Chapter Five: Assassination Attempt
Disclaimer: Hellboy characters do not belong to me. However, Erica is mine.
Author's Notes: Thanks again for the reviews! Again, I apologize for how long it takes me to write chapters, but they are so long. My next few chapters should be much shorter, so they'll be up much sooner. So don't think I'd ever forget about this story and not finish it! I know more people have to be reading this—and enjoying it, hopefully, so please review!
At some point, Erica fell asleep, so suddenly in fact, that she wasn't even afraid of being plagued by nightmares all night. Fortunately, her sleep was dreamless and restful. She didn't know it, but she would never again have the same nightmare about the hall, the nightmare had really been a vision, and as it had come to pass, that particular one would never trouble her sleep again.
Erica woke up and slowly opened her eyes. Something was different. What was it? Then she knew: I didn't have that nightmare! It's gone! — But—didn't it come true? That hall last night— the whispering shadows chasing me— An image of a hand reaching for her throat appeared in her mind's eye, making her sit up and her hands involuntarily fly up to her neck. She shuddered, glancing around her to make sure she was alone and therefore, safe. Didn't I sit up too fast last night? she thought, I remember, I had a terrible headache, at least that's gone now.
She looked out the window next to her bed. They sky was grey and overcast, and it was still raining outside, but it was a gentle, drizzling rain. In the grey light, she could see that the area below her window was actually a courtyard with cobblestones, with a small garden directly below her window. The courtyard, however, was deserted, the cobblestones were glistening with rainwater, and raindrops slid off the plant's leaves into puddles on the ground. She could also see that she was very far up, at least three stories, and she was very glad she hadn't tried to climb out the window last night, she probably would have fallen and broken her neck.
She turned around and looked at the room almost with surprise, she had been so upset last night she hadn't really noticed what it looked like. Like the rest of the house, the room was richly decorated. There was crown molding around the edges of the ceiling and soft red carpeting on the floor. The door to her bedroom was a dark, rich wood and had intricate designs carved into it. The bed was also of a dark wood, as were the scattering of other furnishings in the room, including a small table with a lamp and clock on it, and a dresser. The curtains around the window were floor length, and there were a few pictures on the wall, all of them landscapes. On one wall, there was a mirror with a gold frame. Compulsively, she walked over and looked back at her reflection. I look like somebody beat me up, she thought, gently touching the dark purple bruises on her throat. But how else did I expect to look? Her shoulder was tender too, she pulled the sleeve of her purple T-shirt up and discovered bruises even worse than the ones on her neck. Ow, she thought, That doesn't look good. She also noticed her palms were still a burned red color and sensitive, but a little better than the day before.
She looked back up at the mirror. Her long brown hair had fallen out of her ponytail, and now hung in disarray around her face and shoulders. She looked around for her hair scrunchie, but couldn't find it. It probably fell out when whoever it was tried to choke me, she thought, shivering. Then her eyes fell on the dresser, a brush was sitting on top of it. She picked it up and brushed her hair, and when she was finished, she straightened her cross necklace and clothes.
Her stomach rumbled and she realized that she was hungry, she hadn't eaten anything since yesterday morning. I really don't want to have to deal with Ilsa and Kroenen again to get something to eat, she thought, They're both creepy. Especially Kroenen. I wonder why he wears that mask? And where did he get that black book from? The one that had the prophesy about me in it? She recalled a story she had read, not really all that long ago. It had mentioned that the Devil carried a black book that was full of all the names of his servants. As part of a contract, each person signed their name in the book in their own blood. She shuddered, Why did I think about that? The books just happen to both be black. They're different.
She turned her mind to more pressing matters. Like how she had gotten in this room. The last thing she remembered was everything going black as she was being strangled. And if she had been attacked, then obviously someone other than her attacker had brought her up here. Otherwise she would be dead. So then someone had rescued her. I wonder who attacked me, I never even saw their face. I remember losing Kroenen in the halls, but I don't think he would have attacked me, both he and Ilsa seemed more interested in getting me to help them than killing me. They even said they wouldn't hurt me— if anything they said can be believed.
She remembered Kroenen's words from last night: Why are you running? You have nowhere to go. That, at least, was painfully true, and she knew it, though she hated to admit it. She had nowhere to go, no one else in this time even knew she existed. And she wasn't supposed to be here, technically she wasn't even born yet! The concept was mind blowing, that she could exist before she was born. Time travel was certainly full of paradoxes.
The only way I'm going to be able to deal with this is if I just try to take everything in stride, and just try to cope, she thought, No matter what, I can't leave, I can't escape from the past. I'll just have to deal with it and make the best of it—even if someone tries to kill me again. Which, unfortunately, didn't seem all that unlikely after last night.
Absentmindedly, she walked over to the door and reached out for the handle. As she did so, she suddenly remembered that the door was locked, but she tried the handle anyways. To her surprise, the knob turned. Her heart leapt. Now was her chance to escape before those two Nazis did anything else to her.
Quickly, she opened the door, took a running step forward— and crashed into something.
Erica reeled backwards into the room, stumbling as she tried to regain her balance. Instead, she tripped over her own feet and fell, landing in an ungraceful heap on the carpet. She looked up, and discovered Kroenen standing in the doorway, dressed in his black Nazi uniform, his black mask looking down at her.
"Good morning," he said courteously, "Did you sleep well?"
Erica just gaped up at him from her position on the floor, too shocked to say anything.
"I wonder what the chances are that the moment I unlock a door, that you open it? There must be a lesson in that."
"What?" Erica asked, looking up at him.
"Philosophically speaking. I unlock a door, and you open it."
Though he spoke in a normal tone of voice, Erica couldn't help but feel that something sinister was hidden in his words. As far she was concerned, she never wanted to open a door he had unlocked, whether that door was real or a philosophical metaphor. In either case, something repulsive was sure to come through.
Her thoughts must have shown on her face, because he said:
"I think you'll eventually find that you want me to unlock those doors for you, and that you'll be more than willing to open them. However, I suggest that you don't go rushing headlong through any sort of door. You run the risk of running into things. Like me."
"Sorry," she mumbled, not even sure why she was apologizing. If anyone should be apologizing, it should be Ilsa and Kroenen for dragging her out here, scaring her half to death, and locking her in a room. Not to mention that Erica had nearly been killed last night.
"On another note, perhaps you would care to join us for breakfast? After all, you never touched your dinner."
If Erica hadn't decided to take everything in stride and hadn't been absolutely starving, there was no way she would have followed Kroenen anywhere. But, as she was both, she followed him through the corridors, down the staircase, and into the dining hall.
Like last night, there was a small, square table in the center of the huge room, and a fire was burning in the huge fireplace. The floor to ceiling windows opposite the fireplace looked out over the countryside, the glass covered in droplets of water from the falling rain. A clock she hadn't noticed before hung on the wall, the hands pointing to exactly 7:00 am.
Ilsa was waiting for them, wearing a black uniform just like the one she had worn the day before. She was in the same chair she had sat in last night. The table was set for breakfast, a basket of fruit, a pitcher of milk, and a pot of coffee sat in its center.
Erica automatically went over to the same chair she had sat in the night before, and Kroenen simply took the seat across the table from Erica. The table in front of him was empty.
"Good morning," Ilsa said, "Or should I say, a rainy and wet morning."
Ilsa was drinking a steaming cup of coffee, and there were crumbs on her plate as if she had already eaten before they had gotten there. Erica looked down at the toast and fruit slices on her plate. This time she didn't even hesitate, she was absolutely starving. She started on some toast and a glass of milk, and both disappeared very quickly. As she ate some apple slices, she looked up and noticed that once again, Kroenen hadn't touched any food. I wonder why he isn't eating. He didn't eat anything at dinner either, doesn't he get hungry? She remembered the ticking she had heard coming from him in the hall. Maybe — but she wasn't going to think about that. He probably eats somewhere else, she decided.
She looked back towards Ilsa who was still sitting there silently, drinking coffee. The silence was almost uncomfortable, being broken only by the continuous tick tock from the cloak hanging on the wall. At least, Erica hoped it was just the clock hanging on the wall. On the bright side, if they're quiet, they're not likely to freak me out as much, she thought, finishing her last piece of toast. She looked up and noticed that Kroenen was idly toying with a small knife again, as he had at dinner the night before. Where did he get that? she wondered. There's no place setting in front of him, and, as far as I can tell, he's not carrying any weapons.
Still toying with the knife, Kroenen picked up an apple from the basket of fruit on the table. I wonder if he's going to eat that? Erica thought, He's going to have to take his mask off if he is. Instead, Kroenen sat back in his chair and slowly peeled the skin off the apple in one continuous piece. Just as slowly and precisely, he cored the apple and then split in into several pieces, seeming not to notice how uncomfortable he was making Erica. Ilsa, for her part, seemed to be getting annoyed. Finally, Ilsa broke the silence, slamming her coffee mug down on the table. Erica jumped, but Kroenen merely glanced in Ilsa's direction before returning to cutting the pieces of apple into smaller chunks.
"As entertaining as it is to sit here and have breakfast with you, I have some 'business' to take care of today," she said, more to Kroenen than to Erica, "So I suggest you take our 'guest' on a tour of the 'library'."
Unbeknownst to Erica, when Ilsa had come to collect Erica from the prison, Schenck had turned over more than just the folder containing the information he had collected. He had also given Ilsa Erica's suitcase, along with a list of its contents. And the first item on the list was the book Erica had been reading on the train. On closer inspection of the book and other books in Erica's suitcase, Ilsa and Kroenen had quickly realized that Erica enjoyed reading about magic and mythology.
"Library?" Erica asked, instantly curious.
"Yes, I think it would be the best way to occupy your time until another of our friends arrives." Ilsa said.
With those words, Ilsa stood up and left. Erica watched her go, thinking: Another of their friends? Great, as if dealing with the two of them isn't challenging enough! Then Erica remembered she had decided to just try to cope with everything. She sighed. Oh well. At least the library sounds interesting. But I'm not so thrilled that he's taking me there.
She looked up. Kroenen had ceased his methodical destruction of the apple and had turned his chair so he was looking out the windows. He didn't seem to be paying very much attention to her. The natural light from the windows and the firelight from the fireplace reflected on his mask. Erica stared at him curiously. I wonder why he wears that mask? What is he hiding? she asked herself.
Kroenen pretended he didn't know she was watching him, an easy thing to do since he wore a mask. He wasn't really looking out the windows, his head was just tilted that way to make Erica think that he was. In reality, he was keeping an eye on her, to see what she would do, now that it was just the two of them in the room. He remembered how terrified of him Erica had been last night, and found it interesting that she managed to sit there in his presence without looking afraid. Everyone, with the exception of Ilsa and a select few, were terrified when they were left alone with him. And for a good reason, as he had a habit of killing people on the spot when they displeased him. Although, sometimes, depending on the person, they sometimes met with a fate as horrible as he could possibly contrive. Behind his mask, he smiled wickedly at that thought. But no, Erica did not look afraid, she was being more cautious than anything, which was a wise move. She should be cautious, even afraid, he thought. Then, If Erica only knew where Ilsa was going, if she knew what's about to happen, she would be afraid.
Ilsa had gone to speak to Grigory about Erica, and, most importantly, when Erica would be meeting him. And Erica would be meeting him very soon, if the trip to the 'library' had any effect on her. I would be surprised if it didn't, Kroenen thought. After all, there was a reason that no one, except himself and Ilsa, ever went into his study/library. The books had minds and agendas of their own. To enter his study without knowing that, without knowing how to protect yourself, would certainly be an altering experience to say in the least. And beyond that, some of the books were so dangerous that only Grigory could touch them without coming to harm.
Kroenen picked up the small knife on the table and felt the sutures in his hand tighten, pulling at his skin under his glove. He hid the knife back in his coat, and then looked up to see Erica's gray eyes staring at his mask, the color of her eyes a perfect reflection of the overcast skies outside the window. The dark bruises on her neck were such a sharp contrast against her pale skin, that he slightly regretted that he had hurt her. Brushing that thought away, he spoke.
"If you're finished breakfast, I'll show you where the library is."
The door to the library closed behind her. She was in a room that was a combination study and library. Bookshelves lined the walls and rose toward the ceiling, their shelves crammed with books of all sizes, shapes, and colors. Some were arranged in an orderly fashion, others were stacked haphazardly among scrolls and sheets of paper. She looked at them curiously before turning her attention to the rest of the room. In the fireplace a fire was burning merrily, and beside the fireplace, there was a clock that had the planets moving around its face. She heard opera music playing faintly in the background, and, looking around for its source, spotted a phonograph sitting on a small table. The only furniture in the room besides the small table the phonograph was on, was a large desk that sat in the center of the room. Its dark wood surface was almost painfully clean, though she could see some deep slashes in its surface that looked like they had been made by knives. She shuddered, reminded of how easily he had taken that apple apart at breakfast.
There was nothing on the desk except for a tidy stack of books that sat on one corner. While she was standing there looking around, Kroenen walked over to the phonograph and turned the music off.
"Do not, under any circumstances, touch the shelves or any books I don't hand to you myself." he warned her.
"Why?" she asked, truly curious and slightly surprised by his warning. She had never heard of a library where you couldn't look at the books.
"It could have very… unpleasant results." Kroenen said.
He's just trying to scare me, she told herself. But as she walked by the shelves full of the old volumes and parchments, she had a feeling his words weren't far from the truth. The texts radiated something invisible from their ancient pages that made her skin crawl and made her feel like she was being watched and discussed— That's ridiculous! she thought, books didn't have voices or eyes! — Do they?
What Erica didn't know was that, though some of the feeling of forbidden power came from the collection of books, most of it came from a man that wasn't even present in the room, but was watching the unfolding events with interest, as they were of high importance to him. His name was Grigory Rasputin, and, at the current moment, he was in another part of the mansion, and Ilsa was standing close by. A mirror hung on the wall of the room, and instead of his reflection, Grigory saw Kroenen's study. In fact, he could see the entire study and see everything that went on, hear every word that was spoken. And it was because of him that the books were so 'awake'. And though the books did not have eyes or a mouth, they were whispering, and they were watching, just as Grigory was.
"Where did all these books come from?" Erica asked in awe, looking up at the shelves that filled the walls.
"From here and there. As the head of the Thule Occult Society I make it a point to collect ancient books that are of…interest." answered Kroenen.
"What's the Thule Occult Society?"
"A group of German aristocrats who are part of the Occult. You may remember that we were talking it about yesterday."
That wasn't very informative, she thought.
"And you're the leader?" she asked.
"No, I am the head of the Thule Occult Society."
"Isn't that the same thing?"
"No. But I assure you, curious one, you will meet our 'leader', as you call him."
She didn't find that very assuring at all. Someone who Kroenen looked at as his leader would be a lot scarier than she even wanted to think about.
"Come, I found some books I thought you might like." he said, indicating the books on the desk.
Hesitantly, she walked towards the desk, and reached out for a book. Then, remembering his warning, she dropped her hand back to her side and looked up at him.
"Good," he said, "You are learning."
Learning what? she wondered, as he handed her two of the books from the stack.
Then, he walked around his desk and sat down, taking out paper and a fountain pen from one of the drawers. Erica looked around. There were no other chairs in the room. So she walked towards the fireplace and sat down with her back against the mantel, crossing her legs and putting the books on her lap. This way, she could keep an eye on him, and he couldn't sneak up behind her. The cover of the first book was green leather with intricate, golden designs twining across the cover. The title said: True Mythology.
What does that mean? she wondered. Does it mean that the mythology is the original stories told, or that the mythology itself isn't a story and is real?
Curious, she opened the cover. But as she as she opened the book, she kept a wary eye on Kroenen, who was sitting as his desk and appeared to be writing. After last night, she certainly wasn't about to let her guard down. And she especially wasn't going to let her guard down now that she knew Kroenen was the head of the Thule Occult Society that wanted her help. She didn't know anything about the Occult — whatever that was — but if it had anything to do with the Nazis, as it appeared to, then she wanted no part of it.
She turned past the table of contents, and began reading the first page, which was handwritten in green ink. Soon, she forgot about everything around her, and focused on reading.
The 'Nazi soldier', who was really a spy, was alone in the soldier's barracks at the prison, making his last preparations for his mission that evening. As far as anyone else at the prison knew, he was leaving that evening to visit his family. But that was a carefully crafted lie. In reality, he would be heading in the same direction that Ilsa Haupstien had gone when she had left with Erica. With any luck, he would be able to sneak into the mansion around dinnertime and carry out his orders.
Not long ago, he had managed to get a short message to the Captain of his group, all of which were spies stationed throughout Germany. The message summarized the situation, as well as mentioned what should be done about Erica. The man had agreed with him, there was nothing to be done except eliminate all chances that Erica would be persuaded, or forced, into helping the Occult. He had been ordered to murder her.
He felt terrible about having to murder an innocent girl, but he felt some consolation in the fact that he would probably die as well. He knew Ilsa Haupstien wasn't the only one who lived in that mansion. It was rumored that Karl Ruprect Kroenen had taken up residence there as well, Hitler's top assassin and Head of the Thule Occult Society. And chances were, that at some point, he would come face to face with top assassin, and it was likely to be an encounter that ended not in Kroenen's death, but his own.
I still feel like a hired murderer, the spy thought. But he also knew the consequences if Erica didn't die, and they were too terrible to be imagined. To think, that one person could make such an enormous difference to the possible course of events!
He loaded a handgun and placed it in his coat, then started loading the second one.
"I'm sorry, child," he said, speaking aloud as if Erica were really standing there, "But you must understand. You cannot possibly be ignorant of your part to play, for good or ill. The sacrifice of your life will mean the salvation of thousands of others."
Several hours later, Kroenen still sat at his desk making sketches and writing notes off to the side of the meticulously detailed diagrams. He looked up at the clock with the planets spinning around its face, it was 5:00 pm. Time certainly did fly when you were absorbed in the task at hand. He realized that they had missed lunch several hours ago, and wondered if Erica was hungry. He hadn't thought about it since he didn't eat.
He glanced towards Erica, who was reading the last of the stack of books. The others sat in little piles around her on the floor. She was sitting cross-legged in front of the roaring flames in the fireplace, reading and looking with obvious interest at the pictures framing the pages in front of her. He watched as she traced an intricate Celtic knot with her finger. It was obvious to him that she had chosen to sit with her back to the fire because she could see everything in the room and he couldn't get behind her. At least she knows something about protecting herself, he thought, It seems that she's already learned an important lesson: watch your back—never let your guard down.
His thoughts turned to the book they had found in her suitcase. It had really been a stroke of luck, and it had given them a further advantage over her. And, as they had many books on the subjects she enjoyed reading about, it had seemed obvious that they try that route to gain her trust. As he had suspected, the books in his study fascinated her. He had been very careful that the books she looked at were generally harmless, mostly recounting what she considered 'legends' and 'mythology', just in terms that probably seemed impossibly specific to her — but that was because they were real.
He looked back at Erica. She was leaning so close to the book that strands of her long brown hair cascaded down to pool on the yellowed pages. The firelight and shadows played over her features, making her grey eyes particularly intense, the flickering light making her cross necklace sparkle. She sat so still, and the scene was so perfect and undisturbed, that it reminded him of Classical Greek Sculpture that had spontaneously come to life.
Erica continued reading, unaware of Kroenen's watching eyes. Strange thoughts entered her head as she read, but she brushed them away as if they were spider webs. But gradually, they became more persistent, demanding her attention with voices that got progressively louder. What is evil? How is it different from good? Is there an in between? Which is stronger? Which is right? Is there even such a thing as good or evil? If there is, what separates one from being the other? Or do they blend together at the edges and make a hazy place that is both? And what is the difference between a cult and a religion? Why is one seen in a more negative way than the other? Where do you draw the line? And who drew it to begin with? The thoughts were so outrageous, so mixed up and intertwined, she couldn't believe they belonged to her. It was almost as if voices, whispering voices, each one different, was inside her, talking. It sort of reminds me of how I thought the books were whispering about me— But that thought was instantly crowded out by a flood of others, each whispered by a different voice. The books were whispering, but their voices were inside her head!
Good and evil, which are you? one demanded.
Shall we tell her what she is? asked a higher pitched voice.
What are you? Which do you choose? In between places are dangerous, they tear you in half— hissed another.
Why one religion and not another? Which one is right? Are any of them? said a woman, her voice like shifting sand.
What is right and what is wrong? A child asked in a singsong voice, Which is silent? Which is song? Let us lead you on to your confusion, all you believe is but delusion.
What do you believe?
Silly fool, doesn't know her own mind—
Little one, boomed another from above her. It was different than the others, it was full of power and command.
Her head jerked up to look, and though she saw the ceiling and top of the bookshelves above her, over top of them, like a ghostly image, was the burning city. Above it, tentacles came through the blood red clouds, black smoke winding around them. Little one, the booming voice repeated. She stared transfixed as a tentacle swept towards her as if to pick her up. She didn't even think to run. What was the point of resistance? Even fear seemed far away, it was just a nagging feeling at the back of her head. Erica, said a voice. The huge tentacle wasn't far away.
What do you want? she thought, truly wondering.
"Erica?" asked another voice.
The ghostly image disappeared. Erica blinked, feeling like she had just come out of a trance. She tried to think, but her brain felt as slow as molasses. Who was talking to her?
"Erica?" the voice repeated.
She looked towards the voice. It was Kroenen sitting at his desk. She was sitting on the floor in his study, reading by the fireplace.
"Deep thoughts?" he asked, seeing her confusion.
"Yes, you could say that." she said, and then glanced uncertainly down at the book in her lap. What just happened? she wondered.
"Would you like to share them? You look confused. Perhaps I can help."
She hesitated, then remembered the voices, the thoughts, all the questions. Questions to which she didn't know the answers. Maybe he knew them.
"I—I was wondering what it's like to be evil." Erica said.
Kroenen leaned forward on his desk to look at her. Maybe that wasn't such a great question to ask him, she thought, He might think I meant he was evil. — Wait, he is, isn't he?
"Not all that different from being a normal person." he answered at last.
"But how can you say that? It must be different." Erica insisted.
"I have often wondered what it's like to be a good person, for you see, though someone can become evil, they can never be completely good, they will always have the smallest seed of evil inside them. And since a person always has evil inside them, being completely evil doesn't feel a lot different."
I wonder how he knows? Is he admitting that he knows he's evil? Erica thought, Based on what he said, doesn't that mean I'm evil, too? She wasn't sure if she was surprised to find that out. It was scary, but in a way, it made sense.
"I've never thought about it that way," she said at last.
"No, of course you wouldn't," Kroenen said, seeing the perfect opportunity to play with her mind, and in so doing, convince her to help them, "Everything is based upon a person's perception, and how others influence that person's perspective. Through your entire life, people have been influencing you without you even knowing it. Influencing you in everything from your religion," he gestured at the cross on her necklace, "to your sense of ethics. And those people were influenced by the people before them, and they were influenced by the people before them. So, you see, you have to throw all that away in order to see, to be able to develop your own opinions."
"I don't quite understand…" she said, having the feeling that she was on the brink of understanding something that would change her life, change everything.
"For example, in a war, one side may say the other is evil, and though it may be true, the other side may believe that they are right and just, and the others are evil. But that also means both sides could be evil, or both could be good, which makes one wonder why they bother to fight at all." he said.
"Oh! I think I understand now," she said, "It really does have to do with you perception."
Suddenly, she fell silent.
"Is anything else troubling you?" he asked.
"The way evil is portrayed in books, evil always seems so powerful, but then suddenly looses to good against all odds. I've often wondered if it ever happens the other way, sort of like a reverse cycle to keep everything balanced. If good reigns for a long time, to correct the balance, does the same happen to evil? But then they're perpetually losing to each other, just going around in a huge loop, over and over and over again…" she trailed off, the concept was mind blowing! And that was just assuming that there was fairness in the universe, that there was a balance to things. But people always said that life wasn't fair, and it wasn't—was it?
Just then, the door to the study opened. Both Erica and Kroenen looked up, Ilsa was standing in the doorway.
"As it is 6:30, perhaps the two of you would be interested in dinner, since the kitchen staff tell me you never appeared for lunch." she said.
"Yes," said Erica, suddenly realizing that she was hungry. If things kept up this way, she'd never eat properly. Her mind turned back to the voices, her questions, and Kroenen's answers. It was all so confusing, she didn't know what she should believe anymore.
The spy crept through the mansion. He could smell food cooking, the kitchens and dining hall couldn't be far away. He had arrived without incident, leaving his car half a mile away and proceeding from there on foot through the rain. Then he had snuck into the mansion through the stables.
He turned some more corners, and then, when the servants were taking the food out to the table, and the cook's back was turned, he sneaked through and hid in a food pantry. He kept the door open a crack, and through the crack, he could see through the servant's door into the dining hall. In the dining hall, sitting at the table, was Erica. There was another woman sitting there as well, but the spy paid her no mind. Karl Kroenen was nowhere in sight, but then again, the spy had a very limited view. Kroenen could be in the room, the spy just couldn't see him from where he was hidden.
All that remained now, was to sprint out and shoot the girl before anyone realized what was happening. Beyond that, he could only pray that he could escape, but he knew it was unlikely, as the noise from the shot was sure to alert Kroenen that something was going on. And, considering that Kroenen was the Head of the Thule Occult Society, he wasn't going to smile and say: "That's too bad." The price for killing Erica would certainly be the spy's life, and he hoped that if it came to that, that the top assassin simply killed him on the spot. The spy didn't think he could stand what the rumors said happened to people that made Kroenen really angry.
The spy looked at Erica again, sitting at the table, completely unsuspecting that her life was at stake.
I'm sorry, Erica, the spy thought, reaching into his coat for his gun, Oh, so sorry.
Kroenen stood at the windows at the far corner of the room, his hands behind his back, gazing at the rain trickling down the glass. He was standing mostly in shadow as the dining hall was only lit by the fireplace and candles on the table. Erica watched him uncertainly from where she sat at the table with Ilsa.
Doesn't he ever eat? she wondered for the second time that day.
She looked down at her soup bowl, thinking. Something was distracting her, other than all the questions and resulting confusion running rampant through her head. What was it? Her brain felt so — busy, as if it were trying to tell her something. Flashes of images appeared involuntarily in front of her eyes, all of them mixed up and making no sense to her: Kroenen standing by the window, a person running, the servants walking behind her, shadows from the fire, blood on the carpet, rain trickling down the glass — and over it all was a sense of that something was different, out of the ordinary. And she got the feeling that whatever it was, she didn't like.
"Erica?"
She opened her eyes, she hadn't even realized she had closed them.
"Are you feeling alright?" asked Ilsa.
"Yes, fine." Erica lied, picking up her spoon and starting on her soup.
Just as she was about to eat her soup, she suddenly felt sick to her stomach. Oh no, she thought, Not again. What now?
She was about to get her answer.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a blur rushing towards her. Instinctively, she jerked around to look. A man was running through the door that the servants used to get to and from the kitchen. But this man was not a servant, and, most frightening of all, he was aiming a handgun at her!
Erica didn't even think twice, she dove out of her chair, and threw herself flat on the floor. She heard a shot and felt the wind of the bullet as it passed within inches of her head. She heard Ilsa shouting something, but it was in German, and Erica couldn't understand her.
Feeling a shadow fall over her, Erica rolled over onto her back and looked up. A man dressed in a Nazi uniform stood over her, a grim expression on his face as he aimed the gun at her again. Totally defenseless, Erica held her arm up in front of her in a feeble attempt to protect herself. Just then, she saw another, darker blur that leapt onto the table and jumped to the floor, landing between her and the man. It was Kroenen. The man pulled the trigger and another shot rang out. Kroenen jerked slightly as the bullet hit him almost pointblank in the chest, then looked down at himself as if in bemusement. The man holding the gun looked shocked that Kroenen wasn't dead.
Kroenen suddenly flung out his arms, and a long, steel blade suddenly extended from each of his wrists. Faster than Erica could see, Kroenen swung them toward the man. In a few seconds, it was over. The man didn't even have time to scream.
Erica stood up shakily, staring wide-eyed at the dead man lying on the floor. Then she looked at Kroenen. His arms were at his sides, and both blades were stained crimson. He, however, wasn't bleeding, though she could plainly see the bullet wound in his chest. In fact, Kroenen didn't even seem to care that he had been shot. The only difference was that, standing so close to him, she could hear a different ticking noise coming from him, similar to the sound a clock makes when it is broken and the gears are grinding together.
Kroenen turned to face her. "I suggest that you don't go anywhere until you've learned to defend yourself," he said, in a voice that was so calm, it was if nothing had even happened, "It seems you are a major target for assassins, and that news flies fast. Too fast. In fact, I believe I now have an appointment with Schenck tomorrow, and I would hate to miss it. Also, in the future, if you wish to live, you must listen to your premonitions, or you'll quickly end up very dead."
Shortly thereafter, Kroenen escorted Erica to her room while Ilsa was organizing a search of the mansion to make sure no one else had snuck in. After closing the curtains and searching Erica's room, Kroenen left, shutting and locking the door behind him. This was more for Erica's safety then to keep her from escaping, which he doubted would happen after that man had tried to kill her.
Erica, for her part, just drifted around in a daze. She didn't particularly care that Kroenen had locked her in her room. He tried to kill me, she thought dazedly, That man tried to kill me. Why? What have I done that someone I don't even know would try to kill me? He tried to kill me…
No one else had crept into the mansion.
However, there were several sentries who were going to pay for their negligence. Kroenen would see to that, providing Ilsa hadn't already shot them dead.
Kroenen was in his study, but not the one that Erica had been in. He was in the study that was underground the mansion. After all, this study had better medical equipment, and he was going to have to repair himself after getting shot in the chest. This study was coldly lit, and everything was very bare and austere. As he laid out the necessary equipment, he was mentally cursing the man that had been stupid enough to think he could kill Erica without being caught. And certainly that man couldn't have been so stupid as to think that after all that time Kroenen had spent looking for Erica, that Kroenen was about to let her be murdered. Clearly, someone had leaked information, and if he caught them, they would pay dearly for it. In fact, as Kroenen had a good idea who had leaked information, he now had a pressing appointment with Schenck tomorrow, and wouldn't Schenck be surprised to see him? And surprise would certainly be one of the last things Schenck experienced before he died. And even if Schenck hadn't been the one to talk about Erica, the man was immensely annoying. Besides, his death would be one more safeguard against him talking.
And the questions Erica had asked him earlier! He had thought the books would have an effect on her, but hadn't expected the results would be so strong. In a matter of hours, he had managed to throw her into a state of mind where she no longer knew what she believed, and that would make it almost child's play to get her to assist the Occult, as she would be more open to new ways of thinking— their way of thinking! He had become the teacher and she the student without her even realizing it! And her questions had shown she had some level of trust in regard to himself and Ilsa, and that would make it less complicated to talk to her.
The door opened, and Ilsa came in.
"I believe I have requested several times that you knock before entering." Kroenen said.
She shot him a withering look with her ice blue eyes.
"You say that every time." she said.
"And you continue not to do it."
"That's beside the point. I wouldn't have come down here if I didn't have something important to say."
"So you didn't come to watch the show?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice as he indicated the various medical apparatus laid out on a table.
"No. I came to talk about Erica," she shook her head as if in disbelief, "It's a wonder she's not paranoid. She probably thinks this is the second time someone's tried to kill her in less then two days."
"It won't happen again. I intend to teach her to defend herself."
Ilsa laughed. "That should be interesting. Make sure I'm there to watch. The second anyone points a weapon in her direction, especially you, she'll scream bloody murder."
"I'll have you know she trusts us, both of us. At least, just a little, but it's a start."
"Yes, she will have to trust us. Grigory is very interested in meeting her, as soon as she's more sympathetic to our cause."
"And that should be a very interesting meeting." Kroenen said.
Still in a daze, Erica lay down on the bed and turned off the light. He tried to kill me, she thought as she drifted off to sleep.
She was back in the hall. The shadows were chasing after her, flowing in a contorting wave that poured down from the walls. She ran — suddenly, someone grabbed her arm. She tried to free herself, desperate to get away from the shadows flowing toward her, but it felt like her arm was in an iron vise, she couldn't get away! Then, she heard a ticking noise coming from the person holding onto her. She looked up in fear and in sudden recognition, staring up at the smooth black mask.
"I know who you are," she said, "Kroenen. Please, let me go. I have to get away!"
"You can't escape," he said, "Even now, the shadows draw closer around you, are burrowing deeper into your heart. You've fallen just a little farther towards the darkness. You're becoming one of us, can't you feel it?"
"Let go!" she shrieked, struggling ineffectually against him. The wave of shadow was only a few feet away. She couldn't let it touch her, "Let go and go away!"
"Let go? Go away? You're the one holding onto us, you know you need us! You belong with us! We can help you. Why won't you let us help you?"
"No! No! Never! —It's just a dream, this isn't real!"
"Yes, this is a dream. But what are your dreams but intensified reflections of your inner turmoil? Your actions, your feelings, your conflicts have created this, they show what you are. Your dreams lay your heart and soul bare to your eyes that refuse to see the truth. But then there are your visions that show you what will be, what you know will be…"
"Get out of my head!"
"You're the one who brought me here." Kroenen whispered, "Poor lonely, abandoned, lost you. Your only friend is darkness. Can't you feel it's cold embrace?"
The wave of whispering shadows pooled around her feet and then rose higher, wrapping around her like a strong ocean current intent on pulling her down. She panicked, and tried desperately to pull away, but he held her tight against him with both arms.
"They won't hurt you, little one. I wouldn't let them. Listen to what we're, what they're, offering you. Only we can help you."
"Erica, wake up!" she implored her sleeping self.
"Yes, wake up flee from what you are! Run away from yourself and be tortured by visions of what will be! We can help you! The nightmare will end!"
"WAKE UP!" she screamed.
Erica sat up in bed, awake, the sound of her scream still echoing in the air. This was the second time in far too short a time that she had woken up screaming. Her throat was raw and her heart was pounding in her chest. And her arm hurt. What? Why does my arm hurt? she wondered. She looked down. On her upper right arm, was another black bruise, but this one was in the shape of a hand, as if someone had held onto her tightly without letting go.