Midnight Garden
by Kye
Chapter 10
------------
It was at Nagi's insistence that I went to Schuldich's room. I would not have, otherwise; there were occasions when I had no desire to deal with Schuldich's unpleasant temper, and this was one of them. He had picked two fights with me in less than twenty-four hours, and I had no wish to be forced into a third. Still, it was sometimes wise to listen to Nagi; while he was young, he was far from stupid. The stupid ones never do get a firm hold on their powers-- they, more often than not, die very young.
I knocked softly, expecting either no answer or a perturbed shout. I got nothing. I tested the knob; the door was unlocked, which surprised me. Usually Schuldich made certain to lock his door, both against us and, I think, against any surprises. He has never cared for surprises.
I pushed the door open. It let loose and almost uncatchable keening squeal as its hinges rubbed against each other. He should oil that, I thought, if he wants to stay silent as usual.
I looked around the room-- small, square, somewhat messy-- for signs of its occupant. At last I saw him, lying in his bed, camouflaged by the nest of blankets on and around him. They made him blend into the floor, for the most part, but they didn't disguise his hair. He would need brighter colors still to hide that.
Stepping around small mountains of clothes, magazines (of a surprisingly clean nature), and CDs, I knelt down beside him. He was dead to the world, as asleep as a hibernating bear.
Almost. His lips moved by millimeters, spelling out words, some of which I managed to catch.
"Margaret...gonna kill that stupid rabbit...loose again...never told you...love you...please, not dead...not true...that woman...every time...everything in my kitchen...moves it all..." I had to frown at what I read on Schuldich's lips. Perhaps he was dreaming, but the words obviously weren't his everyday thoughts. That could mean that he was still unable to block out the voices. The idea worried me intensely. If he lost control, there would be little I could do. He was dangerous uncontrolled. I remembered still when Eszett first found him, and I never wanted to repeat the experience.
--------------------------
I wasn't involved at the beginning. I was merely another agent of Eszett, and I happened to be passing by when Schuldich was brought in. He was only about fourteen then, and even crazier than Farfarello. He didn't know how to block anything, and to make it worse, his raw power was amazing. Without control, he was being bombarded by the inner voice of every person for approximately forty miles around. That wasn't so bad in the lonely mountains, but they had found him in Frankfurt. In an alley.
Needless to say, he was in far from good condition.
It was a overcheerful and glaringly bright day, with requisite chirping birds and cotton candy clouds. It was warm, too, and I was taking advantage of the rare opportunity to walk outside between duties. I was strolling on the walk beneath the stone arches of the Eszett complex, simply enjoying the shade and the sunny patches, and the occasional green leaf, and the sound of finches.
I was near the entrance when I noticed a Land Rover stopped in the wide gravel road that led to the complex. I paused, interested, and looked at it more analytically. It was green, and held something-- someone --very powerful. The norms who drove and delivered for Eszett hovered around the back door, pulling out whatever was the source of power. When they first extracted the being (I had no idea what it was, besides strong) from the vehicle, it was only a small, unconscious lump, with long red hair and metal-bound wrists. One of the norms pushed up the lump's sleeve- its skin was deathly white -and pressed something against the inside of its elbow. Stim patch? It had probably been displaying erratic lifesigns, and they didn't want to lose it right outside the door.
They messed up, though. The stim patch didn't just keep the lump alive; it forced it awake. It uncurled and pushed out of the norms' grasp. I could see now that it was a youngish teenage boy. They snatched him up again with a slight fumble, probably a guilt fumble from their own stupid dosage.
I remember first seeing that boy as four men struggled to drag him inside from one of Eszett's unmarked Landrovers. His eyes didn't see what anyone else did, and he pulled against the norm guards' clutches and the handcuffs as though they were something even worse. Certainly, had he seen them clearly, he would have fought hard, but not as hard as he did his invisible demons. He shook from head to toe like a trapped, injured beast, crying out at something far away. He battled against every step towards the door like a full grown man, though he was in truth skeletally thin, a fact which was only exaggerated by the shock of red hair. Suddenly he stopped dead, confusing the norms to no small degree. He shook his head vehemently from side to side.
No...No...
I winced as his thoughts echoed through the compound, unbarred, unstopped. I saw the norms overload from the power. Their eyes rolled back to white and they slumped to the ground, alive, probably, but very much unconscious. The boy seemed to realize that he was no longer held; he started, and lurched forward two steps or so. I expected him to run, but he stayed where he was. Much as the norms had done, he keeled over to the ground. And then he screamed: loud and long, and terror-filled, from both his mind and from his mouth, so that it penetrated everything. I fell against a wall and gasped for breath, fighting to put up some sort of barrier; I had been here long enough that I could block the experienced mind-readers with relative ease. This was nothing like it. This boy was confused and terrified, and he was quite possibly the strongest telepath in Eszett's control. If control was the word. I wasn't certain it was.
I glimpsed movement in a window above me and looked up, choking in air with my hands over my ears. A high-ranking pyrokinetic, whom I knew by sight though not be name, held up a gun, aimed, and fired, all in one fluid movement. I couldn't see the dart fly for its speed, but I saw it a millisecond later, embedded in the boy's shoulder. Its white body reflected the sunlight, quivering against his black shirt.
The boy dropped into silence, and a shiver ran through his entire body. Then, with a short expulsion of breath, he collapsed in a lump on the ground. I straightened, trying to look unruffled. It was hard; I hadn't yet achieved the omnipresent composure I had always wished for, and the occurrence had been surprising, to say the least. I watched a moment as the pyro and some other officers hurried out a door and towards the fallen boy. Then, with a shake of my head, I turned around and escaped indoors.
-------------------------
"Schuldich?" I said quietly. He took no notice of me. I reached over and touched his shoulder, giving him a small shake. He stopped mouthing words and squeezed his eyes further shut. "Wake up," I said. At last his eyes opened. He stared up at me owlishly.
"Whaddya want?" he mumbled; he was still half asleep.
"Wake up, Schuldich," I repeated. He blinked, and this time when he looked at me I could tell he saw me clearly.
"Go away," he said. "Why couldn't you let me sleep?" I raised an eyebrow.
"I need to speak with you," I explained. In point of fact, I had simply not wanted to hear other people's thoughts coming out of his mouth. It was too reminiscent of older days. Unfortunately my false excuse was far from convincing.
"No," Schuldich said, and promptly rolled over, stuffing his head under a pillow.
"I apologize," I said. Beneath the bedclothes, Schuldich was still.
"Since when are you sorry about anything?" he asked, in a barbed tone of voice. It was really amazingly clear and clipped, for being under a pillow.
"That is beside the point. I only wished to say that I misinterpreted your intentions, and that I am sorry that I did." And more sorry that your reason was what it was, I added mentally. Schuldich's face emerged from under the pillow. His eyes met mine.
"I can hear you, you know," he said sadly. "I can't help it. Even your blocks..."
"This is worse than you made us think, isn't it?" I asked him. Slowly, he nodded.
"You were right to remember the first day," he said, and that was the worst thing he could have said. He had been asleep when I'd thought that, and he had not been a reader-while-dreaming since the very early days.
"You were asleep. How could you...?" He looked tireder than he had after Weiss.
"I told you, Brad. I can't block anything. It's better when I'm asleep. Better, but not much."
"Then go back to sleep," I said. "I shall try to find you something that works more effectively."
"Sure," he said, although he already looked asleep to me.
"I really will try, Schuldich," I told him. He gave the semblance of a wry smile.
"I know," he said mildly. "I can hear you."
"Oh," I said. He gave me another look, one that said 'Don't worry about it. You can't help being a moron.', and then heaved a sigh and, from all appearances, fell asleep.
---------------------
I pulled Nagi's book out of his hands.
"What?" he asked. Next to Farfarello in a contemplative mood, I do believe him to be the quietest of our little family.
"Schuldich is unwell," I said. "He could hear my thoughts when he was asleep." Nagi lost most of the already sparse color in his cheeks.
"That Ezsett creep..." he said. I wondered how he was finishing that sentence in his mind. "What's the plan?" I picked up my newspapers so that I wouldn't sit on them, and flipped one page over to the locals.
"Well, I'm going to--" I forgot to answer Nagi's question as a headline jumped at me:
FLOWERSHOP MASSACRE LEAVES FOUR DEAD; OWNER IN SHOCK
"Oh, dear," I said quietly.
"What?" said Nagi. I passed him the paper. His eyes quickly settled where mine had. "Ah," he said. "Well, that might be interesting."
I stood and began to read over his shoulder:
'Black roses are in order today at the Cat's Meow flower shop, where sometime last night its four employee inhabitants were brutally murdered. The proprietor, Momoe Uchibana, discovered the young men early this morning when she arrived to open shop. Police are scouring the scene, and while they have some evidence on hand, there are so far no suspects in this horror-esque tragedy.' It went on, but to read it seemed unnecessary.
"As if we haven't enough to worry about," I said, straightening.
"You're telling me," said Nagi. "And what do you think they mean by evi-- ooh..." His normally pale face turned down a few notches to 'Snow Whiter: Deceased'. "Ooh..." he said again.
"What is it, Nagi?" I asked. He looked me in the eye, and said, in thoughtful, measured tones:
"I think we are screwed, Brad."
by Kye
Chapter 10
------------
It was at Nagi's insistence that I went to Schuldich's room. I would not have, otherwise; there were occasions when I had no desire to deal with Schuldich's unpleasant temper, and this was one of them. He had picked two fights with me in less than twenty-four hours, and I had no wish to be forced into a third. Still, it was sometimes wise to listen to Nagi; while he was young, he was far from stupid. The stupid ones never do get a firm hold on their powers-- they, more often than not, die very young.
I knocked softly, expecting either no answer or a perturbed shout. I got nothing. I tested the knob; the door was unlocked, which surprised me. Usually Schuldich made certain to lock his door, both against us and, I think, against any surprises. He has never cared for surprises.
I pushed the door open. It let loose and almost uncatchable keening squeal as its hinges rubbed against each other. He should oil that, I thought, if he wants to stay silent as usual.
I looked around the room-- small, square, somewhat messy-- for signs of its occupant. At last I saw him, lying in his bed, camouflaged by the nest of blankets on and around him. They made him blend into the floor, for the most part, but they didn't disguise his hair. He would need brighter colors still to hide that.
Stepping around small mountains of clothes, magazines (of a surprisingly clean nature), and CDs, I knelt down beside him. He was dead to the world, as asleep as a hibernating bear.
Almost. His lips moved by millimeters, spelling out words, some of which I managed to catch.
"Margaret...gonna kill that stupid rabbit...loose again...never told you...love you...please, not dead...not true...that woman...every time...everything in my kitchen...moves it all..." I had to frown at what I read on Schuldich's lips. Perhaps he was dreaming, but the words obviously weren't his everyday thoughts. That could mean that he was still unable to block out the voices. The idea worried me intensely. If he lost control, there would be little I could do. He was dangerous uncontrolled. I remembered still when Eszett first found him, and I never wanted to repeat the experience.
--------------------------
I wasn't involved at the beginning. I was merely another agent of Eszett, and I happened to be passing by when Schuldich was brought in. He was only about fourteen then, and even crazier than Farfarello. He didn't know how to block anything, and to make it worse, his raw power was amazing. Without control, he was being bombarded by the inner voice of every person for approximately forty miles around. That wasn't so bad in the lonely mountains, but they had found him in Frankfurt. In an alley.
Needless to say, he was in far from good condition.
It was a overcheerful and glaringly bright day, with requisite chirping birds and cotton candy clouds. It was warm, too, and I was taking advantage of the rare opportunity to walk outside between duties. I was strolling on the walk beneath the stone arches of the Eszett complex, simply enjoying the shade and the sunny patches, and the occasional green leaf, and the sound of finches.
I was near the entrance when I noticed a Land Rover stopped in the wide gravel road that led to the complex. I paused, interested, and looked at it more analytically. It was green, and held something-- someone --very powerful. The norms who drove and delivered for Eszett hovered around the back door, pulling out whatever was the source of power. When they first extracted the being (I had no idea what it was, besides strong) from the vehicle, it was only a small, unconscious lump, with long red hair and metal-bound wrists. One of the norms pushed up the lump's sleeve- its skin was deathly white -and pressed something against the inside of its elbow. Stim patch? It had probably been displaying erratic lifesigns, and they didn't want to lose it right outside the door.
They messed up, though. The stim patch didn't just keep the lump alive; it forced it awake. It uncurled and pushed out of the norms' grasp. I could see now that it was a youngish teenage boy. They snatched him up again with a slight fumble, probably a guilt fumble from their own stupid dosage.
I remember first seeing that boy as four men struggled to drag him inside from one of Eszett's unmarked Landrovers. His eyes didn't see what anyone else did, and he pulled against the norm guards' clutches and the handcuffs as though they were something even worse. Certainly, had he seen them clearly, he would have fought hard, but not as hard as he did his invisible demons. He shook from head to toe like a trapped, injured beast, crying out at something far away. He battled against every step towards the door like a full grown man, though he was in truth skeletally thin, a fact which was only exaggerated by the shock of red hair. Suddenly he stopped dead, confusing the norms to no small degree. He shook his head vehemently from side to side.
No...No...
I winced as his thoughts echoed through the compound, unbarred, unstopped. I saw the norms overload from the power. Their eyes rolled back to white and they slumped to the ground, alive, probably, but very much unconscious. The boy seemed to realize that he was no longer held; he started, and lurched forward two steps or so. I expected him to run, but he stayed where he was. Much as the norms had done, he keeled over to the ground. And then he screamed: loud and long, and terror-filled, from both his mind and from his mouth, so that it penetrated everything. I fell against a wall and gasped for breath, fighting to put up some sort of barrier; I had been here long enough that I could block the experienced mind-readers with relative ease. This was nothing like it. This boy was confused and terrified, and he was quite possibly the strongest telepath in Eszett's control. If control was the word. I wasn't certain it was.
I glimpsed movement in a window above me and looked up, choking in air with my hands over my ears. A high-ranking pyrokinetic, whom I knew by sight though not be name, held up a gun, aimed, and fired, all in one fluid movement. I couldn't see the dart fly for its speed, but I saw it a millisecond later, embedded in the boy's shoulder. Its white body reflected the sunlight, quivering against his black shirt.
The boy dropped into silence, and a shiver ran through his entire body. Then, with a short expulsion of breath, he collapsed in a lump on the ground. I straightened, trying to look unruffled. It was hard; I hadn't yet achieved the omnipresent composure I had always wished for, and the occurrence had been surprising, to say the least. I watched a moment as the pyro and some other officers hurried out a door and towards the fallen boy. Then, with a shake of my head, I turned around and escaped indoors.
-------------------------
"Schuldich?" I said quietly. He took no notice of me. I reached over and touched his shoulder, giving him a small shake. He stopped mouthing words and squeezed his eyes further shut. "Wake up," I said. At last his eyes opened. He stared up at me owlishly.
"Whaddya want?" he mumbled; he was still half asleep.
"Wake up, Schuldich," I repeated. He blinked, and this time when he looked at me I could tell he saw me clearly.
"Go away," he said. "Why couldn't you let me sleep?" I raised an eyebrow.
"I need to speak with you," I explained. In point of fact, I had simply not wanted to hear other people's thoughts coming out of his mouth. It was too reminiscent of older days. Unfortunately my false excuse was far from convincing.
"No," Schuldich said, and promptly rolled over, stuffing his head under a pillow.
"I apologize," I said. Beneath the bedclothes, Schuldich was still.
"Since when are you sorry about anything?" he asked, in a barbed tone of voice. It was really amazingly clear and clipped, for being under a pillow.
"That is beside the point. I only wished to say that I misinterpreted your intentions, and that I am sorry that I did." And more sorry that your reason was what it was, I added mentally. Schuldich's face emerged from under the pillow. His eyes met mine.
"I can hear you, you know," he said sadly. "I can't help it. Even your blocks..."
"This is worse than you made us think, isn't it?" I asked him. Slowly, he nodded.
"You were right to remember the first day," he said, and that was the worst thing he could have said. He had been asleep when I'd thought that, and he had not been a reader-while-dreaming since the very early days.
"You were asleep. How could you...?" He looked tireder than he had after Weiss.
"I told you, Brad. I can't block anything. It's better when I'm asleep. Better, but not much."
"Then go back to sleep," I said. "I shall try to find you something that works more effectively."
"Sure," he said, although he already looked asleep to me.
"I really will try, Schuldich," I told him. He gave the semblance of a wry smile.
"I know," he said mildly. "I can hear you."
"Oh," I said. He gave me another look, one that said 'Don't worry about it. You can't help being a moron.', and then heaved a sigh and, from all appearances, fell asleep.
---------------------
I pulled Nagi's book out of his hands.
"What?" he asked. Next to Farfarello in a contemplative mood, I do believe him to be the quietest of our little family.
"Schuldich is unwell," I said. "He could hear my thoughts when he was asleep." Nagi lost most of the already sparse color in his cheeks.
"That Ezsett creep..." he said. I wondered how he was finishing that sentence in his mind. "What's the plan?" I picked up my newspapers so that I wouldn't sit on them, and flipped one page over to the locals.
"Well, I'm going to--" I forgot to answer Nagi's question as a headline jumped at me:
FLOWERSHOP MASSACRE LEAVES FOUR DEAD; OWNER IN SHOCK
"Oh, dear," I said quietly.
"What?" said Nagi. I passed him the paper. His eyes quickly settled where mine had. "Ah," he said. "Well, that might be interesting."
I stood and began to read over his shoulder:
'Black roses are in order today at the Cat's Meow flower shop, where sometime last night its four employee inhabitants were brutally murdered. The proprietor, Momoe Uchibana, discovered the young men early this morning when she arrived to open shop. Police are scouring the scene, and while they have some evidence on hand, there are so far no suspects in this horror-esque tragedy.' It went on, but to read it seemed unnecessary.
"As if we haven't enough to worry about," I said, straightening.
"You're telling me," said Nagi. "And what do you think they mean by evi-- ooh..." His normally pale face turned down a few notches to 'Snow Whiter: Deceased'. "Ooh..." he said again.
"What is it, Nagi?" I asked. He looked me in the eye, and said, in thoughtful, measured tones:
"I think we are screwed, Brad."