Chapter 4
Special thanks to my reviewers: Kaelina, Mistress of Darkness1, Brizey, Jenken, Astralkitten, Briar Rose6, gyuumajo, kasugai gummie, Misura, schu-chan, Anime the Fallen Angel, Zeto, and KyraEnsui. Your commentary was great! Thanks so much for dropping a note to say you were here! It really encouraged me to update!
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Ken gasps as the sharp pain lances through his temple again. He snaps his eyes open as he bolts upright. The pain at his temple is real enough, but the rest of the dream is not. He is not in bed, this is not Yohji's body he is sprawled over. This is….Who is….who---?
"Don't worry Kätzchen, I won't hurt you."
Ken's initial reaction the low, faintly accented words directed towards him is an absolute stillness. A split second later, he torques his body in the narrow confines of the darkness in a desperate attempt to view the speaker. He panics as he finds he can't twist far enough to face the man, bound in straps and cloth that tighten as he struggles. His head throbs as adrenaline rushes his system, the new, rapid, heavy heartbeats provoking the gash on his temple. He gasps raggedly, ripped from a golden dream to a foreign, frightening reality. He fights it tooth and claw.
An arm comes around his middle, pulling him up short against a chest in a no-nonsense manner. "That's enough," the man says firmly, his iron grip booking no room for so much as a deep breath, much less an argument. Ken's ribs protest loudly to the strong hold, and he dares not aggravate the injury by struggling. Reluctantly, painfully, he stops trying to free himself and waits, mouth gone dry and heart fluttering.
A soft chuckle. Ken's brow creases in confusion. Laughing? Why is the sound so familiar? There is the ghost of a memory in the back of his mind….but like the dream its fading away. Ken feels his chest tense as he tries to sort out the jumble of thought and memories that assail him. The pounding in his head makes logical thought difficult; he grits his teeth in frustration.
"Calm yourself Kätzchen," the voice murmurs soothingly. "Relax. You're all right." The grip around his middle loosens, and Ken takes a deeper breath, wincing as his ribs make a sharper pain.
"Where . . am I?" he manages.
"In a taxi cab."
"Why am I tied?"
"You're not. You've gotten yourself wrapped up in the safety belts with your thrashing. My coat as well."
"Oh," he rasps weakly. True enough, he could feel the thick wool fabric of the coat brushing his leg from where he'd thrown it to the floor, as well as the heat that was quickly dissipating due to its absence. Carefully he shifts and untangles himself so he can peer into the dark. "Then…who are you?"
The man pauses for a moment. Then finally, "Your host, it seems."
Ken can feel the heat from the man sitting behind him; he realizes he is still half on his lap. Was he sleeping that way?
"Wha—what?" Ken rubs the heels of his hands into his bleary eyes. The man gives a long-suffering sigh with a hint of annoyance. He runs his fingers through his hair and leans back on the seat, stretching out and tipping his head back as he addresses the ceiling of the car.
"Did you plan to spend the night on the street? Or was that just a temporary sidetrack?"
"I—I don't know," Ken whispers miserably. I have no where to go, he thinks sadly.
The man snorts. "Good enough I suppose," he says, shutting his eyes with both arms extended out on the backrest. Ken looks out onto the passing city lights, unable to guess at the time or what direction they are traveling. Everything is so dark and unfamiliar…
"What is your name, boy?"
"Ken." I'm not a boy. Yohji always used to tease him about that, because of the differences in their ages. He hated that, but the joking twinkle in the man's eyes always made up for it. Ken could never hold a grudge against such a shining light.
"How old are you Ken?"
The young man bristles. "Old enough," he spits with a little more fire than his earlier statements. Even though he's scared, and lost, and cold, he still has his temper. He doesn't like the way the man is looking at him, as though he's being weighed out.
"Good. We'll have no problems then."
"What do you mean?" Ken asks, narrowing his eyes, trying to figure this man out. The man doesn't bother to reply, just sits there quietly, reclining on the leather seat cushions with his eyes closed. "Problems with what?" He is ignored. "Don't you even care why I'm here?" he asks shrilly.
"No."
A sudden, intense desolation sweeps through Ken, making his heart ache terribly. His jaw works as if to say something, but no noise comes out. His eyes close involuntarily, as hot tears seep from beneath his eyelids and cling to his lashes. His head and side throb badly.
"Why are you doing this?" Ken whispers. A long arm snakes around him and gently pulls him to the man's side. The coat is draped over his shoulders again and Ken leans helplessly against the warm chest, all strength sapped from him.
"Stop shaking," the man orders softly. "Just go back to sleep. You don't need to do much more than sleep just now. You're at the edge of consciousness as it is."
And then Ken is over the edge and mercifully numb.
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When Ken wakes, it is raining. Beads of water cling to the windows, refracting the light from the outdoor lanterns. The light shines unevenly on the wet flagstones leading up to the house. The man from before is nowhere to be seen. Someone else takes Ken's elbow and hauls him out of the car.
Ken's knees wobble as he is placed on his feet. The raindrops and lantern lights spin for a moment as he reorients himself. Seeing as Ken is still unsteady, the man wastes no time in slinging one of Ken's arms across his shoulders and half leading, half carrying the young brunette up the flagstone path. Ken's vision is obscured by his position and his weakened condition, he can only see snatches of the new grounds as he is hustled through the halls. Instead of going up to the front of the building, his guide takes him along covered wooden walkways and side paths. Ken gets glimpses of expensive furniture and glass windows, lush carpeting and lighted halls. He passes through what seems to be a garden of some sort, glimpsing a stone lantern half hidden in a stand of bamboo. And was that a koi pond?
The man leading him opens a door out of nowhere and steers him inside. Ken winces at the sudden change in light; the brightness makes his head wound throb harder. The attendant clucks his tongue at the sight of fresh blood and the water pooling on the floor from their soggy entrance. He takes the half-blind Ken and sits him on the hard edge of a wooden chair, peeling off the boy's soaked T-shirt and throwing him a towel for his hair. Ken's sodden jeans are next, but the young man is beyond the point of embarrassment, shaken with cold and exhaustion. He takes the second towel wordlessly and wraps it around his slender waist. Faintly his mind registers that he is in a room with a fireplace, a fireplace with an actual fire and warmth emanating from it. A worn wooden table is in front of him. He towels his hair half-heartedly, after a few moments just giving up and letting the damp cloth hang over his head and bare brown shoulders. One elbow comes to rest on the table, cradling the uninjured side of his head. Tiny tremors run down his spine and his other hand grips the edge of the chair in white knuckled fist. He hears the guide murmur something about food and bandages, and he drifts in and out of a hazy conscious state.
Fragrant steam rouses him, along with the towel being plucked from his head. Ken is face to face with the loveliest bowl of soup he has ever seen. He all but inhales it.
Around him he can hear the bustle and murmur of people, but his main focus at this point is the filling warmth of the soup. Liquid strength pours into his system; food has NEVER been this good before. He ignores the hands that tilt his head to get a better view of the injury. He only has a few more spoonfuls of broth left when they begin to clean out the gash.
Ken yelps and jumps, jerking away from the touch. He turns to glare daggers at the servant, but is shocked to find his gazed instead locked with an unsmiling pair of jade eyes. The man's hair is like fire, spilling over his shoulders in a smoldering cascade. The handsome face levels a stern expression at him. "Don't move," he orders. Ken recognizes the voice immediately.
"Y—You!" he sputters. "What are you—ahh!"
"I said hold still." The man continues to dab at the cut with a damp cloth, holding Ken's jaw firmly in one hand to keep him from squirming out of reach. Ken writhes but is too weak to break away.
After an eternity it is done, and the man applies healing ointment and wraps a gauzy bandage around Ken's head. He pulls Ken's chair—with Ken still in it—out a bit from the table and prods the young man's sore side. Ken yelps but once again is subdued. Ken gives up and leans his aching head back against the back of the chair, asking in a despairing, choked voice that he wished could have been stronger, "Who are you??"
"You may call me Schuldich," comes the brisk reply. What was that? He actually GOT an answer?
"You're ribs are bruised, but not broken, as far as I can tell. You are young and should heal quickly. Some lotion and bandaging may relieve some of the pain," Schuldich muses. "Some aspirin too," he adds. The redhead bends and peers eye level at the quickly fading Ken. "We've got to get you to a room," he murmurs, "or you'll be asleep on the kitchen table." That familiar smirk tinges his voice.
Ken forces his heavy lids open. Damn that man! There are questions he wants answered, dammit!
"Why are you helping me?" he asks bluntly, sitting up straight despite the multiple protests of his body, and leveling a serious gaze on the other man.
"Because I want you to work for me."
Hunh? "Doing what?" Ken asks suspiciously.
"You'll find out soon enough."
"And if I don't wanna work for you?"
Schuldich looks at his squarely. "Do you honestly have a better option? You don't know anyone here, you don't have any money, you don't speak German, you don't have adequate clothing, you're injured…. The list goes on."
Ken opens his mouth to protest; how the hell did this arrogant sonovabitch know anything about him?
"Don't make me call your bluff, Ken. You don't have to swallow your pride and admit to me that you don't have any other choices. Just think about it."
Schuldich gets up to get something as Ken glares daggers at his back and thinks. Everything the redhead said is true. But the reason he had come… Ken pushes that thought away; he's in enough physical pain as it is. It doesn't matter. He is in poor shape and he needs help. He hates to admit it but he does. But he'd be damned if he didn't try to leverage something out of this….whatever it was.
Schuldich leans his hip against the table, holding a hand out in front of the frowning Ken. Two strong aspirin wink at him enticingly from the man's upturned palm, a glass of water in the other hand. Ken tears his gaze from the pills and mouths off the opposite of what he has just decided to do.
"I can take care of myself."
"Oh I'm quite sure of that," Schuldich agrees smoothly. "But if you don't need my help…." The hand with the painkillers closes. Ken tries not to wince. Again he tries to think of a way out of this….but his tired brain just can't think of any viable alternatives. He's stuck.
"No lies," he states flatly.
"You got it."
"I can leave whenever I want."
"You have to work three months, minimum." At Ken's glare, he adds, "Hey, I need to have some insurance." Ken doesn't bother to ask what for. He has a feeling it won't be the kind of answer he wants to hear. It's getting too hard to think…
"What do I have to do?" he asks lowly.
"Do I take it you have accepted my offer?"
Ken scowls. "I don't have much of a choice, now do I?"
Schuldich smiles. "I'm glad you see things my way. Here." He holds out the pills again. Ken reaches for them, then pulls back, eyeing the redhead distrustfully.
"It's not poison, little fool. If I wanted you dead I would have left you on the sidewalk." Ken glares at him and takes the pills, gulping them down with the glass of water.
"Just what exactly do you do? Just what do I have to do?" he demands.
"We'll talk about that later." Schuldich's image wavers slightly.
"No. I want to know what I'm getting into." Before it's too late, he adds silently. Ken blinks his eyes again, but his vision still doesn't clear.
"Its already too late, Ken," he hears Schuldich say softly. Drowsiness comes on fast and hard. Ken yawns hugely. "You're such a fighter," he hears Schuldich continue as if from a distance, yet a hand comes to rest on his shoulder. "You're only going to make things worse if you struggle. It wouldn't have had to come to this if you would just relax and cooperate in the first place."
"H-Hey!" he shouted. "You—lied! You drugged this! You said— you…. said—…."
Schuldich catches him for the second time that night as Ken drops forward, eyelids flickering shut.
"You never asked about the water," Ken hears the older man say before blacking out completely.
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Yikes! Is KenKen in over his head? Why did he come to Germany in the first place? What makes him so valuable to Schuldich? And what IS that sexeh redhead's line of work? Always *love* to hear the commentary and ideas. Drop me a line, ok? Thank you!
~~Lady Kickass ^_^*