towel onto a nearby chair, turning so that he faces the redhead. "I started worrying about leading a team since finding Farfarello. You helped me more than you ever knew."
Schuldich is going to take it as a bad joke, but Crawford's smile makes him pause. He smiles back, the way Crawford likes it. //You should've told me back then, you know, it would've made my day. Or my year. Or my life, even.// Then he pauses, and adds, with a sigh, //But of course you wouldn't say these things. Fucking manipulative bastard.//
Crawford shrugs, the usual evil smirk back on his face. He echoes the words Schuldich used just moments ago.
"As long as you know now."
Crawford did not plan to get any souvenirs on this trip to catch that problematic paranormal he mentioned to Schuldich on the telephone, but he had found the perfect gift for Schuldich the day he landed in the foreign country.
The leader of the recruitment team met Crawford at the airport, then they drove straight to the 18-year old's hiding place.
Crawford flipped open the file, which was surprisingly thin - Rosenkreuz always had files inches thick for each of their potential agents - and studied at it briefly again. Astral projection. Nothing very rare at all, it can be experienced by the average person as the "out of body experience", and even being able to control these experiences, which was then termed AP, was not much of a rarity. It was a second phenomenon, coupled with AP, that raised SS' interests and had the recruiment team's hands tied.
"What's the particular problem with getting him?"
"He's one hell of a fighter." The leader told Crawford. "But they want him in one piece."
Crawford nodded. That meant they could not use weapons, or break too many bones. "There aren't any telekinetics to hold him down?"
"Funny, isn't it? They want this boy but they can't lend us a telekinetic to catch him with."
"Typical SS." Crawford agreed, simply to carry on with the conversation.
The leader shrugged. "No one ever understand their way of thinking."
They arrived in a derelict area, where several old cargo containers were dumped on what once could have been industrial land, giving ideal sleeping places for the homeless and trading venues for anything illegal from bootleg softwares to firearms. It seemed to have just been through a Garda raid though, and all that were left were thin bodies wrapped up in blankets inside the open containers, trying to catch some sleep and forget their desperation.
It did not take a genius to spot where the young man was. All other containers had three or four bodies sleeping inside, except one of them, where only one young man sat and mumbled to himself.
"Just how unstable is he?" Standing afar, the American tilted his head towards their target.
"He is capable of coherent speech half the time." The leader sighed. "You know already, it's in the files, his gives nil response to pain, so nothing myself or my cyrokinetic did had any effects except to damage a potential specimen. He might be a schizo... but can't be sure unless we catch him and have him checked."
Crawford nodded. That sounded rather tough for the recruitment team, with all sorts of anything-kinetics except a telekinetic, who would be very useful in this situation.
"He's got everything strange going on, an albino that does AP and feels no pain... Oh, another thing." The leader pointed. They had been spotted and the young man was slowly getting up. "He's unstable, you can call him mad if you want, but he's very very smart. Never fell for any tricks or traps we set up."
"Understood." Crawford stepped forward. "If I can't help you get him today, then shoot him and bring the body back for the labs. Those were the instructions I got."
Behind him, the leader grinned. "All right. At least we can end this today."
Crawford walked toards the container, knowing that the leader was ready to cover for him and shoot. The young man glared at him, not moving from his spot. Normally anyone facing this predicament would back into the container, or move out into a more open space, under human's fight or flight response to imminent danger. So he must be very confident in himself, a complete madman, or someone who could control his psychological response to threat.
As Crawford approached, he got to see the young man's face better. A very pale, scarred face. The paleness, together with his eye and hair colour, were probably all results of being born with a lack of pigment in his body. But the scars were what caught Crawford's attention. One scar began from the left brow bone, crossing the eyelid and ending beyond the bridge of the nose. That left eye was most likely very weak or even blind from the event that created that scar, judging from the way it blinked. Several earrings adorned each year. Thick, almost pouting lips. It was a strange combination of features, topped by hair that was roughly cut, as if it was done using a knife. Maybe it was done with a knife.
The young man stared at Crawford with yellow eyes. He did not move at all, even when Crawford finally stopped within arm's reach from him, but he looked like a cat ready for action, muscles tense and eyes wide.
"How do you want to play? A fight or a chase?"
"Oh, my lungs aren't that good, so let's keep the running around to the minimum?" Crawford smirked.
The smirk registered on the younger man. A predatory gleam flitted across amber-coloured eyes. "A fight it is, then."
The American almost did not foresee the knife, but he stepped back just before his abdomen was slashed open. He caught the arm and pulled himself closer so that their noses almost touched.
That move had taken the 18-year old completely by surprise.
"I didn't say we should fight, either. I'm here to make a deal with you."
The young man arched one amused eyebrow, his body relaxing when Crawford released his arm, and he tucked the knife into the leather holder strapped to his waist.
"You want to fight." //Make an agreement with him. Give him a choice.// "Then fight for me. You'll be out of the law's reach. The Garda cannot get you, nor can any police wherever you go."
The young man crossed his arms and considered the offer. Crawford was glad he was in his "sane" moments. "So... what's the catch?"
"Fight for me, kill for me, and no one else."
Several minutes later, the leader was shocked to see Crawford coming back in one piece, and the new recruit trailing behind him, without the need of any restraints. Before he could ask anything, Crawford shrugged at him. "A trick I learned from the telepaths."
It was true. Schuldich had told him to make a deal with Nagi, the same way Neumann offered Crawford a deal. Even though there really was not much of a choice for Crawford, Neumann had always lived up to his end of the deal, giving Crawford the control and power he wanted. A deal. A choice. That was always the best formula to make anyone willingly follow.
They filed into the car.
"How shall I call you?"
"They call me Farfarello." He replied in heavily-accented English.
Crawford found that he liked Farfarello's Irish accent. It changed English into an interesting language. He liked listening to accents, and enjoyed the way Schuldich still made guttural noises in his throat, and how Nagi struggled to say "Crawford" properly. It reminded him of their bond, strong enough to cross cultural differences, and valued enough by each of them to try to appreciate each other's origin.
Directing his attention back to the Irishman sitting at the back, Crawford chuckled once. "Farfarello, you'll have a good time. I know someone who'll like you very much."
It was a gut feeling. The telepath would love to meet someone with a mind like Farfarello's - not simple or stupid, but easy to understand, with no hidden layers or conflicting emotions.
"So what's your name, mister?"
"Brad Crawford."
"Brad Crawford." Farfarello repeated, smiling in his unique, haunting way. "Welcome to Ireland."
Crawford asked to have Farfarello when the tests on the Irishman were over. The Council were surprised and amused at such a request, but granted it to him, provided that Farfarello stayed in an asylum to complete his treatment for both his mind and his left eye. They had hopes that after proper medical attention, the Irishman would gain stability and control over his astral projection.
Farfarello travelled with them back to Japan. He was in a not-so-sane mood on the jet, making Nagi slightly nervous, but he did not say or ask anything about who the Irishman was. Crawford was not sure if the boy was mocking his authority, gaining a blind trust like Schuldich, or simply did not care. Crawford believed it was a mockery, one he was not sure if he should allow, now that he was the leader of a new team.
For the first time since he joined the SS, Crawford had been made a leader, an honourable role that was looked rather highly upon within the organisation. It meant the person had considerable power and had earned the favour of the Council and Elders. Of the 4000-men strong organisation, there were only twenty such special teams.
But being the leader of an SS team was nothing like heading the fencing team back in university. Failure could mean death, and his team consisted of a fearless schizophrenic psychopath, a telepathic German with blind trust, and a telekinetic boy who was reaching puberty. Deep inside, Crawford was a little unsettled about it all, although the feeling was not strong enough to be termed fear.
And after all the years of pressure from his parents, Crawford honestly would much rather work on his own than having to be responsible for a team. At least then no one would check his progress all the time, place hope on his performance, or outright rely on him. Not that he had much of a choice at all. And he needed his team to support his Plan to escape, anyway.
After touching-down in Japan, they sent the Irishman to the asylum straight away, then headed home to find that Schuldich's hair had turned pale green.
That could be the one time Crawford ever got close to getting a heart attack.
"I told you on the phone already." Schuldich definitely had a good time seeing Crawford and Nagi's expressions.
"I didn't think you meant it literally." Nagi walked over, and Schuldich bent down a little to let the boy touch the green strands.
"So, whaddya think?" Schuldich eyed Crawford, smirking.
"... Shocking." It did not look half bad, no, but Crawford knew he was going to miss the white-blonde hair. "Like you got chlorine-damage from swimming pool water."
//What the heck did you do to yourself?//
//I was left on my own for two months.// Schuldich stood straight again, then picked up Nagi's bag and walked upstairs with the boy. His reply was dismissive, yet the small amount of empathic connection he usually allowed himself to share with the American had betrayed him. There was boredom, bitterness, and an overwhelming sadness. //Ran out of things to do.//
It was a response Crawford did not expect to get. Two months was not a long time at all, and given Schuldich's unbelievably wide range of interests, he could not have been bored. But the way Schuldich just spoke was as if nothing could motivate him when he was on his own. As if he was a puppet that could only sing and dance when Crawford was there to pluck at his strings. It was not that Schuldich depended on him; it was as if he needed him to live.
Crawford could not say if the concept was annoying, satisfying, or heartbreaking, but he refused to look deeper into it.
//So is this your protest then, dyeing your hair green?//
Schuldich continued his way up the stairs. His only reply was a sweet, soft chuckle.
That evening, Crawford took Schuldich to Farfarello's asylum. He was, rather childishly, eager to see what the German thought of this "gift" he found for him.
Farfarello was dressed in a strait jacket, arms crossed and bounded to his sides. His legs were shackled by belts that stopped him from taking large steps or running. He was curled up in a foetal position, and looked up when he heard footsteps, greeting Crawford with a tilt of his head.
"Hey Crawford." He said in English.
"How's it going?"
"Not too bad." Farfarello stood. Crawford noted his agility in the way he could do that so smoothly, because being restrained this way must make movements and balance unusually difficult. "Just a little bored."
The German's reactions turned out to be exactly as Crawford foresaw they would be. "Who the hell is this?" Schuldich stared at the albino teenager curiously as the staff unlocked the door for them. They entered Farfarello's cell, their fearlessness unsettling the staff more than Farfarello could.
"Souvenir from Ireland."
"How did you find him?"
"He did an AP and got detected by one of our psychics."
The German circled once around this piece of "souvenir", a grin beginning to spread on his face. Farfarello's eye followed Schuldich's movement, not at all uncomfortable.
"If you like Farfarello, he'll be the fourth member of our team."
"You mean I actually get to decide?" Schuldich put an arm on Farfarello's shoulder and leaned casually on him. "Now that's something new."
Crawford arched one eyebrow. "I make decisions because I know you don't care enough to make them."
Schuldich laughed. "Well I say Farfarello stays." He turned to the Irishman, winking. "Hm, whaddaya say, Farfie?"
Farfarello seemed to be amused by the conversation, and that he was given a pet name so quickly, but he did not reply. Schuldich took the silence as a positive answer - or maybe he was talking to Farfarello telepathically all along, Crawford could not tell. Whatever happened to Schuldich - or the telepath did to himself - over the last two months had made a difference to his power. There was greater control and subtlty such that when he used it, there was no longer the obvious surge of power in the air.
"Hey, can I stay here for a while?"
Crawford eyed the staff, who he knew had instructions from SS to follow his orders. "Ask your new friend."
"Well Farfie, mind if I stay and chat with you?"
Farfarello gave Schuldich a brainless grin. "Sure."
Schuldich did not go home for the next few days. He was having too much fun with Farfarello.
In a strange, completely unjustifiable way, Crawford felt almost jealous. Almost.
[to be continued]
Author's note: Regarding Farfie's "astral projection"... it's something briefly mentioned in the anime mook, but I never understood since he never used that ability at any point in the series. This raised a brief discussion on the WKML. Some said it explains why he's immune to pain, why he can tell there are Kritiker agents on the roof (episode 23), and why he appears in Crawford's mental realm in Gluhen, etc. I'm not too sure about those theories. I just think they put it in in case they could use it in the plot one day, but in the end didn't.
"Garda" is the name of the police force in Ireland, by the way.