Chapter 8: Almost Gone

Disclaimer: I don't own Mushroomhead, I don't own the title, Almost Gone, I don't own cereal, I don't own helicopters. I think, hm, let's review; I own nothing except for the hideaway and the machines that change the climate, and the gas can and matches, because they're made by my imaginary company called Spiffy Co. Yes, it took me eight chapters to realize that one.

"Ashes to ashes. Gas cans and matches Wash it all away."
–Mushroomhead, Almost Gone

Schuldich woke up angry. He was angry that the damned redheaded killer attempted to rape his mind, and succeeded, using one of his own brain waves, leaving so much useless information. Ran had told him where he was and what Crawford was. He wanted Schuldich to help him. This angered Schuldich all the more.

"What makes you think I would've helped you anyway?" he screamed to ceiling, knowing that the assassin was now dead, not sure whether the killer was in heaven or Hell. He was sure the answer was Hell. Then again, he wasn't even sure of the afterlife. Briefly, he searched for a God in his mind, and yet, found nothing.

The end was drawing near. He had to pack. He let Farfarello down and retreated to the kitchen, unsure of whether or not he was hungry. The ignoring of a nagging voice in the back of his head occupied him at the moment. He had given up on trying to find out what Crawford was up to. They were leaving that day. The best thing to do was just to go ahead and ask the man.

And thank him for killing off that annoying red-headed, whining, complaining, weak killer who just gets angry over nothing, and throws his swords at helicopters he knows he can't hit, just to have it fall again, and nearly hit him. It's a good thing he's dead.

Nagi was waiting for him in the kitchen, eating a bowl of cereal. Schuldich looked at a clock and saw that it was late afternoon –and also that the paperwork was gone.

"You're welcome," Nagi muttered, and then crunch went a spoonful of cereal.

"Yeah, thanks. Whatever." He was preoccupied. "When's that helicopter supposed to come pick us up?"

Crunch, crunch, crunch –gulp. "Tonight. About midnight. I figured it was a dramatic time enough to leave. Only take one bag, Schuldich. I don't want to leave a mess behind that looks like we actually left before It actually happened. I'll take care of files and any other kind of evidence. I only trust you to worry about your things. I've got Farfarello all taken care of."

"Right." Schuldich felt a pang of irritation that scolded Nagi on how the boy should think he needs adults. For crying out loud, the telekinetic was an adult. One who treated Schuldich like a child. He turned to leave.

"Oh, and Schuldich? Crawford gave me a call last night. He said that he didn't particularly like it when you tried to get through his barriers. He said that it was a waste of your time and energy, and that would just hurt yourself. So, stop, okay?"

Schuldich took some time to let his brain soak it all in. "Okay," he said at length.

"And he said that we should meet him with the helicopter at some... place. We should see it. It's supposed to be on fire."

"And his things?"

"He already sent some of his belongings to his chalet in America. He should be fine, he says."

Schuldich nodded minutely and left the kitchen to his room, his fists clenched. Cold weather made him irritable –and so did taking orders from a fifteen-year old who could smack him against the wall. He knew he could just as well have some fun, but he didn't feel like it. His head hurt, and he was tired. But he was pretty sure that, at this point, everyone was tired.

It was daylight outside, but Crawford was restless, in his motel room. He couldn't leave, and he couldn't sleep. He was dead tired, and knew that he would need even a little energy tonight. He was worried –to put it frankly. He didn't know if the rest of Schwarz had everything in order.

He hoped that no one had found his hiding place. It was amazing that they hadn't, for the stench coming from that place was so awful, and strong. Crawford was glad that it was far off away enough that no one would have found it that easily. He was just glad that he wouldn't have to clean it.

He still couldn't sleep. He was restless.

The coming of the end, the rebirth of the earth, the closure of his revenge. They were all yet to come. They weren't here yet, and he couldn't wait. He felt like a child on the night before Christmas morning, yet more composed and holding sinister plans within his mind. It was getting to be too much for him to handle.

He got up from his bed, shedding his clothes as he walked, and stepped into the bathroom to take a shower. His skin itched with the spilt blood. He loved it, but he hated the taste. Salty and metallic.

Ken and Omi's bodies sat patiently, obediently, waiting for their master to return. They didn't seem to mind the two dead bodies behind them as they lent their life energy to them, preserving them, keeping them from rotting. They didn't seem to mind the spilled food and water. They didn't seem to mind the smells of bodily wastes. They didn't seem to mind that they were locked in, and that their feet were well frozen over in ice. They didn't seem to mind that they would be dying very soon. They didn't seem to mind that they were almost gone.

Schuldich sat on his bed, next to his bag. He'd been able to fit almost everything in it, and he was surprised. Everything was nearly over here, and he hoped that Crawford would give him a chance to at least try to start a new life where they were going next, rather than to plot to destroy it right away.

After this, they wouldn't be suspected, but surely, after the next one, or two, they'll be under close observation. They'll have to us their powers more next time. He shivered. America was much bigger than Japan. They would have to find a way... to spread the destruction wide and far, all across North America. But... would Crawford really destroy that place? His home?

Schuldich shook his head. He was just getting cold feet. He was losing his edge. He was just too tired. He flopped back and fell asleep, shoes and all.

Night arrived sooner than anyone expected it to.

Crawford lifted himself from his bed, unrested and tired. But he felt ready to do his job. He didn't bother to check out. He only left his room and strolled into the twilight, walking atop the frozen snow.

He found one other, wandering. As Crawford passed the young woman, he realized he was thirsty. He whipped his had around and, with a menacing smirk, and a glint in his eyes, he pounced, and killed. Ironic how like a cat he was.

When he finished, he wiped the blood off of his glasses with a patch of the woman's shirt that happened to remain clean, and continued his walk through the night, not even bothering to clean up the mangled corpses he left behind. He walked and walked, until he reached the little shack

He donned his masked and stepped inside the hideaway, his four prizes either lying or sitting in peace. He reached into a crate and pulled out a can of gasoline.

Schuldich rose from his slumber to find that it was midnight. He thought he knew why Crawford was doing what he was. Revenge was sweet, and forever. It reminded him faintly of a Valentine's Day gift. Schuldich's anger was almost gone.

It was time to go. He grabbed his bag just as Nagi was about to drag him from his room.

"Come on, Schuldich."

He did. He went. He followed Nagi and Farfarello out, to the helicopter waiting in the backyard, kicking up ice with its propellers. They climbed in, and it rose to the polar black sky, a hummingbird taking flight in the night.

Their neighbors watched as they escaped from the impending doom.

Crawford spread the gasoline over the room, on the walls, on the floor. He was careful to not spill any on himself. He walked out, locked the door, and climbed to the roof, spilling the last of the gasoline onto its surface. He left it there, empty and devoid of its contents. He jumped down, landing on his feet on the ice. He barely slipped. Then, slowly, he stood.

The helicopter flew toward the location Crawford had given Nagi. "The driver is under your control, right, Schuldich?" he asked the telepath.

"He's not a driver. He's a pilot, and yes. I have complete control of him. What do you think? I'm stupid?" In fact, Nagi did, even the slightest bit. Schuldich knew this. He felt a pang of deja vu. Did everyone think he was stupid?

Then, they saw the flames, rising out of the perfectly white canvas.

"Don't get too close," Schuldich warned the pilot. "We don't want to diminish the flame of revenge, now, do we?" He always had a respect, if not, a fondness for passion.

Crawford wiped his brow, knowing the very last drop of gasoline had long escaped from the can. He walked away, as cool as ever in the summer's winter, and flicked the lit match into the mess behind him. In seconds, the flames were blazing, melting the snow around them. The endless subtle ironies made him grin as he watched his sins turn to ash.

Then, he was carried into the air, and away from his past as they flew on to his future, resting in even another, further past. Done, he thought, as he clutched the swinging ladder and climbed aboard, and I'm onto the next one.

They shut the door behind him, and he took one last look at his beautiful work –his masterpiece. His sins were left behind, and turned to dust before his very eyes, to be frozen perpetually in the snow and ice of winter.

--Fin--