Chapter 10: The Bell Tower
How sweet, how passing sweet, is solitude!
But grant me still a friend in my retreat,
Whom I may whisper, Solitude is sweet.
-William Cowper, Retirement. Line 739.
Crawford knew almost immediately that he was in a dream. As a pre-cognitive, he always had to be aware of his dreams. They often held hints of the future. He hated Rosenkreuz as much as every other Rosenkreuz graduate, but he was thankful that they had honed his ability so he could observe his own dreams. He couldn't necessarily control them—that wasn't desired—but he could sift through them for prophetic content.
This one had none. It didn't have the strange white aura that limned all his prophetic visions, or the ghostly blurring where several different futures were followed at one time. Everything was clear, crisp. He recognized his surroundings. It was the library of the cathedral on the hill that his mother used to attend. Even back then, he had held little interest in organized religion but had found a friend in the old priest that had run the cathedral's library. While his mother prayed, he would come here to read Francis Bacon, John Milton, Nathaniel Hawthorne.
He often dreamed of the place. Not surprising, really. He associated it with security, serenity. The library was quiet, dimly lit, and deserted. That was typical too. Crawford never dreamed of others. No one, except for the occasional, annoying invasion of Schuldig, ever appeared in Crawford's non-prophetic dreams.
Not even Schuldig had invaded this place, though. Crawford had buried it deep, deep in his subconscious, placing it out of the telepath's reach. Crawford could freely visit his sanctuary in dreams. That was enough for him. He was not a man given to sentimentality, so he felt no need to cling consciously to talismans of the past, including memories.
This time in his dream, he climbed up to the bell tower of the cathedral. He used to go there frequently as well. It was his place of solitude, the place where no one could reach him. When he was a child, he would slip up there and savor the feeling of what life would be like if he was the last person left on earth.
The tower had commanded a spectacular view of the countryside. It was classic New England, patchwork quilts of trees as far as the eye could see, broken by broad ribbons of green pastures. It was here that he had first started to formulate what he always thought of as the plan. He had determined his fate in this tower and had mapped out what it would take to get there.
Years later, after his parents moved to Boston, he would gain his prophetic powers. He used them, like he had used everything else, to attain his goals. He never forgot the tower though, even though he had never seen it again during waking hours. Over the years it had gained a prominent place in his dreams, his sanctuary of solitude. He loved the feeling of aloofness, of uniqueness that he found there. Tonight, that feeling didn't come. It was baffling. That had never happened before.
He sat on the windowsill, looked out on the land and felt, for the first time, loneliness instead.
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A/N:
Crawford interlude. Sorry for the short chapter, next chapter is longer, I promise! Thanks to Nony, Hisoka and E-san for the reviews. Made my day.