The old warehouse was hidden behind some trees a few steps away from the main road. During the day, the ramshackle building with its weight benches, stretching bars and climbing ropes served as a training room to the inmates of the camp. The devices were old, worn and showed clear signs of decay and rust. In the dwindling light of the approaching night, they resembled medieval torture instruments casting forbidding shadows onto the worn cement floor. The real threat, however, lurked in a brightly lit area in the back of the hall. A boxing ring had been installed here, more recently than the other equipment. A fighter had already taken his place in one corner, waiting for his opponent.
Brad circled and stretched his arms to keep his muscles warm and supple. His bare upper body showed defined, although not really voluminous muscles developed by steady training. His hands were wrapped in white bandages. A little impatient, he let his eyes wander to the front door. Vertigo was taking his time this evening. Normally, this was nothing out of the ordinary, but he had seen the greed in the man's eyes. It was not like him to delay the beginning of the upcoming spectacle that long.
Other inmates had already gathered n the semi-darkness around the ring, a peculiar tension circulating among them. It increased the longer the start of the fight was delayed. It reminded Brad of a quote he had recently read. There are things we never tire of looking at: fire, water and the suffering of others. The crowd around the boxing ring was literally craving for blood as long as it was not their own. And Brad was a guarantee for blood. He knew how to use his gift during the fight, anticipating the movements of his opponent. Very few could oppose that. He also had no qualms about ruthlessly exploiting that advantage.
At that moment, the door opened and a massive shadow stood out against the moonlit night. At his side a smaller outline, which was now led to the ring like a lamb to the slaughter. Vertigo and the red-haired telepath appeared in the ring of light.
"Ah, you've already prepared everything." Vertigo beamed at Brad. "Very nice, let's start."
He turned to the smaller boy. " You have one chance. Win the fight and you'll get to save your bacon. "
Brad suppressed a snort. This sentence was a single farce. The runt wouldn't have a dog's chance against him. As usual, Vertigo had chosen a small, rather slim boy. It matched his preferences. The redhead had not been trained yet, so he could not use his skills against Brad. He was just here to supply Vertigo with a new toy. After the fight Vertigo would take the boy into his special "care" and then he would disappear forever. Like the others before him. Brad did not think about it as long as it kept his mentor happy and secured his own position.
The fight started and Brad went straight to the attack. Vertigo liked it, when he did not hesitate too long, and the other spectators also greeted this quick opening with loud, cheering calls and applause. To Brad's astonishment, however, the younger boy evaded him with just too playful ease and just laughed at him. He did not look terrified at all and let out a vile tirade of swear words. Brad did not understand most of them, but Vertigo seemed to enjoy them. Brad raised an eyebrow questioningly.
"Oh," Vertigo snorted, "he called you a slowpoke, a sissy and something I'd rather not translate." The instructor grinned. "I would like to have him back in one piece."
Brad turned back to the smirking boy and growled, "We'll see, you little devil."
Then he lunged at the other boy and let his fists do the talking. Brad hit the boy hard two or three times until the redhead was able to escape from the corner and sought shelter on the other side of the ring. Uncertainty flickering in his eyes and the realization that he had obviously underestimated his opponent. Brad rumbled an unmistakable threat, then moved slowly toward the boy. He knew he was not to hurt him too much, but this was personal now. He had dared to obviate Brad's control over the course of the fight, and that was something Brad would not tolerate.
The boy's eyes widened as Brad came closer, almost leisurely. There nearly was a glimmer of panic to it. That was when the headache started.
Brad felt a creeping, but unceasing, mental power in his head. It could not be Vertigo, because Brad knew his power and its effect. This was not the normal dizziness he had felt far too often. It was more like a kind of mental needle that continued to pierce his brain, causing a hellish pain.
Uncertain, Brad stopped and moved his hand towards his head. He looked at the redhead and saw the concentration painted in his face. Brad clenched his teeth to bite back his arising anger. He had not assumed that this would be a showdown of a special kind.
'All right' Brad thought and sneered. 'If you want it that way, we can take the fight to this level as well.
He strengthened his defense and felt the headache slowly subside. But suddenly it returned with such force that Brad groaned involuntarily. The needle had turned into a glowing knife that pierced his thoughts and made his shields waver. Dimly he realized that someone else entered the ring, while the red-haired boy reinforced the attack. A sense of fear began to rise in Brad. What if he completely lost control? When the shields fell and he was exposed to the madness lurking behind.
A voice at his ear brought him back to reality.
"Come on, Brad, you can do it," Vertigo whispered hoarsely and Brad vaguely took in the warm, sour breath that brushed against his ear. "Remember what I taught you? His mind is completely defenseless now. Do you think he would be able to fend you off? Go on, grab him!"
Brad did not think long and dropped his shields. At the same time, he withdrew his perception as far as possible into himself, so that the stream of images and information shot unfiltered through the connection the other boy had created.
Brad heard a strangled cry and forced his eyes open. What he saw was both interesting and cruel. The other boy's eyes were wide open, his body twitching uncontrollably. Obviously, just as Vertigo had foreseen, he was unable to shield himself from the stream of information he got from Brad's precognition. A thin trickle of blood was running down his nose while his mind was flooded.
"Enough," Vertigo ordered after a while. "Let him go."
Obediently, though with some effort, Brad brought his mental shields up again. The other boy swayed for a moment, then his eyes rolled inwards and he collapsed on the floor. Vertigo came up to him, felt his pulse, and nodded.
"The show is over," he announced to the rest of the audience, who apparently had grown a lot more people during the fight, as Brad gradually became aware of more and more pairs of eyes staring up at them from the semi-darkness around the boxing ring. Vertigo glared at them.
"Anyone who is still here in two minutes will have to report to me directly."
This threat worked wonders, and within moments, only the instructor, Brad and the unconscious boy were left. Vertigo stooped and carefully picked up the limp body. In the big man's arms, the redhead looked like a broken doll, his head swinging from right to left.
Vertigo turned to Brad.
"That was good, Bradley," he praised, looking down at his prey with a malicious grin. Brad did not answer. His gaze was still focused on his unconscious opponent. For some reason, he had retained a bitter aftertaste of this fight. His mentor adjusted his grip on the limp body and tried to pass Brad. Before he knew, what he was doing, Brad reached out and held him back. Vertigo's eyebrows contracted into an angry wrinkle.
"What is it?" He hissed angrily, glaring at Brad.
Inwardly, Brad wondered what that obvious stupidity would cost him, but it was too late now. If he would back down now, his days would be numbered anyway. He had taken the first step to contradict and now he could not go back.
"I don't want it", he simply said and pointed at to the other boy. "He did not loose."
Vertigo's eyes narrowed. "But he did not win either, or do you disagree with me, Bradley?"
The threat in these words was almost physically palpable, but Vertigo stuck to words. Brad did not notice the influence of the instructor's ability that would have brought him to his knees within seconds. So he tried to stay calm and added: "I said, I don't want it. Not today and not him."
The giant man tightened his grip on the redhead for a moment, then the tension in his face gave way to a broad grin.
"Oh, I see. That's the way it goes."
He laughed loudly now and Brad seriously wondered what in the world could be funny now.
Vertigo suddenly became serious again, approaching Brad so that the boy's body trapped between them.
"Here," he hissed with a sneaky look on his face that revealed his predatory teeth. "Take him!"
All of a sudden, he shoved the boy into Brad's arms. Brad staggered backward with the sudden load before he could regain his balance. Astonished, he looked at Vertigo, who gave his grin a lewd undertone.
"If you can tame him," he announced generously, "you can keep him. Take it as a kind of reward, Crawford."
With that he turned to and disappeared in the darkness below the ring with a huge leap. Shortly after that, the door clicked and Brad was alone with the other boy. Sullen, he looked down at him. That was not how he had imagined it. The blood on the boy's nose was already drying. Brad adjusted the weight in his arms and made his way back to the sleeping quarters as quickly as possible. If he was not back in time before curfew, he would be in big trouble and he was not sure if Vertigo would stand up for him this time.
'Crawford', he thought suddenly. That meant that he was now playing in a different league. This development was not necessarily unwelcome, but he did not like the reason. It was not advisable to have Vertigo against him. He had not planned it that way.
He hesitated at the entrance to his barracks. The words of his mentors echoed through his mind.
'If you can tame him, you can keep him.'
It was beyond doubt what that meant and Brad grimaced.
"Pervert son of a bitch!" he growled, climbing up the steps to the dorm. The bed next to him was empty, so he let the redhead fall on it, covered him fairly and wanted to turn away, when the boy opened his eyes.
"Wo?" he croaked, his eyes widenening when he saw Brad.
Brad made a soothing gesture. "Don't worry. I will not hurt you."
The redhead frowned and sat up. New blood shot from his nostrils and dripped onto the blanket. He cursed and tried in vain to stop the bloodstream with his hand.
Without a word Brad handed him a handkerchief.
"Danke," the German mumbled . He tore the cloth in two and stuffed it into his bleeding nose.
"What's your name?" Brad asked, but the boy just shrugged. He sank down onto the pillow and stared at the ceiling. He mumbled something Brad did not understand. Disgust stood on his face and Vertigo's name fell. It's quite possible that the guy had seen what Vertigo was up to. After all, he was a telepath.
The boy turned his head and their eyes met. He said something, but Brad only shook his head as a sign that he had not understood. The other grimaced. Then he sat up straight and tried to look as serious and dignified as possible. The effect was only marginally reduced by the pieces of the handkerchief in his nose.
"Because of Vertigo I am...schuldig to you."
Schuldig. Guilty. Brad snorted contemptuously. The boy was guilty of a lot of things. Guilty that Brad had lost his secured position. Guilty that the others had seen that he was vulnerable. Guilty that everything he had built up in the last three years was in ruins. The boy was indeed one big Schuldig for him.
He took off his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose. It was definitely too late for such considerations.
"We'll postpone the whole thing to tomorrow. You look like you need sleep. And I'll have to face Vertigo tomorrow. That won't be a walk in the park. "
Brad did not know how he managed to get the other boy to understand him this time. The fact was, however, that the red-haired German curled up on his bed and fell asleep within a few moments. Brad switched off the lights, put his glasses aside and laid on his bed as well. He studied the patterns the moon painted on the floor of the barrack through the window.
"Schuldig," he grunted again. "I should call you that as a reminder not to burden me with personal relationships. Only fools get involved in something like that. I must have been crazy to tie you round my neck. "
He glanced at the shock of red hair on the other bed, which seemed to glow from within even in the pale light of the night. Yes, definitely crazy. He did not have to be a clairvoyant to guess that guy would get him into deep trouble on more than one occasion. Nevertheless, Brad felt strangely responsible for him.
"We'll see what the future holds," he mumbled and finally closed his eyes.
For all non-german speakers I'd like to add some information to fully understand the end of the story. I liked the idea, that Schuldig got his name by accident. "Ich bin dir etwas schuldig" would correctly be translated as "I owe you something." Of course the other meaning fits him perfectly, but I wanted those two to have a special story behind it.
I hope you enjoyed reading my story. It was my first translation and I am not fully satisfied with the outcome. To write in English or to translate a German story into the language are two different pair of shoes. I really like the first one better. ^_~
Maybe it was also due to the fact that the style of "Kinder des Kreuzes" was slightly different to my other writing. More...serious, I think. I normally tend to mix a good portion of humor into my works, but this would not have been appropriate here. And I think, English is a little more playful than German, which made the translation kind of edgy. I hope I somehow managed to get the overtone right after all. Any comments or criticism will be appreciated.