Disclaimer: Hellboy characters do not belong to me. However, Erica and Peter Murrell are mine.
Author's Notes: Thanks for the reviews Scorponis, DarkCloudRider, Psycho Llama, Blu Embyr, and Gestalt! You guys are so wonderful! BTW, I saw the director's cut of Hellboy last night, and it was great! In this chapter how much Kroenen knows is revealed, and Erica has a disturbing encounter with Kroenen, which results in a meeting with Grigory (gasp!). Then for a change of pace it's off to America for a visit with a 28 year old Professor Broom. As before, "Ja" is yes, "Nein" is no, "Guten tag" is hello, and "Guten Abend" is good evening. Everyone review, pretty please!
Scorponis: Hehehe! There's more suspense in this chapter about if she'll be caught! Great to know you liked her grandfather being in there, it's all thanks to DarkCloudRider!
DarkCloudRider: gives rib crushing hug back Yeah, I loved your idea too, it worked really well in the story. And don't worry, the cuts and her rose will be explained in here! Oh, and a warning: this chapter is probably going to make you cry!
Psycho Llama: It's one of the best WWII related fics you've ever read? I'm flattered! I guess it comes from watching movies like The Sound of Music and The Great Escape. As for what Kroenen's going to do to her when he finds out, just keep reading!
Blu Embyr: Hehehe! You're going to find out how much Kroenen knows!
Gestalt: So good to hear from you again! I wondered what had happened to you. Glad to know you're still reading: ) A relationship between them is sort of suggested or implied, but I probably won't go into specifics for a while, maybe not until the sequel. And the split personality gave me an idea, though that also won't show up until the sequel. As to if the Allied soldiers will figure out if it was her, let's just say it has a lot to do with the story: )
"Do what you can with what you have, where you are."— Theodore Roosevelt
The night of October 5, 1944
Harsh grating noises filled the hall outside Kroenen's study, and were even louder and more jarring inside his study, where the sound was even worse than fingernails scraping down a chalkboard. The sound was eerie and would have made the average person's skin crawl, but Kroenen didn't mind the noise. He was used to it—after all, he had to keep all his blades as razor-sharp as possible, and that involved the necessary task of sharpening them.
Kroenen sat at his desk, an array of swords, daggers, and various strange looking blades spread out before him. After Erica had ridden off and disappeared into the night, he had come straight to his study and almost automatically bent to the task of sharpening his swords. They really do need it, he thought, checking the sharpness of a dagger with his thumb. Or, at least, that's how he justified what he was doing. In a way, he had chosen to sharpen his swords in an attempt to get his mind off of Erica, hoping the physical labor would be enough to distract him. The attempt had been in vain.
True, it worked for a while, he thought, sighing, but then—
Kroenen paused in his work and the room fell into a silence that was as equally eerie as the rasping sound of metal had been. In the silence he could hear the fire crackling and opera music playing softly in the background. But that wasn't what had gotten his attention. He gracefully turned and looked towards the window, staring out at the night darkened countryside. Somewhere out there an enormous amount of magic was being used.
"Erica?" he murmured, gazing out the window.
The room didn't answer him, but he knew the magic user had to be Erica—it felt like her. The magic was very faint, which meant that she had to be at least two or three miles away. It was also too far away for him to tell why she was using magic.
What is she doing? he wondered, gazing out into the darkness, This is the second time this evening that I've felt her using magic.
He had been able to lose himself in his task and forget about Erica and her strange behavior until he had felt that first burst of magic. Now Erica was the only thing he could think about.
I hope she isn't in trouble, he thought, suddenly feeling anxious, But if she is, I know she's more than capable of taking care of herself. She'll be fine, he told himself. Then his mind took an abrupt U turn, If she gets hurt I'll never forgive myself, he thought. His thoughts went into reverse. If she's in trouble, she's too far away for us to arrive in time to do anything. I'll just have to wait until she returns. Then he amended his thoughts. If she isn't back in one hour than I'm going out to look for her. And when I find her, heaven help the people rash enough to be tormenting her!
He looked down at his desk, watching as the firelight played over the silver blades lying on the desk in front of him. He halfheartedly picked up a baton sword, but quickly put it back down. He couldn't concentrate on sharpening blades right now.
As long as I'm going to be thinking about her, I might as well be doing something useful, like going through the thoughts I found in her mind, he thought, I might be able to figure out why she's been acting so strangely.
He had delayed doing this for as long as possible because in a way, he was almost afraid about what he might find. The last time he had seen her thoughts had been that morning, when he had pulled them from her mind, but now he was going to try to study them. Since Kroenen had cut off his own eyelids years ago, he couldn't close his eyes to block out his study. Instead, he simply turned around and faced the darkest corner of the room. Then he called up the images he had found in Erica's mind.
There was darkness and then a flash of something silver glimmering against a black background. The silver object was blurred, and at seeing it he felt a sense of betrayal and anger that he knew belonged to Erica. The shining silver thing disappeared and he saw walls rushing past as if he were watching from behind Erica's eyes as she ran down a flight of stairs and then down long dark corridors. The corridors disappeared and for a moment he was facing a burning city, looking at the shells of ruined towers as they stretched toward a blood red sky streaked with oily black smoke. The city vanished and he found himself standing on an enormous chessboard, surrounded by chess pieces that towered above him. He turned to face one of the obsidian pieces and saw his reflection in the polished black surface. Only—his reflection was moving, and he wasn't. His reflection was standing with Erica in the middle of her wrecked study. He turned and faced another black chess piece, and in the reflection he saw Ilsa and Grigory standing beside a block of stone in an obsidian hall. The block of black stone had lines of thick, crimson blood running down its sides; there was a bloodstained body lying on top of it, but he couldn't recognize it because the face was turned away from him—
The chess pieces disappeared, leaving him on a chessboard that was empty except for the enormous hourglass in front of him. The top held white sand, and the bottom held black sand that was quickly rushing to the top of the hourglass, changing to white as it went—The hourglass disappeared and a grandfather clock took its place. Instead of numbers on the clock face there were dates written on it, and the clock hands were rapidly turning towards October 9th. The label 'October 9th' was written in blood, which was slowly dripping down the clock's white face. The air around him was thick with an indescribably strong sense of dread—the image of the clock rippled and then shredded apart as he was violently pushed from her mind—
And then it was over.
He turned away from the dark corner and for a few minutes he stared at the roaring fire in the fireplace, listening to the opera music playing in the background. He was thinking about what he had seen, but despite all his best efforts, he still had no idea what the majority of the images meant. The only thing he knew was that her feelings of dread and the images of blood were all somehow connected with October 9th. But what he found most disturbing were the feelings of bone chilling fear and heart wrenching anguish that had been present through all of the images he had gotten from her mind.
What could make you feel like that, Erica? Why are you so afraid? Why are you dreading October 9th? You should be happy, he thought.
He simply didn't understand, and the only way to get answers would be to get them from Erica herself, and she wasn't telling. He gazed at the fireplace for a few minutes, until his gaze fell on one of the many objects sitting on the mantel. Slowly, he stood up and crossed the room to stand in front of the fireplace, where he picked up one of the framed black and white photographs sitting on the mantle. He held it in his hands and stared at the photograph.
It was a picture of himself, Erica, and Ilsa in one of the mansion's gardens. He was standing on the left, beside Erica, and Ilsa was standing on Erica's other side. The three of them were in full military uniform, but there was a casual air to the picture: both Erica and Ilsa were smiling and laughing, and Erica had taken off her hat and let her hair down. There was a rose behind her ear. He gazed at the two smiling young women. At the moment the feeling of happiness felt alien to him, and he recalled that he hadn't seen Erica or Ilsa smile—really smile— in what felt like a long time.
Erica, he thought, gazing at the picture, My Angel of Death. My Angel...
He sat down in his chair and set the framed black and white photograph on his desk. He looked at it for a moment, and then he picked up a sword.
The eerie sound of metal grating on metal filled the room as he put a sharp edge on the sword. One thing is certain, he thought, Erica will have a lot to explain when she returns.
XXXXX
Erica arrived in the forest. She wasted no time in collecting the candles from their places around the chalk circles, and then she carefully used her boot to scuff out the chalk designs. When that was finished, she untied and mounted her horse before riding back to the mansion. She arrived in an empty stable yard, which was a relief. She had half been expecting Kroenen to be standing there waiting for her. She left her horse in the stable and then started up the path to the mansion's front door, knowing it was the expected way for her to get inside. I hope I don't run into anyone, she thought as she walked up the white marble stairs to the mansion's main entrance, I don't think I could handle it.
She ignored the door's stain glass windows and intricate carvings, and put her hand on the doorknob. She twisted it and, to her surprise, the huge door swung open. I'm surprised it wasn't locked, she thought as she slipped silently into the entrance hall, Maybe a servant came out this way and forgot to lock the door behind them.
It was very dim in the entrance hall. During the day the gold chandelier hanging from the high ceiling barely lit the huge space, but now that it was night most of the candles had burned out and only a few remained lit. As it was, the light from the candles threw an eerie, flickering glow on the crystals hanging off the chandelier, causing them to sparkle and shimmer faintly. It also threw strange shadows over the walls, causing the normally beautiful hall to look very surreal. Erica turned and shut the door as quietly as possible before she turned the locks. She listened as each one clicked softly as they fell into place—
"Guten Abend, Erica."
Startled, she whirled around, her blood running cold at the sight that met her. Oh Scheiße, she thought.Kroenen was leaning against the banister of the ornate staircase, watching her. It was obvious that he had seen her come in, and that he had been watching her from the shadows that were hiding the lower part of the staircase. The flickering light from the chandelier cast dancing shadows across the surface of his smooth black mask, making him look threatening. Or maybe that was just her guilty conscience. For a moment she was reminded of the day she had first met him, when he had been standing at the bottom of the stairs waiting for her and Ilsa.
"Hello, Kroenen." she answered, her voice coming out strained.
"I've been waiting for you." he said simply, "I unlocked the door so you could get in."
"How kind of you," she said, forcing a smile to hide her feelings of unease, "I suppose you were worried that my horse might break his leg and leave me stranded somewhere."
"Nein, but I was—and still am—concerned about you," he answered softly, leaving the staircase, his black trench coat swishing as he moved. He stopped in front of her. "I'm curious, where exactly did you go?"
"Nowhere in particular, I was just riding," Erica replied, trying to be evasive, "I told you that when I left."
"Nowhere in particular," Kroenen repeated, sounding suspicious, "Really. Now tell me, were you by chance attacked while you were riding?"
"No," Erica said, sounding a little confused.
"Then why," he asked, moving closer to her, "then why were you using magic?"
"Oh, I was just practicing. You know, to get rid of the built up power so that I don't shatter anymore wineglasses or burn wooden desk tops." she answered, glad that she had come up with an excuse on the ride back.
Kroenen continued to stare intently at her, the light from the few lit candles on the chandelier throwing odd shadows over his metal mask. Erica had no choice but to stare back. It felt like his gaze was piercing her heart and searching her soul, and she had the uncomfortable feeling that he didn't believe her. Unconsciously, she stepped back from him and ran into the hard surface of the door. Kroenen simply stepped forward so that there was barely an inch of space between them. Erica pressed her back against the door, wishing she hadn't locked it. If he had figured everything out than there would be no escape for her. As she moved, the hood of her cloak slipped away from her face. She was otherwise occupied and didn't notice. But Kroenen did.
"There's blood on your cheek, Erica." Kroenen said softly. He reached towards her and ran his gloved fingers through the crimson liquid and down her face, leaving scarlet streaks in his fingers' wake, "And there's blood on your lips."
Erica licked her lips and tasted the thick, iron tinged flavor of blood. Kroenen was right. She hadn't even thought about it until this moment, but now she could feel blood running down her right cheek, over her jaw and down her neck.
Kroenen gently touched her chin and tilted her head to the side.
"There's blood on your neck," he said, trailing the fingers of his hand across the bloodstained skin on her throat. He could feel her pulse fluttering rapidly beneath his fingers. Erica shuddered and then her breath caught in her throat as one of his fingers brushed against one of the deep gashes. At her gasp of pain he gracefully pulled his hand back, and his black leather glove came away stained with her blood. He held up his hand and examined the blood running down it. Then he looked back at her, and when he was sure that he hadn't hurt her, his hand returned to her gashed cheek, gently turning her face so he could examine the cuts in the dim light.
"If you weren't attacked, how did you hurt yourself this badly?" he asked, concern and curiosity evident in his voice, "Perhaps you ran into a tree branch, hmm?"
His last sentence sounded like he had known exactly what she was going to say. Erica felt even more uneasy and immediately concentrated to see if Kroenen had tried to slip into her mind again. To her relief he wasn't in her head. I guess he just knows me too well, she thought. But that wasn't surprising, he had known her for six years. No wonder I'm having such a hard time hiding things from him, she thought.
"Ja, I did run into a tree branch," she lied, thinking that her excuse sounded very pathetic.
"You did, did you? I can't imagine how I guessed." Kroenen replied, slightly mockingly. He dropped his hand from her face, "Come with me to my study, I'll stitch those gashes closed."
He grasped her wrist and tugged gently, encouraging her to follow him. As he held onto her, she could feel the blood on his leather glove rub off on her skin. That sensation painted a particularly vivid vision in her head of what would happen to her if she were caught. Erica knew in that moment that one of the last places she wanted to be if Kroenen was suspicious was alone with him in his study.
"No." Erica said firmly, pulling away.
Kroenen looked at her. "What did you say?" he asked, sounding surprised.
"I said no. I'll—I'll take care of it myself," she smiled half-heartedly. Quickly, she racked her brains for a suitable excuse that wouldn't make him more suspicious, "You know how much I hate stitches. And really, the cuts aren't that bad."
"They're bad enough to have blood dripping down the right side of your face and neck. Come, you need stitches." he insisted, trying to grab her arm again.
She evaded him and slipped around him, backing towards the stairs as fast as she could without looking too suspicious.
"No, no, that's alright. I'll be fine. Really. I'll go and take care of it right now, and then I think I'll get some sleep. Goodnight."
She turned and started up the staircase, but Kroenen's voice stopped her when she was only halfway up.
"Erica."
She took a deep breath to calm herself and turned around, leaning over the banister so she was looking down at Kroenen.
"Yes?" she asked hesitantly.
"You're lying to me again, my Angel of Death," he said softly and a little sadly, "I would hope that you wouldn't feel the need to do that. Erica, you can tell me anything, anything at all, and I'll listen. Is there anything you want to tell me?"
Erica looked down at him, feeling emotions welling up inside her. His voice had sounded almost imploring, and she knew that her behavior must seem inexplicable to him. How I wish I could tell him, but if I did I would make it worse—it's better this way than for his heart to be torn in two by having to kill me. Although that will probably happen anyway, she thought bitterly, Grigory isn't likely to just let Kroenen stand around while I try to destroy the portal generator.
"No, there isn't," she said, "I'm sorry, I really am. Forgive me."
And with that she turned and ran up the stairs. Kroenen didn't follow. He remained standing in the entrance hall, gazing after her until she disappeared. On the one hand he was relieved that she was alright and that she had gotten back safely, but on the other hand, he knew that she had been lying about everything except about not being attacked. And he hadn't believed her excuse about using magic. It just didn't sound right.
Why would she use magic and then lie about why she did it? he wondered.
And on top of outright lying to him, all day she had been strangely reticent about the answers that she had given him. True, he knew his concern about her and his relief over her safe return had made him sound prying and suspicious, but so it was with anyone who perceived that someone they cared about was in danger.
Kroenen gazed thoughtfully at the staircase before he strode away, his boots tapping loudly against the white marble floor. It's time to find Ilsa and talk to Grigory, he thought, This has gone too far. I don't understand what's going on with Erica. Maybe Grigory can help...
XXXXX
Erica closed her bedroom door behind her and locked it before leaning against it, feeling exhausted. Between sneaking into the military base and the confrontation with Kroenen, she was exhausted both physically and emotionally. She slid down the door and sat on the floor, her head in her hands and her knees drawn up to her chest. How much longer can I keep this up? she thought, feeling tears welling up in her eyes. She wiped the tears from her eyes and then realized that something wet was running down her arm. She looked at her hands and arms: they had little drops and stains of blood on them where the blood on her face had rubbed off on her pale skin.
I have to do something about my cuts, she remembered.
She stood up and wandered into the bathroom, where she looked in the mirror. She gasped. On the right side of her face and neck there were several deep bleeding gashes and her skin and shirt collar were stained with blood. Kroenen was right, I'll probably need stitches, she thought morbidly, Of course, he's always right when it comes to judging how serious a wound is.
She washed her face and did the best she could to take care of her injuries and to clean herself up. To her surprise, once she washed off all the blood, the cuts didn't look nearly as bad. She was looking in the mirror, examining her injuries, when she glanced at the rest of her appearance and realized that something was missing. She scrutinized her reflection for a moment, unable to pick out what it was that was missing. Then she realized what it was and her face went pale.
The black rose that Kroenen had given her—it was gone!
The rose was no longer sitting in the breast pocket of her jacket. And Erica had an uncomfortable feeling she knew what had happened to it. She vividly remembered ducking through the fence at the military base and that the cut wires had scraped across her face and the rest of her body. The wires had probably caught on the rose and torn it loose, which meant that it was lying near the fence at the military base.
I hope no one finds it, she thought, And if they do, I hope they don't think it's important, because if Kroenen hears about it—
She left her thought unfinished, she couldn't bear to think about what would happen. To get her mind off of that, she turned her attention back to tending to the cuts on her face and neck. When she was satisfied, she took off her cloak, her boots, and then put her satchel back in her closet. She put the five candles, the small mirror, the chalk, and the red book in the small wooden box on her bookshelf, and then she locked the box. She put away all her weapons, changed her clothes, and untied the ribbon holding back her hair before she collapsed onto her bed and lay there, staring up at the crimson canopy. She didn't bother to blow out the candle on her nightstand, she was too nervous, too frightened, and too excited to sleep.
But being scared is understandable, she thought, considering what will happen to me if I'm caught. I'm way beyond just thinking about betraying the Thule Society and the Nazis—I've probably committed enough grievous crimes against them that they could write a list! Let's see, one, I thought about betraying them. Two, I plotted against them. Three, I acted on those plans. Four, I gave top secret information to the Occult's and Nazi's enemies. Five, by talking to my grandfather, I've been fraternizing with the enemy. And six, because of my rank, I've committed general high treason.
She gave a wry laugh. And on top of that, she thought, with what I'm planning for October ninth, they'll be able to add 'destruction of the portal generator' and probably 'indirect murder of important officials' to the already extensive list of crimes that I've committed. Oh well, I suppose that if I'm betraying them, I may as well go all the way, it's not like the punishment if I'm caught can get any worse.
And speaking of betrayal, that's exactly what my grandfather has done—he betrayed Germany by fleeing the country and then joining the Allied Forces. I guess being a traitor must run in the family, she thought, remembering the encounter with her grandfather. It had been weird to talk to a twenty year old version of her grandfather, even if he had been too scared for them to have a real conversation.
Erica turned her head and winced as the right side of her face brushed against the pillow. I wouldn't have gotten these cuts if Alfred hadn't seen me and then shot at me—Her train of thought was derailed as a series of images played in her mind. They were all of a dark night, and there was someone dressed in black—and he was trying to kill her. It was a fragment of the vision she had had on October second, and she remembered that she had briefly mentioned it to Kroenen after she had dealt with those assassins. She had forgotten about it in all the excitement and turmoil of the past two days as she had made plans to betray the Occult. I can't believe I forgot about my vision! She thought, And it's a very important vision now that a lot of people are about to try to kill me. I wonder if it's a vision of October 9th, telling me that a Nazi or Allied soldier is going to try to kill me? Or has it already happened, and the vision is of Alfred, the Allied soldier that shot at me?
There was only one way to find out.
Erica closed her eyes and concentrated, and very suddenly she was no longer lying on her bed: she was standing with her back pressed against a stone wall. It was dark and it was very cold: she could feel the cold air rasping in her throat as she gasped for breath. She was scared and almost completely exhausted. She sensed someone in front of her and she looked up and saw a man's figure towering in front of her. He was completely dressed in black, and she couldn't see his face. Erica couldn't tell if this was because it was so dark, or if he was wearing a hood of some sort, but really, it didn't matter, because her mind had registered one fact: he had trapped her! The man raised his weapon—
Erica's eyes flew open and instead of seeing the threatening man, she saw the crimson canopy of her bed. She sighed in relief, and it was only then that she realized that she was out of breath and that her hands had a death grip on the quilt she was lying on. Quickly, she relaxed her grip and saw that her fingers had put wrinkles into the fabric. She also discovered that her entire body was tensed as if she was expecting someone to hit her. As she forced herself to relax and listened to her racing heart, a chilling thought occurred to her.
Could I have just witnessed my own death? she wondered.
She shuddered, realizing that it was entirely possible that she had—but there was also the possibility that she hadn't. I wonder who the man was? she thought, I couldn't see his face. At least the stone wall rules out the possibility of my vision having already happened—there was a fence, not a stone wall, at the military base. But while that was important, it wasn't the most important thing. The important thing was to discover if the man, whoever he was, succeeded in killing her on October ninth.
Oh! She thought, realizing, All I have to do is look into the future to see what will happen on October ninth! Erica mentally slapped herself for not looking into the future to see if her plan to send the letter would work, before she did anything. Quickly, she closed her eyes and concentrated.
Will the Allied Forces arrive on October ninth, and will I survive the night? she asked.
The first thing that registered in her mind was that it was dark and that it was very cold. Rain fell in a torrential downpour as the wind shrieked around the ruins and forced the trees to sway. All around her Nazi soldiers were setting up equipment—the sounds of the wind were suddenly drowned out by bone chilling screams and the thunder of massive explosions—the Allied Forces were locked in battle with the Nazi soldiers—that was followed by images that seemed to suggest that the Allied Forces ships were at sea and stuck in the storm, and that they would arrive too late—she was back among the ruins listening to the sharp sound of gunshots—she was standing on rain slicked stairs, watching as Ilsa drew out a gun and shot down an Allied soldier. Ilsa's beautiful face was contorted by rage and she was shrieking incoherently in German—Too much! Erica thought, holding her head in her hands, I can't deal with this much! And none of it makes sense—Grigory was standing tall with a triumphant look on his face as the Ogdru Jahad started coming through the portal—an image of the portal exploding—a skeleton screaming against an electric blue background—Von Krupt checking his gold pocket watch—a blood red rose trampled into the mud—the glare of spotlights on the rain and blood slicked cobblestones—
Erica's eyes flew open and she sat bolt upright on her bed. She regretted it immediately. She was suddenly assailed by a pounding headache that was so strong she lost her balance and rolled off the edge of the bed. She lay on the floor for a few moments gasping for breath and feeling extremely nauseous. She clutched at her stomach and curled up on the floor, willing herself not to throw up. When her headache had lessened and she was pretty sure that she wasn't going to throw up she slowly sat up.
Why didn't it work? She wondered, It didn't make any sense! Nothing was in order, and most of the images were contradicted by others. Maybe I should try again.
Hesitantly, she closed her eyes and tried again—she was surrounded by horrible screams—rain falling on her face—indescribable fear—sheep bounding through rain soaked fields—fire— Erica gave up and opened her eyes. To her surprise, she discovered that she was laying flat on the floor. I don't even remember falling, she thought as she suppressed her stomach's desire to empty its contents all over the floor. Slowly, she crawled to the edge of her bed and somehow hauled her exhausted body up and onto the bed. She lay there for a few minutes, just trying to recover.
It's like my mind is a magic eight ball and the answer to my question was that the future is hazy, she thought, giving a weak laugh, I didn't answer any of my original questions, but, if the vision about the man trying to kill me is going to happen on October ninth, that explains why I can't see the outcome of the fight. Because it's happening on October ninth, I can't see much of it. I wonder why that is? She thought, suddenly frowning. She didn't like that she couldn't see the future, it made her feel very uneasy and unprepared. It also made her wonder if something was wrong with her. I wonder why the man was having such an easy time of trying to kill me, I can more than handle any average man. Perhaps I had already been wounded and he was trying to finish me off.
Her fingers compulsively toyed with the silver watch hanging from her necklace and she bit her lip, choking back a sob as she looked at the initials engraved into the back of the watch. Kroenen, I hope you'll forgive me when you find out what I've done—but you'll probably hate me. You'll hate me for betraying you, hate me because you'll be forced to kill me—God! What am I doing? I have friends here, people who care about me, and now I'm going to lose it all. Is it really worth it? she wondered, looking at her cross necklace, Is it really worth it? I guess it doesn't matter now, it's too late to second guess myself, I've already betrayed them, I don't have a choice. I have to go through with it. I just hope I'm doing the right thing.
She knew it was far too late to have second thoughts. The bridge had been crossed. Erica lay there, staring up at the red canopy above her, her hands clutching the two silver necklaces to her heart, which felt like it was threatening to break. She realized that the moment she had sent her letter she had crossed that bridge, and even now held in her hand the flaming torch that would destroy her escape route. There could be no going back now. Soon my bridge will burn, she thought grimly, I only hope that I don't burn along with it.
XXXXX
The morning of October 6, 1944
When Ilsa walked into the dining hall Erica was just finishing her breakfast.
"Guten tag," Erica said, smiling.
Ilsa nodded and smiled back. "Come, Grigory wants to talk to you."
Erica looked less than thrilled, but she stood up and followed as Ilsa led the way through the labyrinth of corridors to a section of the mansion that was never used. As they walked, Ilsa reflected on the thought that most people would have said it was wasteful not to use this part of the mansion. And really, in a way, she knew they were right. The rooms and corridors here were made of stone and were by far the most elaborate and the most beautiful. The reason that no one but myself comes here is because this section of the mansion belongs solely to Grigory, Ilsa thought. She grinned wickedly, remembering the horrible but well deserved fates that had befallen various snooping servants that just had to know why these rooms were never used.
And actually, I wouldn't be here now if Kroenen hadn't talked to me last night. I'd be using a sledgehammer to take out my frustrations on a prisoner or servant.
Ilsa frowned, the entire thing had been very unusual, Kroenen rarely asked others for help. But he had asked for help, and at the end of their conversation both of them went to Grigory and explained the situation—everything from Erica refusing to show Kroenen her vision, to the things that Kroenen had seen in her mind. Grigory had been very concerned and he had told Ilsa to bring Erica to him as soon as she was awake in the morning.
Ilsa turned her attention back to the hallway she was in. She stopped in front of a door and then opened it and went inside, Erica following behind her.
Erica, for her part, was feeling extremely nervous and on edge. Before she had decided to betray the Occult, speaking to Grigory had just required that she be somewhat respectful. But now she knew that she would have to be careful as well as respectful, because one misstep could spell a fate worse than death.
SLAM!
Erica jumped a little as the door slammed shut behind her. She tried not to shiver, but the sound reminded her of a hunter's trap closing on an animal's leg. She turned her attention back to the room, gazing around warily.
The room was fairly large and the walls, ceiling, and floor were decorated in nothing but black and white marble. The room was very dark because it had no windows, and the only light came from a huge roaring fire burning in an even bigger fireplace that was located on the left wall. The light from the fire was very odd, it danced and flickered and threw a dark, hellish light over the room. The room was almost completely devoid of furniture, except for an enormous table in front of her that was covered in spell books, inkwells, mirrors, and other objects pertaining to black magic. But it wasn't this table that held Erica's attention, it was the figure standing in front of it.
It was Grigory Rasputin. He was dressed in a long black robe embroidered in red. Shadows played over his face, making his dark eyes look wild. Erica and Ilsa approached him, and as they walked their boots tapped sharply on the stone floor. The sound echoed off the stone walls, breaking the silence of the room. Out of the corner of her eye Erica saw a shadow move, and then she realized that it was Kroenen who had been standing in the shadows beside the fireplace. He strode over and joined them, and the three of them stopped a short distance from Grigory, who continued to watch them silently, a small smile on his lips. Kroenen and Erica bowed their heads respectfully, but Ilsa walked to Grigory and stood beside him, an expression of fondness on her face. Grigory smiled warmly at her and then turned his attention back to Kroenen and Erica.
"Acire," Grigory smiled, "It's been a long time since we last spoke."
"Yes, it has," she answered, inwardly flinching at his use of her true name. She carefully kept her face neutral to disguise the fear she felt inside.
Grigory turned away from her and spoke over his shoulder as he shuffled through some books on the table.
"Kroenen and Ilsa tell me that you've been acting strangely," he spoke softly, but his Russian accented voice carried through the entire room, "They say it's because of a vision you've had. And that you've refused to show it to Kroenen."
Erica let this information sink in. She knew that she was walking on extremely thin ice. Grigory's either toying with me, or he has no idea that I've betrayed the Occult, she thought. As if he had heard her thoughts, Grigory turned to face her, his dark, wild eyes fixed on her.
"Is this true?" Grigory asked.
"Well…" she trailed off, unsure of what to say. She knew that if she lied to him that he would know it, but she also knew that she couldn't tell him the truth or show him the vision that the silver necklace had caused. If she did, she could be sure of suffering a fate far worse than death: the complete destruction of her soul.
"Yes?" Grigory asked, "Go on."
But she remained silent. Her mind was blank, she had no idea what she should do. And it didn't help that Grigory's gaze seemed to see right through her, seemed to be searching her mind and laughing at her helplessness. But after a few moments of silence Grigory looked away from her and turned to Kroenen.
"Tell her what you saw." Grigory ordered.
At his words Erica's eyes shot to Kroenen, who shifted ever so slightly as if he felt uncomfortable. But he spoke.
"Erica, the second time I tried to get into your mind, before you forced me out—and rightfully so, I had no business intruding on your thoughts without asking first—but before you forced me from your mind, I saw things…" Kroenen trailed off.
"You saw things when you were in my mind?" Erica repeated. She kept her face neutral, but inside she felt nothing but dread. How much did he see? She thought anxiously, How much? Does he know about what I've done? If he does, did he tell Grigory and Ilsa?
"Yes, I saw things. But nothing made any sense," Kroenen answered. He looked straight at her, "Except that I knew you were afraid."
"And you fear coupled with your refusal to show your vision to Kroenen has led me to a single conclusion: that you've had a very disturbing vision," said Grigory, "And, based on these books," he gestured to the table behind him, "you must have had one about the events to happen on October ninth. It's impossible that you couldn't have, it's too big an event to remain ignorant of. And I also have an idea about why that vision might be disturbing you, but that will have to wait until after you show it to us."
Erica was very relieved that he didn't seem to know what she'd done. And it's a good thing I tried to see what would happen on October ninth last night, she thought, otherwise I wouldn't have anything to show them. And in a way, that vision is disturbing me, just not nearly as much as the one I had because of my silver necklace. They might just fall for this.
"Alright." Erica answered, holding out her hands, one to Ilsa and the other to Kroenen. Grigory stayed where he was since he didn't need to be touching Erica to see her visions. Erica paused for a moment to calm herself, and then she closed her eyes and concentrated—
—A storm was raging overhead. Rain came lashing down, driven by the wind. Trees swayed and black flags fluttered in the wind above an army of Nazi soldiers who were busily setting up spotlights and—the night exploded! Fire and waves of heat that vaporized the falling rain— Ilsa standing beneath an umbrella, calmly talking to Grigory—a leather book with raindrops running down the cover— It's too much! Erica thought. Her head pounded painfully from being exposed to the dizzying whirlwind of images. It doesn't make any sense! —Kroenen slaughtering a group of Allied soldiers—ships at sea stuck in the storm, waves crashing down on their decks— the Allied Forces locked in combat with the Nazis—Von Krupt standing on rain slicked stairs—a man crawling on all fours, his knee bleeding profusely from a gunshot wound—the ring of the portal generator spinning—a red rose trampled into the mud— the Ogdru Jahad coming through the portal—there was a tremendous explosion followed by people screaming—
Erica wrenched her eyes open and discovered that she was lying on the floor. To her surprise, the screaming from her vision continued, and she suddenly realized that she was the one that was screaming. She hastily shut her mouth and clutched at her pounding head, her fingers brushing against a small bump where her head had hit the stone floor. She felt extremely nauseous, and she wasn't sure that she could stop herself from throwing up. She glanced up and saw Kroenen and Ilsa standing over her. Ilsa looked very concerned, and Erica could tell from the way Kroenen was standing that he was very alarmed about what had happened. Grigory on the other hand, looked mildly interested in what had happened, as if he had known what the outcome would be and was pleased to see that he had been right.
Kroenen and Ilsa helped Erica up, but even with their help she stumbled. Once she was standing again she felt extremely dizzy, as if she would fall over at any moment. Grigory continued to look faintly pleased.
"Just as I thought," said Grigory, his voice very calm, "I knew you wouldn't be able to do it."
Erica looked at him sharply and she felt Kroenen stiffen slightly beside her.
"What?" Erica asked.
"You can't see the outcome of October ninth because releasing the Ogdru Jahad is such an enormous event of change. There are too many possibilities for any one thing to be definite," Grigory explained, "This is why you have been so upset, yes? Because you can't see what will happen? Because there seems to be a chance that we won't succeed?"
"Yes, that's why." Erica said, readily seizing upon this reason. But she was careful not to look Grigory in the eyes. She knew that if she did that he would know she was lying.
"I thought so." Grigory said, looking even more pleased, "You may go now, Acire."
She nodded respectfully and then exited the room. Thank God I got out of there safely! she thought.
Once the door had closed behind Erica, Ilsa spoke to Grigory.
"No wonder Erica has been acting so strange," Ilsa said, "She must have thought something was wrong with her, and on top of that she was upset because she discovered there was the possibility that our plans could go wrong," she turned to Grigory and looked up at him, and expression of complete devotion on her face, "But we won't let that happen, will we? Tell me that we will succeed!"
Grigory actually smiled at her, but his smile slowly faded away. He wasn't used to failure, and he didn't expect that their plan would fail. However, he thought, if there's a chance—if something goes wrong—
"Don't be concerned, Ilsa. But I will take precautions so that you can find me again, should something happen. Now go, both of you. Each of us must finish preparing."
Kroenen nodded and left, Ilsa close behind him.
"Satisfied?" she asked.
"More or less." Kroenen answered. Then he turned down a corridor, leaving Ilsa behind, staring after him.
Kroenen wasn't sure what to think anymore. Erica's explanation was reasonable, but there's still something not quite right about her, he thought, I don't know how Grigory can sound so sure when I can look at her and know something is different. Perhaps it's because I've been her teacher and friend for six years and Grigory has hardly ever talked to her for more than an hour at a time.
Kroenen hadn't meant for his thoughts to be so bitter but he couldn't help it. In a way, he was angry that Grigory had forced Erica to show them her vision, knowing full well that she wouldn't be able to do it. And on top of it she had clearly been suffering. Why else would she have been screaming?
I just don't understand, he thought.
Understanding was a thing he prided himself on. He was, after all, a scientist and a doctor in a twisted way. So when something came along that he couldn't understand it plagued his thoughts until he finally took it upon himself to figure it out no matter how long it might take. In Erica's case what he didn't understand were the thoughts and images he had seen in her mind. Her fear and dread had been too extreme for it all to be focused on the possibility of failure. And he wasn't so sure that her fear was connected to her vision of October ninth. No, it seemed to be more focused on the actual date than on anything else.
Why is she afraid? Why are her thoughts laced with images of blood and of time running out? Why did she burn parchment paper in the fireplace? Why did she use magic and then lie about it? he wondered, Well, then again, even I have been a little deceiving. I didn't tell Grigory that she used magic and then lied about it.
Why would she lie about it? asked a voice in the back of his head, Why would she lie? She wouldn't—unless she was doing something wrong.
Kroenen pushed the disconcerting voice to the back of his mind. It had been popping up more than ever and he didn't like what it had to tell him.
However, no matter how negative the little voice could be, its words were nowhere near as sinister as the truth. For in all of Kroenen's wonderings, it never once occurred to him that Erica would even consider betraying them.
XXXXX
The morning of October 7, 1944
The Office of Professor Trevor Broom, Paranormal Advisor
Professor Broom's study was a cheerful, untidy jumble of strange objects, piles of books, and bizarre artifacts. Clippings of newspaper articles were pinned to the walls or peeked out of desk drawers stuffed full to overflowing with amulets, animal skulls, and candles. Bookshelves covered almost all of the walls, and all of the shelves were packed with books or scrolls. Professor Broom himself was so unusual a person that he seemed to be part of the room. But it wasn't his appearance that was so unusual. Really, he wasn't all that remarkable looking, he was a polite young man of twenty eight with untidy brown hair. No, it wasn't his appearance that was so unusual, it was what he did. Professor Broom studied and researched everything having to do with the paranormal or occult sciences for the purpose of defending the public from supernatural threats. He was also a paranormal advisor to the President of the United States.
Professor Broom was sitting as his desk, a half full cup of tea sitting to the right of the book that he was reading. As he read, his glasses slid down his nose, and with a practiced gesture he pushed them back into place. He looked up for a moment, smiling contentedly as he absentmindedly fingered the rosary hanging from his wrist. The room was quiet except for the soft sound of opera music playing in the background. Professor Broom smiled at the silence.
It looks like it's going to be a nice, peaceful day of perusing ancient texts and examining unusual artifacts—
SLAM!
His thoughts were interrupted as the door flew open and a young man came rushing in. "Professor Broom!" he shouted, bounding over to the desk, "You've got another assignment!"
So much for perusing ancient texts, Professor Broom thought, sighing, It looks like it's going to be another hectic day.
"Yes, Peter?" Broom asked, turning to look at the young man's brown eyes and short, dirty blond hair.
"Here, this is for you," Peter Murrell said, handing an envelope to him, "The President just got it this morning with the urgent mail from one of the Allied military bases in Europe. It definitely belongs in this department, the President said it mentioned all sorts of paranormal things. Of course, he also said it would have a lot to do with the military divisions, providing that the information is authentic."
Professor Broom looked down at the plain, unmarked envelope, slowly turning it over so he could examine the red wax seal. The seal was plain and had no markings, and it had already been broken, presumably when the president had opened the letter. Professor Broom carefully reached inside the envelope and took out the parchment letter. He unfolded it just as carefully and then gazed at the words that had been handwritten in red ink.
"What does it say?" asked Murrell, looking curious.
In answer, Professor Broom began reading the letter aloud.
"To the President of the United States: The Nazis are desperate. They have combined science and black magic with the intention of upsetting the balance of the war. In the process they have joined forces with the Thule Occult Society and together they have worked on Project Ragnarok. I risk much more than my life by sending this, and I can only pray that this reaches you in time to prevent a hellish cataclysm beyond your worst nightmares: the release of the Ogdru Jahad, the Seven Gods of Chaos. This event will take place on a small island off the coast of Scotland, where the ruins of Trondham Abbey lie over and intersection of Ley Lines, and on October 9, 1944 an assortment of Nazi soldiers and Thule Occult Society officials will be present. I have little hope of stopping them on my own, but I will do everything in my power to prevent their success. You must act before it's too late. The failure of this project will be a fatal blow to the Nazis and the Thule Society. Sincerely, A Friend."
As Professor Broom read, his expression progressed from curious to stern, to grim. Murrell noticed Broom's expression.
"I take it this isn't good." said Murrell.
"It's talking about the destruction of the world." said Professor Broom, the enormity of the situation dawning on him.
"Ah, yes, well, that would be a bad thing." Murrell said, unaware that he had just made the understatement of the century.
But Professor Broom didn't hear him, he had stood up and hurried over to one of the many books shelves around the room and started to search for books. Murrell followed him.
"I don't suppose there's any chance of it being a false alarm, is there?" Murrell asked, "I mean, the person that wrote that has to be mad!"
Broom turned and fixed the young man with a stern look.
"The person who wrote that letter was not mad," Broom insisted. He detested it when people made remarks like that about things in his area of study, "All these details—the specifics—I know what they're talking about. As for whether or not it's a false alarm, I just hope that it is."
"Then you know about this?" Murrell asked incredulously.
"I've heard of it." Broom admitted, sounding distracted because he was almost totally absorbed in finding the books that he wanted. He pulled out any books that sounded like they might hold information pertaining to the letter. When he was finished, he walked over to a table and plopped down the large pile of books that he was carrying.
"What's all this?" Murrell asked looking at the towering pile of books.
"A little light reading." said Professor Broom.
"Light reading? You call this light reading?" Murrell exclaimed, "You're—you're mad!"
"Yes, that is the general opinion I run into." Broom said as he picked up the letter. He read over it again, making sure that he had picked out books that would cover all the topics mentioned in the letter. That was when he noticed something.
"Strange." murmured Professor Broom, staring at a few of the handwritten lines.
"What?"
"Only someone involved with both the Nazis and the Thule Occult Society could have sent this—only they would have known about this in such detail. This isn't the first time I've heard rumors that the Nazis and Thule Society were up to something, but this letter is the first hard evidence that there really is a connection between the two," Broom said, gesturing at the letter, "In fact there's information in here that has answered a lot of questions—everything fits perfectly as if it were puzzle pieces!"
"What makes you think someone involved with the Nazis wrote it? It could have been written by a spy working for the Allied Forces."
"It couldn't have been," said Professor Broom dismissively, "Spies haven't been sent to Germany for weeks because they've all been killed by The Three within hours of arriving." The Three was the term the Allied soldiers used when they were talking about Karl Kroenen, Erica Schwarz, and Ilsa Haupstien.
"Damn those three," Murrell cursed, "But is there anyone involved with both the Nazis and the Thule Society that would decide to turn traitor? And if there is, are they telling the truth? I mean, how do we know this isn't a trap?"
"We don't know that it isn't a trap. In fact, it could be a trap. I won't know until I do research. As for if there are people who are members of both, the answer is yes. I just have to figure out which of them wrote the letter."
As Professor Broom spoke he went over to another bookshelf where he quickly selected a book and brought it back to the table. He plopped it down in the only space not occupied by his pile of books and then swiftly leafed through the book's pages. He stopped when he reached pages covered in neat charts. Small black and white photographs were lined up on the far left of each page, and to the right of each picture were a few sentences.
"What's that?"
"A list of people involved with both the Thule Society and the Nazis." answered Professor Broom, pointing at the bold heading on the page. Murrell's questions were beginning to annoy him. "As you can see, there are quite a few. Now, if you don't mind, please return to your duties so that I can concentrate."
Peter Murrell looked a little disappointed, but he left. As soon as the door closed Professor Broom glanced at the top of the list where there was a picture of the Head of the Thule Occult Society, Karl Ruprecht Kroenen. Doubtless he's involved in this, thought Professor Broom, gazing at the man wearing the strange mask, but he wouldn't give away his own plans.
Beneath Kroenen's picture was that of a beautiful Arian woman. The words under the photograph read Ilsa Haupstien. No, he thought, it's not her either, she's a strong Nazi supporter. Then his eyes fell on the picture of a young woman with striking eyes. She looked to be about twenty two years old, and to Broom's surprise, she wasn't Aryan. Beneath the photograph was the inscription Erica Schwarz, and below that, written in parentheses, were the words 'The Angel of Death'. There was very little background information on her, but the text provided a lot of information on her current activities:
'Erica Schwarz appeared suddenly in 1938 and rapidly rose to power despite several assassination attempts. She is one of the top members of the Thule Occult Society and is also a close friend of Karl Kroenen. This, along with her violent and bloody tendencies, is what earned her the nickname 'The Angel of Death'. She can foresee future events and can control her visions to search out information. Her most notable crimes include countless brutal murders ( including those of multiple Allied spies), practicing black magic, and assisting the Nazis in locating—and subsequently slaughtering— Allied troops.'
"Not someone I would want to meet on a dark night." Professor Broom muttered, "Doubtless she's involved in this, but she would never betray the Occult."
And so he continued through the list. In the end he was unable to find anyone likely to become a traitor other than lower ranking members, and none of those would have been privy to such classified information as that contained in the letter. And if any of the lower members had been spying, he thought, the Angel of Death would have killed them before they had a chance to write the letter. I wonder who wrote it?
Professor Broom stared at the ambiguous signature 'A Friend' as if it might provide the answer for him. As he did so, one of the sentences caught his attention: 'I risk much more than my life by sending this', he thought, Hmm, that seems to suggest that the letter was written by a person who has a high rank in the Thule Occult Society. Professor Broom knew that if a high ranking member betrayed the Occult that the consequences were terrible. Not only would the traitor be ritually sacrificed, but their soul would be destroyed as well. Hence that the writer had been risking more than their life, he thought, But I still can't figure out which high ranking member it is. All of them seem too involved to even consider it.
Eventually he gave up on trying to identify the person who wrote the letter and instead started checking and cross referencing the information contained in the letter. When he was sure that everything was correct and that the letter was a genuine warning and not a trap, he quickly wrote up a report, urging the President to take immediate action to prevent the Ogdru Jahad from destroying the world. When he was finished he sent for Peter Murrell, who took the report up to the President's office.
As Professor Broom had expected, he was summoned to the President's office thirty minutes after sending the report.
"Professor Broom, I want you to know that based on your report I have ordered troops to prepare to leave as soon as possible," said the President, "This entire mission is classified and to remain top secret to prevent the public from panicking."
Or laughing at us, thought Professor Broom, knowing that the public would never believe it. "Very good, sir. I'm glad you've realized the direness of the situation. As for the troops, we'll have to find someone to drill them in how to respond to the, um, unusual situations they're likely to run into—"
"No we won't," interrupted the President, "I'm sending you with them."
"What? But I don't want to go to Scotland!" exclaimed Professor Broom, "I detest violence! I'm not a soldier!"
"Exactly!" said the President, "That's why I'm sending you. Soldiers only know how to defend themselves and how to fight. But what they don't know is how to combat black magic. So if I were you, I would start packing. The troops are leaving this evening."
Author's Notes: Whew! I think that's the longest chapter I've ever written! Brrr, sword sharpening is creepy! I hope everyone understood the images Kroenen got out of Erica's mind, all of the images were things you should recognize. I also put some humor in here to lighten things up a little, and I hope Professor Broom isn't out of character. On another note, there are only two chapters left! Chapter seventeen is the long awaited night of October 9th, fraught with action and stuffed with peril! Or is it the other way? Anywhoo, feel free to send me any ideas you have for my sequel, I'm aiming for my plot to generally follow the movie, and I'd just like to know what you'd like to happen. Please, please, please review!