Author's note: This work uses the above concept art in Karl's backstory even though it may not be accurate to the game.
Karl originally had a twin, and one of the game antagonists was going to be his father, depicted as a stern and unyielding man.
For unknown reasons, his mother was a subject of experimentation (presumably by his scientist father.) These themes were too dark for the final game.
I've taken back the concepts and added a lot of original stuff as well. Hope you like.
The brothers stood in the damp and humid steam-filled shower room. It was a makeshift Reanimationskammer. It was one of many. Both young boys knew what was to come, but they stood uneasily by the machines anyway. The squeaking wheels approached from the hallway and they shared a look at each other. Karl would later remember it as a half sardonic, half sorrowful exchange. They did not dare speak ill of the experiment.
In wheeled the contraption the corpse was attached to, the corpse itself, and their father. August Heisenberg's sheer frame and size made the twins look even smaller by comparison. He did not speak as he entered, a grim look of determination on his face-or what the boys could see of it, as he was masked, like a surgeon. "More steam," he grunted at Jochen. The child complied, hopping from his station back to the hot showers and steam compressor in the room. High humidity meant less possibility of a static discharge; this was one of the many tenants they lived by.
The corpse was upright, on pulleys. Karl looked sadly at it, wishing yet again it could be laid on a gurney at least. The upright posture seemed an extra burden on the weak, fleshy limbs. He'd never bothered to ask his father why she was turned that way. He supposed he was not yet smart enough to know. After all, he and his twin were only seven years old.
The thin surgical curtain covering her from view was pulled back and though they all wore cloth masks, Karl fought to hide the expression that overcame him. She looked worse. The exposed brain matter had turned dark, her eyes now leaning forward out of their sockets. A fly landed on one eyeball, and August sprayed the entire head with sanitizer, removing the fly.
Wouldn't it hurt to be sprayed in the eyes with isopropyl alcohol? He cringed. But the puppet on its cables did not react, not even a neural twitch. Karl's eyes were fixated on her as his father barked his next steps in German. The pair of boys stood at the electrical terminals, ready to feed his attempt at reviving his wife.
Their mother.
Wires and tubes were connected, others disconnected, a voltmeter held up by Jochen at the generator as well as the leads...it was all routine by now. A mad obsession with bringing her back. But she was already gone.
Or was it...? As August worked behind the curtain, leaving the rotted corpse on full display of the sons, something happened. "Mama-?" Karl squeaked hopefully, seeing movement. A twitch. But then another twitch.
August moved to the side, away from the spinal cord where he had been working, to watch the jerky, frog-like movements that increased in frequency. He gave the hand signal to Jochen...Turn It Off.
The power supply was cut, but the corpse continued to jerk, twisting almost like a puppet at first, but then a strange hissing noise-was she screaming? Both brothers emitted a distressed "Mama!" as the pitiful thing on the rod protested, then fell motionless again.
"Stop that whining," their father scolded in German. "SHUT UP." Jochen was sobbing now. Karl moved to hold his hand, but August interrupted, "BACK to your station!"
It was finally over...for today. The boys were eating dinner without their father again. He had shooed them away while he worked by himself. This time he surprised them both by walking into the dining room of the living quarters before they had finished their simple meal.
Karl had found his will to make requests again. "Can we skip less-"
"Finish your food, then more lessons," August interrupted angrily, storming past the dining room and heading toward his study. Both children looked with contempt at each other, another silent expression they didn't share aloud. Dinner, and then EVEN MORE lessons. Karl at least had piano to look forward to.
He nonetheless had to brace himself for the crabbiest of all piano teachers in the world. There was not much more to look forward to, he thought as he slid off the bench.
Not anymore.
Chapter 2: Miranda's Visit
Karl and Jochen were dressed in their (former) Sunday best, and both were very uncomfortable in the traditional Bavarian clothes. Their father had probably tried to clean up, but he was so scruffy it didn't amount to much, Karl decided while they were eating dinner. Still, the woolen suit looked nice on him, and his hair had maybe been combed. The twins looked for scraps of information before and during dinner, antagonizing the maid, cook, and tutors.
"Mother Miranda is simply stopping by, she does this with any newcomer family to our area."
"But why?"
"We're not newcomers," Jochen pointed out, "This is our family's land."
"Yes, but your family hasn't lived here in a long time, not since the beginning of the Great War, when all the men had to leave the coal mines and go fight."
"But who IS Miranda," Karl pressed. "Is she a priest? A bishop or something?"
"You know this village doesn't follow that Church," the tutor, a young Romanian woman hired by their father the moment they stepped off the train, was used to the pressing questions. "I think you'd be surprised how many places away from the cities don't care about Christianity."
"Well we don't care either."
"Yeah but is she bringing us anything?"
"Will both of you go wash your faces or do something else than badger?" The cook was prone to brandishing a soup spoon, which effectively got the two of them out of the way.
—-
Their father was far more blunt. In his thick accent he grumbled, "Keep yourselves quiet after dinner. Don't interrupt. It's nothing interesting to children anyway. I won't hear a word from either of you."
Well, that settled that. So the boys ended up in the far corners of the sitting area, playing with their small tin figurines, uncomfortable in their stiff winter clothing. The Victrola that Karl tinkered with was now fully broken so it was a makeshift fortress, its hinged lid serving as a great cover for them to peek around and spy on their father without arousing his anger.
They heard the knock at the door, the servants all rushing to welcome in this special guest. The boys barely feigned interest in the tin figures as the wind blew a strong gust of snow and biting cold into the well-insulated home. Their father gave an angry, pointed look, and both dropped their toys to stand awkwardly in front of the recently-polished broken Victrola. The servants spoke fluent Romanian, a language neither child understood well yet, so it was all babbling as the women walked in together.
August Heisenberg stood, looking even more bored than he had at the potatoes during dinner.
"Domnul Heisenberg," came a singsong, new voice. When the maid stepped away she was in clearer view; her clothes were traditional but seemed different than the others. Maybe more expensive, Karl decided as he fidgeted, rooted to the spot by his father's earlier glare. "How wonderful to finally meet you."
More Romanian, and she even spoke some German—it was all small talk, and the children were both fidgeting by the time Miranda turned to them, her eyes sparkling. Their father introduced them. Miranda gave each a sharp handshake, a strange thing for a woman to do, and they each squeaked out a painful hello in Romanian, neither able to make eye contact with their tutors.
Her hand was icy cold. Karl remembered the snow, and then asked without thinking, "Where is your coat?"
"My what?" She looked like she wanted to laugh at his inquisitiveness.
"It's winter outside," Jochen agreed, ever echoing his older sibling. "It's snowing. And you only have a fur vest."
"Boys," came the growled warning in German, and both backed away slightly. Miranda seemed slightly embarrassed by the question, but chose not to answer, turning back toward their father as though the boys were part of the room's decor.
"And—-" Miranda turned expectantly, but August's expression never wavered. "My wife is still ill from her injury. The journey has not helped."
"Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that. I have a medical background, if you ever want a—-"
"That will not be necessary."
—
She stayed long past the tea and snacks that were painstakingly prepared for her. Even Jochen gave up and actually went to his room, unable to bear the adult small talk any longer. But Karl was more inquisitive, and as he slunk toward the stairs to eavesdrop, his father called to him.
"Play music for our guest." Inwardly, Karl was sighing, or screaming. He hated playing music for other people, but especially when his father was listening. His family history of music appreciation had ended with him, but that did not stop anyone from demanding he play and do it for their benefit. He wished he'd gone to bed as well, but reluctantly walked over to the upright pump organ and turned, sliding on the bench, to face Miranda again.
She was staring at him strangely, like he were a specimen. Karl tried to ignore it. "Do you have any requests?"
In the moments that she had to think, August had already decided. "Bach," he barked.
"Shock," Karl uttered with a sigh, and grabbed one of the books he'd been practicing recently. Did anyone other than Bach even exist? To August it was a simple no.
Luckily, Miranda seemed eager to continue speaking while Karl was playing.
"Tell me about your boys. What do they do, what do you intend for their future? I'm afraid the school in the village is not….well, it's not fine for the basics, but…."
"They will succeed with private schooling, at least until their mother's recovery," was the answer, that caused Karl to roll his eyes and almost miss the keys.
"Have they shown any interest in helping restore the factory, or any of the land? Do you think they will stay in this area?"
"It is up to them," August responded, which instantly made Karl sit straighter. "My brother, he has offered to help with university. He still teaches sometimes, but has many connections."
"He is the physicist, correct?"
"I am surprised you know many German physicists," August said dryly.
"Well your younger brother's a bit of a star, isn't he? I was required to reach out to him about this property deed when I realized the executor of the will had passed away unexpectedly. He stated he was too busy on his research to come here."
"Yes." It was a simple answer. Miranda was undaunted, and continued.
"Do you believe either of your sons will have that capacity? To work in such a field one day."
"Karl is very bright," always a backhanded insult. Their father could never point out one's brains without insulting the other one, and yet he continually did it. And even though Karl was 'bright' Karl waited, a knowing grim smile on his face, which his father didn't see—- "But he is lazy, restless." Karl mouthed the words with him. "Always has been. Very interested in science but works too fast to learn anything. He breaks anything he attempts to understand."
Both adults laughed at the jab, and Karl thought very strongly about smashing all of the keys at once, letting the air honk out of the organ and blast them out of their stupid laughter. But instead he just clenched his jaw and kept playing, vowing to write a letter to his uncle and request that when he visit next, that no Bach be allowed.
Chapter 3: Moonlight
His chores were to be completed far before dark, but Karl was often late. The factory was so massive and full of so many curious things. He knew the longer he stayed past dark, the more trouble he was in for, but he reasoned it was worth it. His brother wasn't helping today, so he wouldn't be getting him in trouble, at least.
After crawling in a few of the more dangerous workspaces, marveling at the huge pistons that seemed frozen in time, Karl made one last turn before his last chore of the night. The last chore was checking the power level of the generator that fed the clean room—the showers in the worker's health wing.
He didn't need to enter the hallway or the bathroom, as the generators and extra batteries were already set up in one of the electrical closets, but Karl turned to the blue-tiled hallway anyway. This hall did have one large window at the end of it, and the moonlight cast a white-blue glow on the moldy tile.
The boy's footsteps became quiet, his body in such perfect balance he could have been a dancer as he stalked down the hallway. Several moths landed on the windowpane, beating their wings desperately against it.
This caught his attention as the shadows of their fluttering wings left bigger dark splotches all down the hallway, and Karl detoured from the right-hand turn into the large shower room, to instead approach the window and grasp the bottom lock.
"How long have you been in here, trying to get out?" He wondered aloud, prying the lock apart and grunting as he pushed the window up. It had been years since the metal had slid up into its framing, and dust and rust rained down on Karl as he pushed the glass upward.
The cold night wind felt good on his face, and he glanced outside at the cloudy moonlit sky before turning his attention back to the moths. A few of them found their way down into the wind and were gone, but Karl noticed one still frantically beating its head against the window, lost in what it thought was a moonbeam.
"Simpleton," he laughed, and cupped his hands around it, feeling the moth's sticky legs grab at his palms. It fluttered in his gentle grasp, until he lowered and opened his hands into the damp air. The moth seemed to forget its panic, pausing as the boy's unfurled fingers revealed the moonlight, its guiding path.
"Well go on," Karl teased, "You've not got much longer anyway." He had already studied insect life cycles, years ago, and was trying to impress its mortality upon it. But then he became entranced by its soft grasping feet and fuzzy thorax as it walked hesitantly away from his palm and toward his fingertips. Another tease formed in his mind, but never found its way to his lips. Go, be free, at least you can.
The moth recovered at last from its long struggle and flew into the night; Karl smiled at the darkness, then frowned. Had he seen a shadow in the field below? He wasn't sure if the area had been a battleground or simply a large storage area for the WWI tanks that littered it, but it was a mess of shadows and equipment. Yet a human-shaped form had darted from one to the other…..he had seen it, hadn't he?
Now spooked, the child moved away from the window and turned toward his original reason for the hallway. The chill that ran up his spine at seeing a ghost, or whatever that was, did not leave as he turned into the large shower room.
The clean room. The storage room. It was where the corpse his father believed he could reanimate "lived" strung up and attached to several different life support mechanisms, which Karl was charged with ensuring were operating correctly in the event his father did not go to the factory to work.
He would check the generators and batteries on his way out. But so rarely did he get a chance to look at her without his father barking some command or yelling about some procedure he wasn't properly helping with. Now Karl approached with the same gentle footstep and posture as before. He didn't turn on any lights, but barely any of the hallway's moonlight found its way in here.
Some of the equipment did have lights and sensors. It whirred and beeped and made less than soothing sounds. He could see the form on all its pulleys behind the curtain. The young boy shook his shaggy head, as if questioning his own sanity before he inhaled and pulled the curtain back.
The jawbone was receding even more—likely due to not chewing? He could only guess. His father had cranked the mouth open and held it with wire due to this, as the airway kept getting blocked with the swollen tongue. The strange orthodontics gave the corpse a grinning appearance. It was the combination of a full mouth of rotting teeth, lips tight in a sneer, and the lidless eyes that looked somehow at him from every direction, that made him freeze in almost-fear.
He remembered the moth and its bright grey wings. "I wish you could fly away too," he whispered. But the tall figure on strings in the darkness became too terrifying for the boy and he turned and fled, without even checking the electrical closet as he'd been told to do.
He didn't see the tears rolling from the corpse's non-lids as he exited.
—-
Karl was still running as he crossed the long field between the factory and the living quarters, the plume of fireplace smoke his main focus as the brittle wind whipped through his brown hair and stung his eyes, which were also tear-streaked.
He was going to be in so much trouble. Oh well.
As he ran he heard the rush of wind, the tall grass he ran through crackling with each step, covered in frost and now breaking under his weight. But then he heard more; more steps, more running, more lungs filling with air. Karl half-turned, losing speed, and barely had a chance to see the two men that ran at him, or their net.
He doubled in speed and then they threw the net; he fell hard in the field. Just as he opened his mouth to scream, they were on top of him, and one held a cloth to his face. He tried to turn his head and spit, knowing what the material contained, but they were too strong, it was too late.
Everything went black.
Chapter 4: Electrocution
Karl awoke, first stiff and moving slow, but then startled awake as he remembered the men in the field. He paused when he realized he was…
"A cage!" The words slipped out before he thought to be quiet, but it bore no consequence. He could hear the weeping and chatter of other children, and Karl sat up, moving to his knees—he couldn't stand in the cage, and crawling away from the wall, to look out of the metal bars.
They were underground, that much was clear. Carved out, damp cavern walls made for the rear of the cage he was in as well as the ceiling around his and the other cages. The cages were like bunk beds, one on top of the other, and he counted six, including his.
Two were empty. The one above, he couldn't see. But facing him on the closest bunk were two boys. One looked older, and the other looked younger than he. The older one sat rather lazily against the bars on the top bunk, and the younger one squatted, eye level with Karl. This little one couldn't have been older than four years. He was the one crying. The other voices seemed to be attempting to comfort him.
"Hallo," Karl called over, "Where are are? What is this?"
All of the voices stopped, and Karl heard footsteps above him. "You're awake. You're the outsider."
"Outsider?" Karl scowled, unsure what the boy in the cage meant.
Above the little one, the older one perked up, though minimally. "We are from the village. We heard the captors tell Miranda that you were from the factory. That is the old coal plant? I heard Papa saying family had come back…."
"Wait, village? Miranda? SHE did this? What is going on?"
The boy batted his long dark eyelashes, blinking at Karl's demand for information as though he hadn't considered anyone might be confused.
"Sorry. My name is Luca. This little boy is Danut, and—"
"I am Ionut," echoed the voice above Karl.
"My name is Karl," he impatiently began, but Luca was already speaking again.
"You and Ionut were brought in last night. Danut has been here three days, and me…well. I've been here longer than anyone. I've seen so many die."
The little one began crying again, and Karl interrupted, "What do you mean, die? Why were we all taken?"
Luca was more patient than most twelve year olds. "She has a few workers in the village bring people here. They're not farmers, they're scientists. I don't really know where we are, somewhere in the woods. But she will do surgery on you, and you'll probably die. I don't know why she does it."
"But you haven't died," Karl pointed out, his head spinning.
"No," Luca acknowledged, "I haven't. I'm going to be in a lot of trouble soon though. Miranda won't come check on me until I can walk." As if to illustrate the ridiculousness of the situation, Luca grabbed at his leg and held it up. Karl was taken aback, secretly relieved that the little one couldn't see the state of the older child's legs. It reminded Karl of his mother. They were atrophied as though by months of unuse.
"When she did the surgery on me it messed up my legs." He sighed. "I won't walk, and soon enough that'll kill me."
"But your parents?"
"I don't think they know Miranda takes anyone," Luca had obviously given the matter thought before now. "Our grandparents, they loved her. I guess whatever she did for them was great. But my parents seem more afraid of her than anything. Still, anytime a child dies or goes missing, it's Miranda they pray TO. They would never suspect her of being behind anything. She's even got the men capturing us brainwashed."
Danut began to cry even louder. Luca and Ionut began trying to comfort him again with "Don't cry, you'll lose too much water" and "hug yourself, it will make you feel better."
Karl sat back on his haunches and looked around; the room was isolated. And again they were clearly underground. He wondered if his own father would find his disappearance suspicious. Karl remembered the conversation where Miranda asked about the boys. What would a woman want with so many children?
"Your grandparents," Karl mused, staring at nothing in particular. "Do you mean to say—"
"Yes," Luca sighed. "She's magic. She's been alive for years and years."
"That's impossible."
"No, it's magic. Why else do you think that this whole villa—"
"Magic isn't real," Karl nearly yelled, his anger causing Danut to sober up and sit, lip trembling, against the wall.
"You're an outsider," Luca repeated, rolling his eyes. "You'll learn soon enough."
—-
Scraps of food were given over the next few days, and not much else was offered to the boys. No kindness, no explanation. Perhaps a week later, the men entered and Karl had another chloroform rag pushed on his nose and mouth by one of the men.
He awoke in a different cage; this time he was eye level with Luca. When Karl attempted to sit up, his head swam and he lay back down, gingerly touching at his head.
Luca offered an explanation. "You had your surgery. You lived. Good for you. Ionut didn't."
Karl lay there, grinding his teeth, worried that he wouldn't be able to walk, like Luca.
"What does this surgery supposedly do?"
"I don't really know," Luca said with a half-laugh. "After she read some of my reports Miranda said that she needed to try a younger group, puberty was affecting "them" somehow. I don't know what "them" is, and nobody will tell me."
Karl was too exhausted to argue that they should attempt an escape. Luca would probably remind him yet again that he couldn't walk.
"I think your surgery was on your head, that's weird. Most of the kids I've seen get it in the stomach. Maybe that's why you lived. Danut said his head hurt too though. He's not doing so good."
At this, Karl forced himself to sit up on one elbow and peer down into the cage, where he could see nothing but the little boy's leg. "Danut? Are you okay?"
The voice that responded was faint, and tired. "I want my mommy."
"Don't worry," Karl said, feeling like a horrible liar, "We'll get you to your mommy. It's gonna be just fine. We just need to rest, get some of our strength…."
Luca was rolling his eyes, but didn't interrupt the speech. He began doing something with his hands, and Karl squinted, realizing his vision was exceptionally blurry. Would he ever see again? Would he ever sit up again? He nodded at Luca. "What's that?"
"Worker dropped it. I made this," he held up what looked to be a piece of rebar, with a magnet on the end. "I can pick up things, but so far nothing but a fork and two coins. I keep waiting on something like a file, but I don't guess they need to carry things like that around."
"But they would have keys!" Karl nearly yelled, looking at the long stick with its iron magnet.
"And how am I supposed to stick this to their key without them knowing?" Luca had a point, but Karl wouldn't be deterred. Just as he opened his mouth in argument, the sound of Danut puking interrupted him.
"Oh," Luca's face fell. He gave Karl a silent look that said "I know what this means." Now Karl fought to sit up, pulling himself on the bars. It only half-worked, and he flopped down, realizing his body was still half-anesthetized.
"We have to call for help," Karl argued against the defeated, death-happy Luca. He began to yell, and for a moment Luca joined in, and it seemed the door would open any moment with an adult there to help.
But it never happened. Luca gave up and shook his head, putting his fingers in his ears while Karl continued to call for someone. Danut cried after he vomited, and Karl called out to him that surely help was coming soon. The little boy's response was even weaker, that he wanted his mommy again, and another round of aggravated respirations—-Karl wanted very badly to put his own hands over his ears, as Luca did, but he instead answered Danut, reassuring him until the voice said no more, and no sound or movement came from the cell.
This took hours, and by then Karl could sit up. He leaned his head on the cool bars, letting tears run down his own face. He and Luca sat in silence for what seemed like several more hours, before Karl's eyes began wandering again.
"Give me that fork," he said in a hollow voice to Luca. His eyes fell on the yellow electric cord just out of reach of the cage, of the lamp over their head.
Luca looked up from his shoelace project. He was making a series of knots that almost resembled a hook. "What? Why?"
"I'm not going to die of whatever she did to me," Karl said, thinking of his own mother, remembering that he hadn't checked her generator the night he was captured. "I can just kill myself."
"Well," Luca scoffed, "If that was possible, why wouldn't I have already done it?"
"Because you're stupid," was Karl's answer, and he was already scrambling to get what he could from his own cell. "I know how to die by electrocution and you don't. But I can show you."
Luca half-laughed. "I'm not stupid. You can't—"
"I can make a circuit with my body and that cord if you pry it off the wall with that rebar. Put it in the cage, and I can scratch the insulation off with a coin. I have enough water in my bowl to put on my chest and hands and let the circuit run through my heart. I know the current is enough; there's lighting in here. This is a regular current. It'll kill me."
Luca slowly sat up, putting the fork on the magnet and rubbing it until it got a temporary charge. He tilted his head at the oddball Karl, who was scrambling now to take off his shirt and set up materials for a circuit. Luca threw the coin, which clanged to the bottom of the cell, and Karl turned to pick it up.
"How do you know all this?" Luca said in an accusatory voice, and Karl raised an eyebrow, pausing in his setup. Technically there were two answers. Instead of the one that plagued his existence, he responded, "My uncle…he….he taught me about physics and electricity."
—
From Luca's vantage point he could only watch Karl work. The boy had a large stapled-shut cut on the side of his head, around which his hair had been shaved, almost as an afterthought. Luca was entertained but still didn't believe Karl's assurance in his own death….still, it didn't hurt to take notes. It might work, and if it worked, it might be a way out.
If it didn't work, they were probably going to be in trouble. That was on his mind, especially at the moment when Karl held up the cord he'd pried into the cage, splashing his chest and head with water, and eagerly grasped the naked areas he'd scraped with the coin. Being in trouble was VERY much on Luca's mind when the light in the room began to flicker, and the brown-haired boy with a side-shave began convulsing in the now-dark. Luca backed into a corner of his own cage as the room went completely black and a loud POP sizzled near Karl.
The boy fell like a rag doll, and after a few tense minutes of silence a few men outside seemed to scramble, yelling about a generator. In the dark, Luca whispered Karl's name, but got no answer. Well hell, maybe it did work.
But then he heard quiet breathing, and Luca cursed. Now Karl was just unconscious. So much for being dead. The men's voice and footsteps were getting closer. The boy scrambled, using his shoelace-contraption on the end of the rebar. It didn't do much, but eventually he knocked the wire out of Karl's cage and pushed it against the wall, throwing the rebar out as well just as the door opened and men entered with lanterns.
Luca put on his best ignorant face while the smell of sulfur rose up around him and the other, unconscious boy. "What happened out there?" He offered with faux-stupidity.
"Something knocked the power out," one of the men responded, and then surveyed the cages. "They all die?"
Luca pointed at Karl. "He just fainted, he's still breathing."
The men muttered amongst themselves for a moment, and then one decided, "We'd better get him to the emergency bed. Miranda will want to know."
"The rest of you go get that generator running. Could've just been rats chewing—-"
"Rats wouldn't cause a surge like that no matter how well they chewed," another man argued, and they continued arguing as they unlocked Karl's cage, hauling the boy out as though he were cargo.
Chapter 5: Escape?
Karl did not speak after the electrical incident. Miranda did not seem to find this suspicious or even noteworthy, breezing him through other experimentations and growing more curious about his gained abilities with magnetizing objects, seemingly unwillingly. He was removed to an area by himself; he never saw Luca again, or learned what happened to the young man.
Karl never saw Miranda even, really. The lab assistants asked most of the questions and did most of the tests. He did see her once speaking to someone at the door, but barely recognized her. Instead of the ornate folk clothing, she wore a lab coat, her hair slicked back and seemingly an afterthought. Her eyes glazed past him in his cell as though he didn't exist.
None of the aides asked the young boy why he didn't speak, either. Maybe he wasn't the first traumatized child who lost his voice. He didn't know. He just endured these tests for months, sometimes getting shocked or having a current ran through him, other times more sinister experiments, all served with a dose of impatience and cruelty.
And then one day he was brought into the sunshine. Karl thought of bolting, but looked around the area. Forest surrounded him, and a carriage complete with driver and attendant were on the gravel road in front of him. He didn't even know where he was. The sun felt good, and the boy found himself staring into the afternoon clouds while the lab assistant hailed the driver, giving some paperwork to the man.
"You there, boy, let's go!" A cheerful, but abrupt voice called out of the carriage. The rear attendant leaned forward, confused by the state of Karl —pale, unsteady, not bathed— and quizzically ventured, "Bags, young Sir?"
"I don't…own anything," was Karl's reply. He moved toward the feminine voice, and peered upward. The owner of the voice obliged by opening the door, holding the velvet-lined carriage door open with her boot. It was a very expensive looking boot, if a little outdated. Karl shifted in the gravel.
"Where are you taking me?"
The woman looked deeply confused. "To school, of course."
—-
Karl was happy to be anywhere that wasn't a cage or a cell or an observation room with nothing but concrete corners. When he'd first presented with the ability to bend or manipulate metal, Miranda ordered a special area for him, worried that Karl might somehow manipulate the rivets of the cages. Karl had no idea how to do that, but it made him happy to know that one day he might.
Perhaps it was this happiness at watching the countryside go by that broke him out of his mute phase. His voice was hoarse from not speaking.
"Why am I going to school now?"
"Mother Miranda sends all of her children to school, of course!" The woman chuckled. "You're just a very special case…most pupils don't go quite so far. We've had a few young orphans get educated in Paris, lucky devils! But you're going to America for a few years, until this Nazi business is settled."
Karl withdrew, repulsed and intensely confused. "Nazi business?"
"Of course boy," and the woman clucked her tongue sadly. "I suppose Miranda has tried to shield you from the terrible situation going on now. Due to how dangerous it might be in Europe, she thought you might do well in one of the special schools in America."
"What." Karl couldn't even be properly outraged; he was too fatigued. "I don't understand. I am not Miranda's child. She STOLE me from my home."
The woman laughed at this, and then shook her head. There was some kind of fear or apprehension behind her eyes, and Karl studied her face closely while she continued, stuttering a bit, lost for words. "Mother Miranda…loves children. She loves our people. Any orphan that finds themselves in need of a loving parent is taken under her wing. Miranda has all your paperwork here," she ran a gloved hand over a locked leather case. "I'm so sorry about your poor parents, dear boy, but you mustn't say things like this about Mother Miranda. Not after all she's done for us, and now for you."
"But—-"
"Ask another topic, young man," she said warningly, and Karl angrily turned to look out the window. The metal chassis of the carriage began to rattle, and he closed his eyes. Get it under control….an outburst now would be disastrous.
After a few moments of silence, Karl spoke up again. "Let me see that file."
"It will be released to you when you're of age," she said assuredly. "I am the clerk with the district, I've served Miranda's adoptions for years now. I can trust you that your file will be kept with the utmost detail. So that if you ever do have questions about your birth fam—"
"I know who my birth family is," Karl cried, turning back in his seat. "My father is August Heisenberg, we live in the coal plant that was neglected after the Great War."
The woman shook her head as though dusting away cobwebs, and then answered with such a canned response Karl wondered if she was a robot. "The Heisenberg family has fled our area months ago and has not responded to Mother Miranda's worried correspondence; they are suspected to have returned to Germany. They have a very high ranking Nazi family member and would be protected there."
"But—-" could that have actually been true? Karl had no idea how long he was in that cave. He also had no idea what his family thought of his disappearance. If another war truly was coming, his father might have returned home. It was not out of the question.
"Can we stop this nonsense?" She asked with far less patience, and Karl too decided the topic was moot.
"What kind of school am I going to?"
"A private one, funded by philanthropists." What a vague response. "Mother Miranda has special orders for your unique gifts. She seems to think, based on her letter to our agency, that you have wondrous potential. You could return here one day and make a large impact. Miranda is an excellent judge of character."
Karl grumbled out the window. "I will never come back."
Chapter 6: Abbott TR-4 Shortwave
The young blond nun had given this tour and speech several times; it never got easier. The donors and interested parties only became higher profile. And today's was extra difficult—the whole school was excited. A celebrity. American hero. A young handsome bachelor, an orphan himself. Everyone and the whole Academy had been cleaned, brushed, polished and on their best behavior. The strange sound of an engine on the north lawn signaled his arrival, and here she stood in the doorway.
His lean figure approaching and his brisk pace brought a flush to the woman's cheeks. He had asked to park his private plane and the request was granted. Arriving separately by taxi were his financial advisor and another man she didn't recognize. The trio ascended the final staircase into the Academy together.
"Such an honor, Mr. Hughes, we are so—"
"It's nothing," he said dismissively, nodding at her and seeming to slide backward when she extended a hand. Noah shook the nun's meekly offered, petite hand instead. More pleasantries were exchanged but Hughes didn't speak, his eyes cascading over the brick wall as though he were already bored. She began the routine tour with a bit of a hurried pace. Hughes's hands went into his pockets as they entered the extensive, neatly decorated facility.
If it weren't for charity Sister Llewelyn would have felt trepidation at how hard she was trying to sell the facility to the men. Something about needing the money of influential Americans bent on ending, and winning, the war, was not of God. Still, she loved this place and the orphans it contained. The building was old and repurposed, now owned by the Eastern European scientist and a few of her upper-class networkers, and now, American scientists. The Sister had never met any of these "scientists" but all of the professors and aides seemed to fear the woman's temper, and work hard to get pupils with "assets."
Assets. That's the word they used. Powers. Magic. Gifts. This was billed as a regular private orphanage, but children sent here all had something…wrong…with them. Scientists worked alongside the church-appointed tutors to give them not only good education, but learn the depth and context of their powers. How they would benefit society, how they would defeat the Nazis and any other American enemies. In the end, the children were equally poked and prodded as they were educated and left to wander these halls trying to find meaning.
It didn't go well. Not that she had seen since her appointment here, and she was one of the first Sisters sent as a caregiver. Many of the children ended up ill, many died. Most seemed too traumatized to care about getting control of whatever ability they possessed. And none of these abilities seemed to have practical application. Well…except for her favorite pupil….and she wondered how much Hughes knew…and if Hughes would bring him up. She so badly wanted to protect the poor boy, but it was more difficult the older he got.
They were now touring the garden and dining area. The tall man's deep brown eyes pierced the nun's. "I heard you have a kid here with electromagnetic ability. His own power source."
"He…yes," she began, flushing again. Why did she blush so much? Hughes had no regard for manners, was very blunt. He was staring. Not at all how she expected a celebrity to act. "He's a bit unstable. He's usually kept in a separate—"
"Let's see," he commanded, and she paused, uncertainly. Thankfully one of the priests was near enough to overhear the conversation, and the older man turned to take over where the young nun felt very unsure.
"He's a bit of a sour one, that one. German, too." The priest said this as though German lineage meant the preteen was to be handled like a barn animal. The disgust was clear. "Don't want to get him near anything expensive." He pointed at a watch on Noah Dietrich's wrist. "He'd melt that without even trying."
Hughes was undeterred. "The report I read said he's well-versed in physics, mechanics, and music."
The priest paused. "Well, yes, I suppose—"
"If your institution is as prestigiously manned as I've been told, he'll hold himself together just fine. If I'm to pay for instruction, I expect the instruction to cover basic functional control," Hughes assured in an almost rude tone, and he eyed his companions pointedly. They were prepared to take up the argument on his sake. Without any more pushing, the priest sighed and nodded at the group.
"I'll take you to see him but…" the older man rolled his eyes. "I won't be responsible for anything broken."
—-
The junk pile was mostly accidental. Karl was still sulking, being made to stay down here out of sight for the tour; the other orphans got to get dressed nice for whoever the mystery guest was. They had hopes that they would get adopted; Karl knew better. It was to finance this child mill, but that didn't mean he didn't want to meet a celebrity. It broke up the monotony, the loneliness.
But his temper was too bad, his outbursts dangerous ,and the twelve year old was relegated to the insulated area where he was kept most of the time. Other than himself, he was locked away from electrical sources. Away from fire hazards. So he was surprised during his sulking spell, sitting at one of the tables tinkering, to hear footsteps.
A group of people, no less. He tentatively turned on the stool, wondering who was fetching him with the tour still likely in session. Karl's tousled locks were past his chin; he brushed his brown hair back in nervousness. He was probably in trouble. The first face was the only friendly one he ever saw: Karl smiled wanly at Sister Llewelyn. But in the next moment he froze; after she and the priest entered the room of junk parts, a tall brunette in a suit and fedora entered, hands in his pockets.
Karl gasped. "You're Howard Hughes!"
This caused the cronies at Hughes's back to chuckle, but Hughes was unaffected. Sister Llewelyn noticed the man's posture change; in contrast to the manicured lawn and ironed tablecloths, the room of Karl's rusted parts, wires, ashes from small electrical fires, seemed to bring out the aviator's enthusiasm. His hands withdrew from his pockets for the first time since he'd entered. He leaned forward.
"Nice setup," he motioned, eyes fixated on something. Karl turned to look where Hughes was headed. The Texan's drawl was clear. "Abbott TR-4 Ultra-Short Wave." He smirked back at the younger orphan. "Got a few of these myself. Mostly on boats." Now Hughes knelt at the transceiver. He eyed the messily-dressed teenager. "Don't guess you go mobile much."
If this bothered Karl, he didn't show it, instead continuing to smile in awe and now with a bit of pride at his radio. The pair were now both by station table and Hughes turned the switch, realizing then that the wall's electrical outlets had been hastily removed. "Well how the hell—"
"I can power it," Karl spoke up happily, "I learned to control it, but the speaker blew last time I was tuned in."
"Mmm," Hughes flipped the box over, and the pair began looking over the speaker as though this were the most normal conversation either could have. Behind them, the rest of the group uncomfortably shifted, and Noah offered to the Sister in a low voice, "This is…normal for Howard. Don't worry."
She barely whispered back as Karl exclaimed something, and a spark flew from the radio set. Hughes didn't even flinch. The two studied the components. The priest made the symbol of the cross after another spark sizzled between Howard and Karl.
The nun's eyes were again on Hughes, who was pointing at the box as if to instruct Karl.
"Do you think he's ….enjoying the tour..? Is there anything we can…"
"Just let him do his thing," Noah said with a head shake, eyeing his boss. "I can't tell him what to do either way….you just…can't tell Howard."
The two others were still excitedly talking in the background. Noah's eyes drifted toward the nuns again. "Your best chance at funding is—-"
The loud radio signal, static over the speaker, issued abrupt and loud. Karl and the adult engineer smiled at their quickly-found success. Someone was talking over the speaker in a jovial trans-Atlantic accent, and Karl's odd yellow eyes lit up. Hughes was still knelt by the equipment, and he tapped the top of the radio as if congratulating it. When he turned back to his financial advisor, he was almost smiling, a wry look on his arched brows. One hand was on the table, the other braced on his knee.
Sister Llewelyn was blushing again despite how confused this entire ordeal made her. Hughes met her eyes pointedly. "Wire fifty thousand toward the school's tuition, and I'll throw in another ten for supplies." He stood as though this enormous, weighted statement were nothing special, and nodded toward the door. To Karl, he said, "Let me show you the plane."
"Is it the H1?" Karl was almost tripping on his boots as he struggled to keep up with Hughes's long legs.
"You bet," Hughes said in his lilting tone. "You into engines?"
"Oh yeah," the boy responded, and they brushed past the stunned onlookers in the doorway, who now struggled to keep up.
"Ever seen a plane's? Layout a lot different than what you're probably used to."
"I've studied a hundred diagrams," was Karl's enthused reply. He walked as quickly as the taller man now.
Chapter 7: Zimsterne
The nun would ponder, after Hughes' visit, if it was some sign from above that the impatient, brilliant aviator had been the one to notice Karl's ingenuity, meet it with his own. It seemed almost angelic, in a way, but she couldn't quite find the words to explain it to any of the others. It hadn't struck the same chord with them, it seemed. In fact, they were nothing but confused over Hughes. So similar to their response of Karl.
It had always been that way, she mused. Since his arrival, the boy was treated with fear and learned that his unruly temper and "gift", when combined, caused dangerous chaos, but it kept doctors away from him. He hated the tests, and often bargained his tutors-if he built this machine, he would skip the testing for the week. If he could solve that mathematical problem, no electrode readings. Sometimes they kept their word, other times not, and this only added to his mistrust and misery.
Years before Hughes, Sister Llewellyn held the key to perhaps Karl's sole comforts. The letters, and the sweets. Although, she contemplated as she reminisced, the other child of Miranda had become a comfort in her own strange way.
It was nearing Yule, (or as these Americans called it, Christmas...Karl could say it with the most absurd accent and still be taken seriously.) He didn't care though, had already been at the Academy long enough to know that no one with any money wanted him to enjoy the holiday. They got gifts of pittance and utility, so he expected the warm woolen socks he was due and thought nothing more of it. Even at twelve, his expectations were bleak.
Boston was beautiful after a December snow, though. He stared out the window at the icy courtyard where the other collected "special" children were sliding across the snow and yelping as they got pelted with snowballs. It reminded him of home. Both Romania, and Germany before his father moved. This urban setting was different, but the snow was the same. He didn't turn when the black-clad woman appeared in the hallway, and only blinked when she addressed him.
"Karl, don't you want to enjoy the snow?"
"I'd probably melt it," he said in a half-joke, and flared his nostrils. She was smiling widely, but now the smile faded as the nun wondered whether or not that was possible. Karl did not like teasing her and waved a hand.
"I'm kidding. I just don't want to deal with them." The last word was said with contempt, and now the nun's shoulder slumped as she prepared to give him yet another pep talk about making friends.
"They're scared of me, and that's okay," he said loudly, and now his bluish-green eyes lighted on her hands. Folded in front of her, she carried a familiar envelope. Behind it was another, more weathered looking envelope. He eyed this one with curiosity.
"What is that?"
"Why, your letter and -"
"I know, the letter," but Karl was impatient. "That big envelope. Is it from my parents too?"
She seemed startled he'd asked, but recovered quickly. "Oh no! It's from your uncle, actually!"
Karl nearly leapt, and grabbed the bundle, standing at the window to tear into it. He knew what the typed, re-cycled text of his father would say-every letter was the same, with no new information. But his uncle had not written him back yet, and Karl only found his address months prior.
The letter was in front of a thick, bound set of papers with a spine. Sister Llewellyn stared expectantly at the long loops of cursive. She found herself asking, "What does he say?" with a genuine curiosity, hopes high that this was not another letdown for the pupil. Her eyes studied his face now. It lit up as he absorbed the German handwriting.
"He says he is happy that I found him! And that he can't speak too much of work because..." Karl frowned. "He is working on something called the Uranverein." His eyes flickered toward hers almost apologetically. "Uh...nuclear...things." A pause, and Karl pulled the letter away from the other contents, which he now briefly stared at before hugging closely to his chest.
She'd never seen him so tender with any object, not even his radios. She peered at the spine, but it was not marked. The title on the thin brown cover page was facing Karl, and he now read it aloud for her. "Die Absorption der durchdringenden Komponente der Höhenstrahlung." This apparently meant something to Karl, and she stared with enthusiasm. Ignorant enthusiasm, with some sprinkled in wide-eyed blinks at the string of German words.
Karl settled back into the window seat, tearing open the familiar parcel from his father and kicking his feet up as he popped some of the candy in his mouth. Himbeer bonbons, meh. But now as he opened the letter, another package fell out, and he happily tore that one open. "Zimtsterne!" It was a happy surprise, and he wondered who could be assisting his family that they now had access to the Yule treats.
"Any news...?"
He spoke with a half-full mouth of cookie. "Nope. Still in hiding. Hope I am well. Nazi army won't let anybody talk." He flung the letter down in annoyance, picking the scientific research paper from his uncle back up immediately as he crammed more candy in his mouth. "I don't see how they can be so...difficult to speak to, when my uncle works for the government and doesn't even want to and everybody knows it."
This was mostly mumbled, and lost through cookie crumbs, but the nun still reached down to stroke the boy's tousled brown hair. She moved the pieces away from his face as he flipped open the book.
"One day this war will be over, and hopefully, many many families can be reunited," she sighed, and Karl now looked over sharply at her. He knew that she'd lost a brother in this war and her father in the last one. His shrewd eyes actually held something like empathy in them for a moment, and his mouth turned into a twisted frown.
He offered another Christmas star and she sat tentatively on the bench, eating with all the poise and delicacy that he did not muster as he lounged, book in hand. Together they enjoyed the treat while snow continued to fall nearby.
Chapter 8: Donna
That winter, Karl's twelfth-was rather quiet after Christmas. The package from his uncle had served as medicine almost, brightening him in a way that nothing else had so far. Sister Llewellyn sometimes wandered the manor looking for the orphan. Without his loud vocals booming off the stone walls, rattling everything metal in the room during heated arguments with staff and doctors he was nearly impossible to locate. He hadn't even been scuffling with the other children ('subjects' as the scientists called them.)
Instead, he was usually propped on a bright windowsill or lounged on a far stairwell, his uncle's research papers in his hands. As the weeks went on and the new year celebrations ceased, the pages became grubbier and more dog-eared. Surprisingly the other pupils did not respond to the object of Karl's interest. Likely it was due to his correct assertion that snowy day. They're scared of me.The others would probably rather the outcast have something to occupy his unstable mind. With it, they were safe from any wrath.
The calmness of that winter was doubled with the new arrival. Sister Llewellyn, after hearing about the new charge, became eager to see the young child. She offered to meet the charge at the station. Part of it was empathy for the child's loss, but part of it was simply curiosity. This was a child from gentry, one from Miranda's land. Similar to Karl.
The Sister wanted to see if-being from the same mountain region as Karl, being adopted by Miranda-would she have any similar characteristics, accent, customs? Powers? Would they have known each other? Whatever the young nun expected, she was shocked at the strange out-of-date, glassy-eyed girl at the train station.
She looked like something from an antique play or puppet show. A porcelain and glass tribute to the darkness and somber overreach of the Victorian embrace of death. Any nun would have approved of the black and grey dress, woolen tights, and leather boots. There was no pomp or frills to them, but they were well made and sturdy. And somehow still delicate and lovely, as if made for an accessory.
The girl's hair was in long, wispy barley curls, but bore no ribbons or lace. Sister Llewellyn tilted her head, her habit pulling at hidden blond tresses. The child seemed the opposite of Karl in status-Karl was most often barefoot. He wore his hair greasy and long, tucked into a newsboy cap. It wasn't just status that separated them, it was something about their souls that seemed different to the empathetic nun.
Karl's eyes were light and sharp, seeming brighter than the sun and twice as judgy. He had both wit and fire, a built-in aversion to authority and tradition. He derived pleasure from arguing with his elders and challenging everyone who attempted to exert control over him. Donna's were dark and full of almost inhuman sorrow. She looked more like a painting or a doll than a person. Her gaze was somewhere far away...the spirit world? Where Karl strode, almost stomping wherever he went, this child was very still. Frozen. She was hiding behind something that looked like a large lumpy blanket at first.
When the friendly nun waved and approached, the girl turned toward her and averted her eyes shyly. Now the Sister could see what Donna clutched tightly to her chest; a doll. Its face was hidden, but it was the light to Donna's dark, the silk and frills to her plain and somber clothing.
As the Sister knelt to greet the girl she noticed the darkness of Donna's hair, eyes, even an olive tone to her skin. She was reminiscent of the traveling performers who gathered outside Boston's rowdier blocks sometimes. Loud, inviting, in their glimmering wagons. Roma. She'd always avoided them, but they had some beckoning warmth, drawing her subconscious toward them. This girl had no such warmth. The nun gently threaded her fingers through Donna's curls, but the child flinched. The nun's heart was heavy as she led the girl toward their taxi.
"You should try at least, Karl..."
He scoffed, half of his carrot exiting his mouth on the exhale. Sister Llewellyn almost glared in her kind way from where she stood; dinner was over, but Karl had to eat separately from the other children. His temper was unruly enough that a magnetized knife or fork was still a real concern. At least, according to the doctors. The Sister did not fear Karl.
"Why would I want to do that?"
"Well, she's from your village."
Karl already had a full potato in his mouth. "Not my village."
"Your family moved there before the war," she gently chided him. "There must have been some reason to make a home there. Did you not meet anyone, or learn of the other families descended from kings while you were there?"
Karl seemed to contemplate this, or else he was finally attempting to chew. After a pause, he responded, "No, my father didn't care about any of that. Besides, my line isn't connected with hers at all." He glared at the nun as though her reasoning were full of logic holes. "Just because our ancestors knew each other doesn't mean we'd be friends. There have been from Romania here too." This was pointed, and he almost sounded accusing.
Despite the sour demeanor, she gave a small smirk at his increasingly American accent. Those radio shows were influencing him. She supposed she should limit his exposure to their rather crass and unrefined dialogues, but she had such a soft spot for him. Compared to the other gifted children he had little to look forward to.
Karl was terrible with compassion and empathy, and she couldn't blame him. He was worked and professed and tested and observed to exhaustion, the subject of so many papers and notes. His fun was limited to the few luxuries afforded him since Hughes's visit. Radios, and the parts and tools to work on them. According to the facility doctors, the radios were helping him gain small steps in controlling his 'gift.'
Speaking of, his spoon was now bent at an awkward angle and Karl angrily tossed it across the table. The Sister noted that he hadn't touched it or grabbed it. Rather a wave of his hand caused the metal to skid across the wood. Her eyebrows disappeared nearly into her habit, and the smile faded. She cleared her throat.
"Donna's family story is very tragic. She is entirely alone, an orphan. Unlike your family who..." these words needed to be chosen carefully. Karl's light, piercing eyes were now on her. "...found refuge, and will return one day..." did he believe that? "the Beneviento family is very troubled."
The gaze on Karl's face changed from shrewd to perhaps a bit softer. He was listening. Or maybe just chewing. "Her parents committed a grave sin. They left their daughter." She wasn't sure how to share such personal information with a boy unequipped to understand suicide. He just stared at the nun. She got the strange sensation that his stare held knowledge that even she couldn't comprehend. Some sense of impending death kept its home in his head along with all the laws of physics, mathematical formulas and whatever else he knew that she did not.
"It would mean a lot to me if you at least tried," she shrugged, feeling rather awkward. It had seemed like a good idea in her head to pair the two misfits together while Donna was here. The girl was unstable and had "fits" that landed her in and out of asylums. This Academy was Donna's last hope of staying a member of Miranda's family. It seemed important for her well-being that this home was a haven, a place that would make a difference.
But the nun had not gotten very far in making a connection with the child. To expect Karl to have better luck now seemed an impossible task. Donna had not even spoken without putting the porcelain doll's face over her own. Even then it was in a whisper. Karl only spoke to his gadgets. When speaking to others, especially if they were chastising him (as the male tutors and doctors often did) his stutter could re-emerge. Then the screws, bolts and pipes in the room would rattle, the lights would flicker, and things would usually not improve.
Maybe not the best idea. He was no diplomat. His calmness over the past weeks had caused the nun to see his potential, to gently urge him to try to develop his vulnerable side.
The lonely boy continued to eat in silence, now clearly deep in thought, as the nun moved to prepare a kettle for tea. She was curious what secrets his stare from earlier held. What had he seen?
The nun frowned as she moved the kettle toward the stovetop. Miranda seemed less and less appealing as time went on.
Chapter 9: Her Fucking Doll
The stomp of Karl's boots on the polished wooden floor wasn't loud enough to drown out everyone else's laughter as two older boys tossed a toy between them. So when he arrived in the room, it was a surprise to everyone. The laughter paused, and a few younger children scurried away or hid behind the railings on the staircase behind the crowd.
For the older boys it was a chance to show off in front of their orphan entourage-prove that they were not afraid of Karl and that they could bully him just as easily as they bullied others. Today, the subject of their torment was on the floor. She had been pushed there when she lunged at them for the object in their hands.
"Give her back her fucking doll," Karl snarled at the first moment of silence, not waiting on the other two to speak. This aggression only seemed to strengthen their resolve to look tough.
"Or what, freak?" Freddie, the eldest, snarled. "You'll accidentally shock us? You can't control anything you do, but you want to control us?"
A few of the older children laughed, but the effort was measly, and Karl's stormy eyes flickered away from the two bullies and toward those who had giggled. For a moment he looked rattled, and then his glare returned. Now the co-conspirator, Kenny, laughed louder and added, "Watch out, accidents hurt, just ask old Professor Selvik."
And the pair roared together, leading the group in some inside joke that apparently, Karl was meant to get. The expression of anger didn't budge, but his eyes scanned the pair in mild confusion.
Then Freddie mimicked an old voice with a Norwegian accent. "Oahhh, got mih arum that timmh, Kahhhl," while stumbling and grabbing his own wrist. Karl's jaw set as he realized the asshole had probably been spying on him during his private teachings. Selvik, though maybe senile, was one of the world's top engineers who had retired at wartime, and had been brought in (and paid for) by Miranda. This happened recently, after news of just how competent and intelligent Karl was begrudgingly made its way out of the school. No doubt due to Hughes, the year prior. But the special treatment had no fans among the other pupils.
Freddie changed his voice to Karl's acquired trans-Atlantic drawl, complete with stutter. "Suh-suh-sorry, suh-suh-sir!" This got a heartier laugh from the choir of children, and Karl's jaw began ticking. Freddie didn't pause. "Supposed to be the smartest in the school and he can't even tuh-tuh-talk right!"
The hinges on the nearby window locks began to rattle, along with the iron detailing on the staircase. The frightened youngers on the stairs made their exit, footsteps echoing on the wood as they bolted away upstairs.
The laughter died as quickly as it began, and now a portion of the children scooted back from the scene. Some began looking uncertainly around or creeping toward the stairs. Freddie's smug expression while mocking Karl disappeared and his frown spread suddenly.
"Watch it, Nazi," he snapped, even as Karl's nostrils flared. One girl wearing earrings gasped when she felt the little metal studs tug her earlobes. A pair of students exchanged incredulous stares as one's pendant began to float upward.
"You're not the only one here with powers."
"That's right," Kenny said almost eagerly, as if he'd been waiting weeks for this exact conversation to happen. He leaned back and then shimmered out of sight.
Karl ground his teeth as the other children oohed and ahhed. The girl who'd been pushed to the ground stared in confusion at the empty spot. Karl turned to look at her for the first time, his anger turning to some strange expression-not pity. Exhaustion, maybe, or annoyance.
His tousled wavy hair whipped around: Karl turned to look behind him to the left, as though he already knew where Kenny would appear. His anger had not dissipated, and the windows continued to rattle as a magnetic field began to build in the room, emanating from the young man. His keen senses proved to be right as the other boy now shimmered back into visibility among giggles and expressions of wonder.
Karl glared at Kenny, now six feet behind him. He knew the other was far too afraid of direct contact to touch or harass Karl physically, but for the millionth time, Karl wished he could harness his power more reliably. What he'd give to magnetize the watch on Kenny's wrist and make him punch himself in the face. Instead, Karl felt the fluctuating magnetic field pull back and forth at his own belt buckle and boot eyelets. Everyone's hair was starting to float-he needed to stop this soon, before the buildup turned dangerous.
Freddie's smile was even nastier than Kenny's. "The priest doesn't know I can do this now," he taunted, holding up what Karl had entered the room due to-a creepy, staring bridal doll with long pale ringlets. Just as Karl opened his mouth to demand the ugly thing given back to its owner, its hair burst into flame. Freddie cackled, a few more sounds of wonder and fear came from the other children. Freddie tossed the doll over Karl's head to where Kenny stood, waiting.
If Donna had vocal cords, they appeared to be cut as her mouth opened in a silent cry. She bounded to her feet, cutting past Karl and toward the flaming doll, which Kenny threw back over Karl's head. Kenny wasted no time after throwing the doll, lunging forward to push Donna down again. But this move brought him too dangerously close to Karl.
The brunette was happy to grasp Kenny's bicep and felt pure rage flow from his fingertips into the boy's flesh. The static charge that had built in the room exploded, causing everyone to cry out simultaneously as the strong shock crackled around them, hitting their uninsulated skin.
Kenny was jolted off the ground at Karl's grasp; Karl let go, and now the other fell on his butt. He began to sob. As if remembering Freddie suddenly, Karl's head jerked around like a whip toward the other boy. He now stomped toward Freddie, hand extended. Karl was simply hoping his anger would continue to provide him with electricity to use, but to everyone's-including his own-surprise, the doll drifted from Freddie's hands into Karl's.
He was shocked, but Karl's mask did not betray any surprise. He quickly began patting the ugly thing's face and veil to put out the fire. Karl's hands were too calloused to feel any pain from the flames. Electrical sparks danced around his fingertips as the flames sputtered out.
Meanwhile, everyone in the room was whispering in awe of this unexpected wielding of power. Freddie's whine of "Heeeey!" as the doll unwillingly left his hands carried a note of fear with it. The one advantage everyone felt they had over Karl was control. Even though the move wasn't intentional, he was far too smart to say anything.
Karl's blue-green eyes darted to Kenny, who was still on the floor, crying as he held his burned arm. Kenny hadn't even seen the movement of the doll. Now Karl moved to Donna, who perhaps looked more frightened than anyone.
He couldn't meet her wide doe eyes. So his gaze went to the doll. Well, that was a big mistake. Its mouth was open as though it couldn't believe what happened either, and all its hair was burnt. Maybe an inch remained near the thick lace veil, which had not caught fire as quickly and was merely charred. Its face was covered in ash thanks to Karl's smacking it all over. His lip curled and he fought visible repulsion as he handed the thing back to her, nearly pushing it into her arms. "Sorry about that," he said in what turned out to be a choked whisper. The girl's arms readily came up and cradled the doll lovingly, and now Karl turned back to Freddie.
"Sorry to break it to you," he said in a booming, singsong voice that hid his own uncertainty, "But-electricity can put out fire." He raised his left hand, thumb and forefinger poised as though he were going to snap his fingers. Karl ground his teeth, feeling his stutter arise, and forced the compulsion away. Instead of a stutter, his voice lingered on each word. It sounded purposefully foreboding, an extra drawl. "Should we...test that out?"
Now the crowd scattered completely. Karl had never really been known threaten, he was more of an oddball that lost control around others. His words, his expression now was thus far more terrifying than the bullies. Freddie gave Karl a wide berth as he stormed out of the room, ignoring his friend on the ground who was still in tears. "Freak! I hope your family gets bombed. I hope you get sent back. I hope you die there."
Kenny forced himself to his knees and tripped away from the scene when he realized he was left alone. His cries increased as he ran down the hallway where the nurse's office was.
Karl stared at the empty staircase for a moment and then walked out of the room without even looking at Donna. Soon the heavy, slow footfalls could be heard descending a staircase, thudding just as loudly as they had earlier when he'd entered the scene.
Notes: