True Dark
vii.
There is no one in the hallways. There should be people, students on their way to the refectory, and Kai wonders at it as he paces down corridor after deserted corridor. The wind is still rising; the lights are flickering overhead, setting his shadow to dance jerkily around his ankles. His footsteps echo too loud against the blank stone walls.
The absolute silence is unnerving, and even though Kai knows this place back to front - could navigate these passages blindfolded - he can't help but start to question whether he's gone wrong somewhere. Or been sent wrong. Perhaps Yuri told him the wrong time, but what reason could he have for that? Even as a trick it would be poor; if Yuri was reduced to such pettiness Kai would be disappointed.
He wonders if maybe the Abbey might have been renovated, the layout changed from what he knew so that once-familiar halls are now a baffling maze. But he would have heard about such changes, and would have noticed if they'd been made, if the corridors deviated at all from their old route.
Kai is right - that's certain - so there must be some other reason for the empty passageways. It's only logical.
But that knowledge alone is no substitute for an explanation, and it makes the silent, fitfully-lit walk no less pleasant. Things haven't felt right since he came to this place, and the unnatural quiet lends weight to the niggling sense of doubt, of displacement. Those are not things that Kai is accustomed to feeling, and he isn't enjoying the experience - is enjoying it all the less for the memories of last time he was here, of the parts of the Abbey he saw then; the parts off-limits to students, the perversions of science carried out in the name of research, the dark places and the dark things and, at the heart of it all -
A hand latches onto his arm and Kai wheels, ready to lash out before he even realises what's happening. When he sees who it is he shakes his arm loose irritably, and his sigh is more annoyance than relief.
"What do you want?" he demands, glaring down; Ivan stares back at him along the length of his prominent nose.
"Sorry if I scared you." Ivan's tone is just this side of leering. "I wanted to say something to you before you got to the refectory - just a little friendly advice."
"What's so important that you had to lurk in a doorway and jump out at me?"
"I don't know what you're here for, Kai, but if you know what's good for you, you'll leave. Immediately."
Ivan has never liked Kai, anymore than Kai likes him. Why the other boy is trying to frighten him off, Kai has no idea, but he's not so easily intimidated. He smirks, unimpressed.
"Is that it? Then if you'll excuse me, I'm feeling hungry."
He makes to brush past, but Ivan grabs his arm again.
"Listen to me!" he begins, then falls silent the sound of a door shutting and approaching footsteps. He starts guiltily; without another word he turns and vanishes down a side passage. Kai stays where he is, and a few moments later Yuri appears around the corner.
"Kai," he greets. "On your way to the refectory?"
Kai nods in reply, and falls into step beside Yuri, who tilts his head curiously.
"Who was that I heard you talking to, by the way?" he inquires casually, but there's a tightness to his voice which belies his indifference and suggests to Kai that the answer is important.
"I wasn't talking to anybody," he says, though he's not sure why.
"Really? That's strange - I was certain I heard voices just before I met you."
"It must have been someone else you heard. Or the wind, maybe."
"Maybe that's it."
Yuri smiles, obviously not believing a word. Kai doesn't care, but he does wonder why the other boy is so interested. And he saw the look on Ivan's face before he ran off.
viii.
In the refectory, Kai finally understands the deserted corridors.
He recognises three of the boys seated at the long table - Boris, Sergei, Ivan - and though the other four are unfamiliar, there's something in their bearing that marks them as having trained under Biovolt. Yuri leads the way over to the table, and two of the boys move up to make room for them on the bench; Kai finds himself seated across from Ivan, who doesn't look at him.
The food is served by an old man and a thin-lipped woman, who carry out their duty with tactiturn efficiency. The boys around the table seem similarly focused on the task at hand, keeping their eyes on their plates as they eat. Normally Kai would be satisfied with this state of affairs, and all he really wants is to get this meal out of the way and get down to more pressing business, but eventually he has to ask.
"Are these all the Abbey students?"
One of the boys he doesn't know glances at him, as if startled by the sound of his voice. Yuri smiles condescendingly.
"Of course not, but we're the only resident students remaining. For the most part, this is a regular beyblade training facility - students come in for classes and practice sessions during the day, and students and staff go home at night."
"Then why - " Kai begins, but is interrupted by a harsh laugh from across the table.
"Why do we stay here?" Boris completes his question, a sarcastic sneer on his face. "Isn't it obvious? We have no place else to go, so they keep us here - the mighty Abbey turned into an orphanage."
Yuri directs a sharp look at him and he hushes, returning his attention to his plate. Kai would do the same, but Yuri has other ideas.
"A question for you now, Kai. What brings you to the Abbey?"
"Information," he says flatly, in a tone that brooks no further inquiries.
Yuri's complacent expression turns slightly sour; he hates not to know anything. Equally, Kai dislikes anyone prying into his affairs, and can't suppress a faint twinge of satisfaction at seeing the other's frustration. Petty, perhaps, but Yuri irritates him.
The rest of the meal passes in silence but for the scrape of cutlery and the rattling of the tall windows in their frames, shaken by the wind. It is only as the plates are being cleared away by the same taciturn pair that the quiet is broken, scattered to the corners of the room by the intrusion of an amicable voice.
"Kai!" Director Romanovitch's greeting is almost an epithet. "My apologies for not meeting you personally - I was caught up in some paperwork." He rolls his eyes conspiratorially and extends a hand, which Kai rises to accept. The hand is soft and slightly clammy, and Kai feels the irrational surge of revulsion that assaults anyone who touches something warm, meaty and wet. He suppresses it and shakes the hand firmly, returning the greeting.
The Abbey's director is much as Kai imagined him from their brief telephone conversation, a good-natured man, large, strong but running to fat in his middle age; his voice suits his appearance almost too exactly, the effect unspoiled by a thick scar at the corner of his right eye.
"Anyhow," Romanovitch continues, "I'm completely at your disposal for the rest of the evening - barring any emergencies, of course." He gives a chuckle, which nobody joins in on.
"Thank you."
"You didn't say much on the phone about the reason for your visit - maybe you could tell me a little more about it, and I'll see what I can do to help?"
"That's something we should discuss privately, I think," says Kai, acutely aware of eyes and ears on him.
"Of course. We'll go to my office, then."
Kai nods and follows the man out of the refectory, closing the door firmly on Yuri's foiled curiosity.
The office Romanovitch leads him to is small and functional, adorned with only a few personal effects. Kai thinks of Balkov's office, that masterpiece of gothic egotism the previous director occupied; things have certainly changed.
"When we spoke last you mentioned something about looking for information?"
Kai nods. Romanovitch looks expectantly at him. There is no particular reason that Kai should distrust this man, but then there's no reason to place complete faith in him either, and Kai has never liked showing his hand unless it's absolutely necessary. Still, he needs Romanovitch's indulgence and assistance in this; time for cards on the table.
"I need the records of the Black Dranzer project. All the data you have."
He watches the man's response, still unsure as to how far he should trust him. Romanovitch's reaction is surprise and slight consternation, no sign that he anticipated the request or is unduly affected by it.
"Well...that could be a problem. When the Biovolt Organisation was toppled, the Abbey's files were confiscated as evidence - the entire computer system was stripped, and the RBA installed a new one."
"So there are no records left." This entire journey was wasted, and Kai is no closer to discovering the source of his nightmares. Half a dozen governments the world over were involved in the demise of Biovolt, are still hunting for its elusive president; the Abbey's records would never be released to Voltaire's grandson.
"Not exactly." Romanovitch scratches his chin thoughtfully. "There may be records remaining, but to find them you'll have to go into the paper archives."
"Paper archives?"
"The hard-copy records, stored down in the cellars of the Abbey. I believe that the former director, Balkov, was extremely thorough when it came to keeping records. The hard copies were never touched by the authorities, so if the information you want is anywhere, it's down there."
"Can you show me where they are?"
"Of course. I must warn you, though, finding what you're looking for could take a long time."
ix.
When the door opens, Kai understands the meaning of Romanovitch's warning. The paper archives are labyrinthine, a series of small rooms lined floor to ceiling with bookshelves, each of which is overflowing with papers. The files are shelved, stacked, stuffed - apparently haphazardly - anywhere they can be made to fit. There is no order, no system, no index listing the whys and wherefores of the place; there is just paper, reams and reams of the stuff, and buried somewhere in there is - perhaps - the information Kai needs.
"I did say," the director reminds him unhelpfully, watching as Kai takes in the enormity of the task facing him.
"Yes, you did."
"I could send a couple of the students down to help you look, if you'd like."
"No, I can manage alone."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
Romanovitch takes this abruptness as his cue to leave, a perceptiveness for which Kai is grateful. He hands Kai one of the portable electric lamps they brought with them; there is no overhead lighting down here.
"Well," he says, "Good luck."
If Kai believed in luck, he'd be wishing himself the same thing.
x.
It's much later when the director returns, to suggest that perhaps Kai should continue his search in the morning. Glancing at his watch with raw eyes, Kai is surprised at how late it is; immersed in a world of print and rustling paper he lost all concept of time. As yet he's found nothing pertaining to Black Dranzer or its dreadful bitbeast, and part of him wants to stay, to continue the search with dogged determination, the mindless stamina that exists beyond exhaustion. But he knows that it makes sense to stop now; it will be easier to resume the task in the morning, with a night's sleep behind him.
"I'll finish up in a few minutes," he says and Romanovitch, satisfied, retreats.
"Breakfast is at eight," he adds from the doorway. "I'll have someone wake you."
A short time later Kai suspends his still-fruitless search. His eyes are sore, his back stiff from hours of poring over documents, and he hasn't finished in the first room yet. His investigation could take days, and the idea of spending so long in this place (the archive; the cellar, the Abbey) is unappealing. But this needs to be done. It will take as long as it takes, and if the search unearths some clue to the meaning of Kai's dreams, some step towards exorcising them, it will be worthwhile.
For tonight, though, enough. Kai notes where he left off, picks up the lamp and exits the paper archives.
The cellars are dark, the old gaslight system neglected, fallen into decay and not replaced with electrics as the upper floors were. The lamp casts a wavering pool of yellow light around Kai, illuminating the dark stone walls and the roughly-paved floor. Kai recalls how Romanovitch led him down to the archive, the route that will deliver him back up; beyond that, these subterranean passages are alien, and Kai has no desire to explore them. He has been in the cellars once before, has seen something of what was housed here by Biovolt. It's nothing he wants reminding of.
A loose flagstone grates loudly underfoot, and as it quiets again Kai becomes aware of a sound on the edge of hearing, a sound that might have been there all along, unnoticed behind the familiar non-noises of breath and steady footsteps. But in the aftermath of silence broken he can hear it, almost inaudible but utterly unmistakeable, the whir of a spinning beyblade.
Kai pauses, hushes his breathing, tries to pinpoint where the sound is coming from. It's difficult to tell, though, in these echoing corridors; it might be coming from anywhere. Most likely it's somebody practicing above his head somewhere, the vibrations shivering down through the stone, diffusing and obscuring their source. Either that or someone breaking the off-limits rule on the cellars, sneaking down here to train in solitude. Kai can appreciate why they would, having experienced the company upstairs.
Wherever the sound is coming from, it's none of Kai's concern, and he doesn't care enough to stand around listening all night. He continues on his way; a few moments later the sound breaks off abruptly and doesn't resume. Whoever it is, they're finished.
xi.
The darkness is pressing in around him, the black thing is arcing over him, dripping malice. Its eyes pin him like an insect while blue fire licks around him, freezing him to the marrow, chilling his soul until he wants to scream with the pain of it, except his jaw is locked with cold and fear and he can scarcely rouse a whimper.
And through the terror and pain and icy cold he hears it, that soft whirring, the same sound he heard in the cellars and just as untraceable, faint and gentle and coming from everywhere, closing in around him like the darkness. Growing louder, as the blackness winds around him, louder and louder and shriller until it's a high-pitched whine that pierces his eardrums, shatters his nerves, grates his teeth together in agony, and then it -
xii.
Short. Sharp. Human.
A scream.
to be continued
Thanks a lot to everyone who reviewed; I was really pleased to see that people like the style I'm using for this piece, because it's rather experimental for me. A bit of a pain to write, too, which is why this chapter took so long, but that's another story. See you next chapter!