Chapter 11: Hunted in the Dark
I hunt
therefore I am
harvest the land
taking of the fallen lamb—
-Metallica, 'Of Wolf and Man'
The moon rose high above, a cold, silver eye that was indifferently blind to the scene below. Schuldig ran, pushing aside branches as he went. His breath sawed out of his lungs, became vaporous trails that wisped away into the cold night air. When he inhaled, he imagined that he could smell dark, loamy soil, with its sickly-sweet undercurrent of decay. Rotting leaves carpeted the forest floor. Under the leaves were dead things. Dead flesh. The smell of rot was too cloying to be otherwise.
It was winter here. The leaves were already rotting on the ground, with streamers of ice hanging from the trees. The sluggish stream he had splashed through had been so cold it burned, covered with a faint skin of ice that he hadn't known was there until he had crashed through it. A chill wind made the nude branches clack together, whispered through the twisted limbs.
He ran on, deeper into the woods. His destination was in sight, flashing glimpses to him through the stark black branches. A white cathedral stood on a hill, turned amber by the warm light pouring from its windows. It was a thing of grace and beauty, and it was his salvation. He stumbled upon the path more by accident than by design, although it was what he had been looking for ever since he had entered the dark wood.
He turned unerringly to the cathedral. It was hidden now by the trees but acted as a lodestone, pulling Schuldig to it. Something ran parallel to him, something dark and lithe that flitted through the woods. He could hear the other's breathing. He ran faster. The other kept up, then disappeared. Schuldig didn't have to see it to know it was still there. Damned thing is playing with me, he thought.
He skidded to a stop when he came upon the cathedral door. It towered over him, a silent sentinel of age-darkened wood. He pounded on the door, but no one answered. He ran around the building, but all the doors remained shut to him. The lights shone out of narrow windows, too narrow for him to climb through, even if he dared to break the glass.
All the windows showed rooms filled with things, not people. No one was there. In despair, he looked up wistfully at the tall spires. A shadowy figure flitted across one high, inaccessible window, the only sign of life. He's too far away. He'll never hear me, no matter how loud I scream.
Schuldig had no choice. The hunter was still in the wood. He unwillingly left the cathedral behind; the safe bastion was locked against him. The woods grew thicker past the cathedral. The hunter drew closer. He felt the brush of the hunter's outstretched hand on the back of his neck—
He shot upright with a start. Where was he? He looked about in bewilderment. He was no longer in the forest. Overturned and splintered pews were strewn around the small church, making the once primly straight aisle a maze to be navigated. Stained glass shards crunched under his feet as he picked his way through the debris. The altar was untouched though. A pair of tall candles on it were lit to show him the way.
The altar was simple, with a gold-embroidered, white linen cloth covering it. The two candles flanked a ragged Bible, a cracked chalice, and a small brazier that once had held incense but now held a charred cross and some bits of bone. They looked like finger bones. He opened the Bible to find it well used, with highlighted and underlined passages. Small, dense notations crawled around the text.
The handwriting wasn't familiar, but the Bible was. It was Farfarello's. Farfarello had never let anyone touch his Bible, not even Crawford. A door slammed shut, and Schuldig jumped back guiltily. A familiar figure came into view out of the red-hued dark.
"Schuldig. Come to pay yer respects, then?" Farfarello came to the altar and knelt in front of it. Shards of glass sliced and stabbed his knees, bringing forth blood, but of course Farfarello didn't blink at this. He merely clasped his hands together and peered up at the crucified figure in the shadows past the candlelight. The light was poor, but to Schuldig, the figure didn't look like Jesus. It looked like a nun.
"Where are we?"
"In the space within. The madness is outside. He's the one that brought ye here, just as he brought the offerings for the altar." Farfarello gestured to the brazier and its gruesome contents.
"The madness? In your head?" Schuldig crouched down to be on eye level to Farfarello, but the Irishman never took his eye off the crucifixion.
"The cathedral on the hill . . . . Ye couldn't get in, could ye, Schuldig?" Farfarello gave him a sidelong glance before focusing his gaze once more on his object of devotion. He spoke as if he was talking to it rather than Schuldig. "Nor could I. The doors there were locked against me. The doors here are always open. Ye've an unlocked door of yer own, mind-talker. And now an uninvited guest has arrived."
"What do you mean?" Schuldig had an uneasy feeling that maybe he did know what Farfarello was referring to.
"Insanity. The madness that was without is now within. He seeks that which is his. That which ye hold, that ye've stolen."
"Stolen?" Schuldig was surprised. He was a murderer. He was a man with few morals. But he was never a thief.
"Aye. A treasure ye keep, right here." Farfarello tapped the side of his head.
"What? My talent?"
"Nay, that's always been yers, and ye're welcome to it. He's no use for that. Tis something that everyone holds, ye more so than others." Farfarello looked at him now. "The two of ye, like all-seeing eyes. Crawford, the future, and Schuldig, that which lies in the darkest reaches of a man's heart, his mind, his soul. Ye see it all and don't give a damn about any of it."
"Thoughts? Memories? Is that what you're talking about? Have I seen something that I wasn't supposed to?"
"Do ye even care, telepath?" Farfarello looked away again, his eye drawn back to the crucifix. "A man is made up of his memories, and ye plunder 'em like they were gold, then toss 'em away like they're dross. But ye hold 'em still, all that makes up a man, scattered like rubbish across the floor of yer mind."
Schuldig contemplated for a minute. "I guess I never thought of it that way."
"He does." Farfarello got up, ignoring the blood that ran down from his knees. "He wants ye, to gain back that which was stolen. He needs 'em, ye see." Farfarello began to walk away.
"Farfarello. What do you want?"
Farfarello paused. "I? I'm just the remnant, the lost soul. Farfarello is the one out there. If ye wish to know what he wants, open the door and ask him."
Schuldig took a quick breath in surprise. "Jei? You're Jei."
"Aye, What's left of him, anyway." Jei disappeared into the shadows, and Schuldig knew then that he was truly alone now in the church. He heard a noise at the door.
"Farfarello." The noise stopped at the sound of his name, but Schuldig didn't need his talent to know that the psychopath was still out there. Waiting. Waiting for his mouse to leave the hole so that he could pounce. "Wait out there until doomsday, you crazy bastard," Schuldig muttered. He sat down on one of the few intact pews and settled in to wait for morning.
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A/N:
Thanks to Hisoka (#1 reviewer) and Triggerhappy (new reviewer! Love new faces) for their reviews. Another newcomer, LoneCayt—thanks for your informative critiques, it gave me good food for thought. As for my plans, all I can say is that there will be no yaoi here. Some ai at best, but no yaoi. I seem incapable of writing yaoi I find believable, much less post-worthy-.-;; Nony—'bout time you kicked into gear. I knew that you had the right stuff. E-san—I couldn't torment you so with a Nagi-centric chapter. I hope this chapter gives you what you crave. Barring anything untoward, chapter 12, 'Lost and Found,' will be out this weekend.