The Hunting – Chapter 3: Slipping[1]
Disclaimer: I don't own Weiss, I don't own Schwarz, I don't own Japan, I don't own the weather, I don't own the buildings, I don't own the people, or their scarves and jackets and mittens, I don't own the Koneko, I don't own dead men, I don't own watering cans, I don't own skirts[2], I don't own beer, I don't own locks, I don't own wooden crates, I don't own blankets, I don't even own my word processor, I sure as heck don't own the computer. I own nothing, except for the ummmm idea? I think... I might not even own that either. 0.o
Crawford's feet led him into the night. He wasted two homeless people before going ahead to the Koneko. Sneaking in was even easier. Though he knew, he was surprised that no one was awake, waiting for him. He was surprised they haven't caught on yet, that he was going to keep coming like this.
The one he'd come for was sleeping on the couch, very soundly. The TV was on and the remote was barely resting in his hand. Crawford clamped a cupped hand, holding a rag soaked with a sort of sedation, over Ken's mouth, just in case. He wasn't as fun as the young one had been. A struggle when kidnapping someone was always the most interesting part. The rest of the kidnapping was pure work –making sure the victims were kept hidden and fed, making sure they didn't die before they were supposed to.
He had a hell of a time trying to get this one on over to the hiding place. The body was limp and heavy. The other one had been younger and light. This body had more muscle, heavier than fat, and snored every once in awhile, which proved to be very irritating to the kidnapper. Crawford made a point to pay some person for help to carry the body while he picked up some more food for his prisoners. He also made a point to get rid of the man who'd helped him, and take his money back –and then the rest of his money in his wallet, and the credit cards. No, better not...
The man may still have family living, and they could track Crawford down through the spending. That would ruin everything, if he were caught. Even more so than if Weiss actually managed to attempt to persevere. He put the credit cards back, but stuffed the money into his pockets, and then made a point to bury the body in the snow, which was something he liked about winter.
It wasn't quite morning when Omi woke up shivering. Snow was beginning to drift in, and he was cold. He felt his bones rattle and crack as he pulled his legs closer for warmth. Again, cramped pains shot throughout them.
He dozed, never able to fully succumb to sleep. He was hungry again, but very tired as well. He didn't know which priority to satiate first, but eventually he slept. There was no food for him to at yet, anyway.
He awoke shivering violently once again when the door opened and someone walked in. The someone dropped something heavy on the floor, and then set out three dishes. The door closed once more, and Omi forced himself up to crawl to the food. He felt desperately weak. Halfway through the bowl of porridge, Omi saw that the something dropped was in fact a person. He paused in his eating long enough to lean in and see that the body belonged to Ken. He nearly tripped over himself in trying to get closer to wake his friend.
Ken slept soundly and peacefully, dreaming of winning soccer championships, dreaming of never having been an assassin, dreaming of being free and having fun while doing it. He smiled in his sleep, amidst the cold.
Omi sighed and pushed the one and a half food dishes and the one water dish, after taking one gulp for himself, closer to Ken. H would want it when he awoke, and they would have to consume it sparingly if this was all they would be given, between the two of them.
He lied down near Ken for the bodily warmth, and slept heavily.
Schuldich stomped out and into the summer morning's winter. Crawford was as good as missing, and he was bored. He went straight to find Weiss. They must know where he is, he thought, sometimes twice, or three times, as he walked.
He heard some screaming nearby, and could only pick up little coherency and much confusion, as well as revulsion. He sensed someone turning to vomit. He figured this was some of Farfarello's handiwork, and went to see just to see how it was holding up.
There was a body half-buried, face down, in the bloodied snow. One ivory arm poked out, and the dead man's back still held the heavy coat, although it was torn. Schuldich stood back as the man was dug up. A woman held him, rocking and crying in the snow. Schuldich nearly fell over. The blood on the man appeared to be his own, but it couldn't be seen where it had come from, not even when he ventured a closer look, invading the woman's inner eye. What he saw made him tilt his head. He saw three –no, two tiny puncture marks on his throat. The woman was on the verge of passing out.
He left her mind and walked away. Every sense in his body told him something was seriously wrong, far beyond the climate change and the lives Schwarz had disposed of so recently. Could there be something else loose in the city? Some psycho who gets a kick out of pretending he was a servant of the devil? He deemed that likely, more likely, that is, than the existence of vampires.
He made it to the little flower shop and stepped inside, to meet the white- faced Ran, and no one else. The shop was empty, besides them. He leaned on the table, and made himself at home. "What's up, kitten?" he asked.
"Now is not a good time, Schwarz." Ran breezed past him, brandishing a water can. "Can't you come back to bother me next month? That would be a lot more convenient, I'm sure."
"If there is a next month." Schuldich honed in on the redhead's mind. "Oh, yes, I see what you mean. Lost your children, have you? Will their parents still pay you for babysitting them thus far?" He froze. "Oh, what is this?"
Ran knew not to answer a rhetorical question, but he answered anyway. "It's my mind, asshole. Now, if you don't mind, I have work to do." He was walking in what appeared to be circles around Schuldich, fixing this and that.
Schuldich shook his head and clicked his tongue at him. "Medicating worries with work, as always, Abyssinian. Working won't bring your children back. And what's this about us having kidnapped them? Schwarz wouldn't waste their time with such follies." Schuldich paused. "You have no relevant, nor clear reasoning to accuse us with."
Ran stopped what he was doing and shot Schuldich a spiteful glare. "Don't play games with me, Schwarz," he sneered. "Where are you keeping them?"
"I?" Schuldich placed a hand over his chest, gesturing what couldn't be placed at mocking or sincere innocence. "I am not holding your little kitts. They must be playing hide and seek, ne?"
"Oh, you're really trying hard to piss me off, aren't you?"
"Not really," he pointed out. "You seem pissed enough as it is."
There was another glare and sneer. "You can either leave, or tell me where Omi and Ken are!"
Schuldich chose to leave, though he hadn't properly heard the question. He'd left before the sneer was even completed. He added up Ran's thoughts, and then was out of there, putting two and two together, but getting five, and sometimes six. It was not his favorite thing, solving puzzles with Crawford at the center. The evidence was there, but none of it ever solid. It was like trying to solve an algebraic problem and getting another variable as your answer. It always seemed to slip between the fingers before anyone ever knew it was there. He only had to watch the ground he walked on, but then... He would miss other things, like that woman whose skirt just was blown up. Something didn't make sense, all the same.
Schuldich cursed at Crawford's mental shields.
Why would Crawford have taken two assassins when the Ritalin was right there, just waiting to be stolen, not willing to struggle against him, or to attempt an escape? Surely a syringe lacked qualities it required to trick Crawford. Perhaps that's not what Crawford wanted. But it made sense why he would want it, to lower Abyssinian's focus, and therefore show a strong weakness in Weiss. But he wouldn't make the mistake of kidnapping the children, while the drugs are right there, and being easier to take. So what could possibly belong to Weiss that Crawford would want so badly?
He turned and went back to the flower shop. Ran was about to yell at him again about his missing children, and leaving, but Schuldich raised a finger in a scolding manner. "We have things to discuss, Abyssinian. It involves your teammates, and my leader. But, would you first happen to have beer that I may sup upon in this storming of ideas so that we may be able to understand the whole situation better?"
When Omi next awoke, Ken was still asleep –or possibly again, because when he looked over at the dishes, they were empty. He groaned. That food and water was supposed to last them both. As his eyes drifted still, they fell upon something else. First, a shoe, and then a leg, and then it was Crawford, leering down at him. The man was seated upon a wooden box.
"I was just wondering," he said, "how long will it be until you cry? For I fear I will miss the first teardrop when you realize your fate is sealed, and is wrapped around my little finger. And when you realize that no one can, nor will, rescue either of you. If they try, you will also realize that I will kill them, else take them into captivity as well."
Omi was speechless.
"I won't let you die yet, but you do know that your time is running out, ne?" Crawford was continuing, letting his eyes wander about the room as he spoke. "I can't let the two of you conspire an escape. As long as I keep the other asleep, while the other is awake, I can kill you on schedule."
"There's a..." Omi croaked. His throat was dry. "There's a schedule...? To kill us by?" He couldn't believe his ears. He was actually at the mercy of a madman, with powers. It was obvious he wouldn't be saved.
"Oh, yes, and you needn't worry about a rescue, because I've been to the future, and there's nothing anyone can do to change it. It's just how the space-time continuum works out in the end. Can't change a damned thing."
"Why are you going to..." He coughed. Damn, his throat was dry. "Why are you going to kill me? Are you going to kill Ken too?"
Crawford smiled. "You will all die anyway, but this way, it will be sooner, and not so wasted. Besides, it's a lot more interesting than being frozen to death." He stood. "Speaking of, I brought you some things, so you don't freeze. It would be a shame for you to die before I'm done. It would be such a waste." And with that conversation forever imprinted in Omi's mind, he walked out. The loud click of the lock and then another click of a lock and then another... He lost all hope.
Omi realized all those things that were just said. He let them sink in, and with a choked sob, a single teardrop escaped. He cursed and wiped it away. His eyes had betrayed him...
To Be Continued...
[1]: Well, I just called it Slipping because I wanted to call it Slipping Puzzles, but that sounded stupid, and then Slipping Tears, but sounded stupid too, and then Slipping Up, but that sounded stupid too. So... Yeah.
[2] I really don't own skirts. I used to, but then our school changed the rule for uniforms. So now I own pants. Lots and lots... of pants... T.T
[A/N] I hope everyone's enjoying it thus far. Please, review!! T.T And hey, if you think you've figured out what's going on, let me know! '