Beware the fic blog. When I named it, I meant it. -------------------------------- Previous Entries Other Sights |
Mein Herz Brennt Sunday, June 9, 2002 -
I love Rammstein so much. I like to steal their titles...mostly because I am too unoriginal to come up with my own. Thus I give you, "my heart burns". It sounds so much cooler in German...and also when Till is screaming it. *drool* Enough. About the fic...it pains me. I hate it but I can't stop writing it. I've been sitting on it forever, and I finally decided wtf, just slap it up. Some ppl have read it, others have not, but it has undergone revisions since the last time anyone has seen it. So there you have it.
Crawford lounged, back to the wall, in his strategic location at the only human-sized exit door to the abandoned-warehouse-turned-rave-site. It was dark except for the seizure-inducing strobes and the psychedelic laser light show that cast the writhing mass of humans on the floor in freakish shades of red, green, and blue. The standard heavy-beat techno pounded against his ears, making them crackle like a badly tuned radio. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched his target palm something off to a girl. He was tall, thin, and, despite that streetwise confidence and that cat-quick way of looking over his shoulder that made him seem much older than he really was, quite young. The girl smiled and passed him something before then both melted seamlessly back into the seething throng. He scowled. He simply couldn’t believe that this boy might someday be the man he saw in his visions. His personal doubts were inconsequential, however. If his visions were correct, and they almost always were, then the boy would make an excellent first addition to the team of operatives he was assembling. But first, he had to be sure. He had been following his target for three days now, and had gotten a fairly good sense of the boy’s abilities. Tonight, however, would be the true test. Tonight, he would see for himself. Just when Crawford was sure his head would explode from the noise, the lights, the heat, and the disgusting proximity of so many dancing, sweating human beings, his opportunity presented itself. The target suddenly emerged from the crowd, and slipped out the back exit like a shadow blending into the night. He was about to follow when he received a prescient flash. He paused to watch a darkly dressed teenager exit the warehouse in hot pursuit, then steeled himself, and followed. No stray thoughts tonight. Still…how does one lie to a suspected telepath? The crisp fall night was an immense relief from the rave, but Crawford didn’t have long to enjoy it. A few yards from the door, in a fenced-in area behind the warehouse, the target and his teenaged customer were talking. In the more shadowy areas of the little enclosure, furtive movements promised activities that he did not care to see. Crawford avoided looking too hard lest his sharp gaze penetrate the concealing gloom. “Come on, you know I’m good for it,” the raver pleaded.
The target stuck his hands into the pockets of his long black raincoat and frowned. “Yeah, I know, but if you could just…maybe just this once? Maybe…?”
The target sighed heavily. “Yeah man, yeah, I got it.” “If Dieter heard about this, he’d fuck me up for sure,” he grumbled. “It’s cool, I won’t tell. I swear.” The target produced something out of his pocket and palmed it off to the teenager. “Thanks man, thanks,” he mumbled before he darted back inside. *cringe* Stupid dialogue...my IQ dropped 50 points just for having written that. Well aware that no matter how hard he tried, he would never fit into the rave crowd, Crawford had spent a lot of time planning for this moment. Attempting to blend in would only have made him more conspicuous, so he had chosen a more appropriate cover. He lowered his shields a fraction, and filled his surface thoughts with fear, apprehension, bewilderment and a hunger that overrode it all, a craving for adventure, excitement, and something altogether intangible.
The boy’s head snapped in his direction.
The tall clairvoyant approached awkwardly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his cargo pants and looking everywhere but directly at the boy. Dark blue eyes narrowed, examining him from head to foot. He could feel the boy probing him, brushing up against his shields with a feather-light touch. He knew from experience that far from a deliberate scan, it was nothing more than the reflex reaction to a new encounter. However, the touch was so weak he wondered if his target’s potential was really worth all this trouble. Patience…you’ll find out soon enough.
The target chuckled, breaking the tension of his scrutiny. “Anything?” “Yeah, sure,” the boy insisted, moving closer to him. Crawford resisted the urge to flinch away. Although he had been following his target for days, he had never been this close to him before. He was a man who hated being touched, particularly by a greasy-looking little… This was important. He wasn’t going to let his emotions get in the way. He forced himself to tolerate the invasion of his personal space. “So, what d’you want?” the boy asked. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to conjure vivid images of himself with the boy…getting high, then slowly stripping him of his clothing, running a hand along his smooth pale skin. He allowed lust and desire to roll off him in waves, pervading the air all around him. Anyone with even an inkling of telepathic ability within a block radius would probably have picked up on it. “Just maybe…we could go somewhere…and talk?” he asked haltingly.
The boy hesitated. Crawford thought of his expense account…the endless supply of cash with which Estet funded its agents. He had money, and lots of it. “I can pay. As much as you want.” The target shifted his weight, shoved his hands in his pockets, and considered his options. Crawford only increased the intensity of his thoughts. He wanted drugs and sex, and he would pay virtually anything for it. “I ah…yeah, sure, ok. I know a place we can go,” the target relented at last. “Oh, good,” he replied, even as he contained a snort of disgust. These slimey street kids, they were so predictable. Promise them enough money and they’ll do anything you ask. It was revolting. Not that he hadn’t grown up in similar circumstances, but Crawford had vowed long ago that money would never have a hold on him again. “Come on, it’s this way,” the boy said, gesturing down the street. He nodded and followed. As they strolled into the darkness, Brad mulled over how best to proceed from this point forward. Now that he had succeeded in establishing the boy’s telepathic capability, he needed to test the depth and range of his powers. After all, if the boy’s powers were weak, then it would be a waste of time to bother training him. “This way.” The target led him into a shabby motel of some kind. Up a short flight of stairs and then into a dilapidated motel room. Involuntarily, a surge of memories screamed out of some hidden corner of his mind.
// His face shoved into a moldy mattress, arms twisted behind him so far that he thought his shoulders would dislocate. The sour smells of stale sweat and sex…the fresher, sharper scents of lust, and fear. “Ow! I said I wasn’t going to…You said I didn’t have to-“
A stinging slap. With an effort of sheer will, he dragged himself out of the torrent of memories that the ugly motel room had induced. That was a long time ago. Like the stupid boy standing before him, he had thought his powers would protect him. But he had been too young, his powers too underdeveloped. He’d never seen it coming. Later, when he’d awakened covered in every imaginable fluid a human body could produce, he’d been filled not with self-pity, but rage. Hatred had burned through his veins like acid. As he’d sat there in that puddle of filthy sheets, he’d sworn he’d never be bought again. Money…it was filthy, worthless. Men lived for it, died for it. They were like sheep, so easily controlled, like this boy. He closed the door behind them, and locked it.
The boy gave him a nervous smile. He renewed his visions, only this time, he interspersed them with instructions thinly veiled as desires that varied in intensity. He wanted to see how many of the weaker intensity instructions the boy could pick up, especially while being bombarded with the more vivid sexual imagery. Anxiously, the boy began to comply. He slid Crawford’s jacket off and undid his belt. “You don’t talk much, do you?” he said.
Crawford shook his head. “Eh, don’t worry, I know exactly what you want.” Crawford’s lips quirked in a wry smirk. You have no idea. He made his way to the bed and sat down, preparing himself mentally for the next part of his test. And then, suddenly, he felt something slam into his shields so powerful that he was momentarily disoriented. In that instant, the back of his head exploded in pain as something very hard struck him from behind. “Disgusting American pig! What do you take me for?” he heard the boy spit at him in English before the world faded to blackness. When he regained consciousness, Crawford was shocked to discover that he was bound hand and foot to the bed on which he was lying. More horrifying, he realized a split second later, was the fact that he was naked. Sitting up as far as he could, he cast about the room for his clothing; but it was gone, and so was the boy. “DAMN!” *** Crawford entered the crowded club and scanned the seething throng of unsavory humans. It had taken him two additional days to track his target down again, but his patience had finally paid off. This time, he wasn’t going to underestimate his quarry. He was human, and he made mistakes, but he never made the same mistake twice. As he neared the bar, he suddenly caught a flash of orange-red in the darkest part of the club. Two steps closer…there! He spotted the boy in the same instant that he himself was spotted, and his target darted out the back door of the club. Cursing once more, he shoved his way through the crowd in hot pursuit. He exited the club just in time to catch sight of the boy disappearing around the corner to his left. Crawford sprinted down the dingy alley after him. He followed the boy through a twisting maze-like series of inner city streets, but he couldn’t seem to gain any ground. Jesus, he’s fast! Reaching out with his second sight, he probed for a better method than simply running himself ragged. Success! The boy veered into an alley to the right, but Crawford turned to the left. Several turns later, he stopped and waited, chest heaving and lungs burning with the need for air. A second later, the boy dashed out in front of him, and Crawford tackled him bodily to the ground. Without hesitation, he pistolwhipped the boy across the head. His target went limp. Finally. A lot less subtle than he would have preferred, but at least it was done. Still panting from the exertion, he sat down for a second to catch his breath. His suit would get dirty, but it was most likely a lost cause at this stage anyway. By the time he had his breathing under control, his heart rate had calmed down as well. Staring down at the target of weeks’ worth of research and legwork, he sighed. “You had better be worth it.” *** He stared through the one-way glass mirror at the current occupant of the observation room. The boy was lying face down on the single bed shoved into the far corner of the room, unconscious. To Crawford’s left stood a short, balding fat man who smelled of stale cigars and breath mints, and to his right, a taller, reedier version of the same thing. “So Crawford, this is your telepath? He doesn’t look like much,” the short one squinted into the room with obvious disdain. “In fact, he’s hardly more than a child.”
He bit back the angry retort that danced on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he opened the slim manila folder in his hands. “Let me see that,” the short man demanded. “Schuldich? What’s that, a first name or a last name?”
Crawford shrugged. The man scanned further down the page and suddenly barked out a derisive laugh. “Preliminary profile: highly intelligent, manipulative, deceptive…overcompensating for your little embarrassment, are we, Crawford?” “To think he managed to get the drop on you, of all people,” the other one snickered. “I don’t blame you for wanting to exaggerate your report, but really Crawford. Telepath or not, he’s just a kid.” He’s not just a kid, nor has he ever been. Freaks like us can’t afford the luxury of childhood. “Yeah…my German shepherd weighs more than that boy does!” The two of them laughed at this, and it was all Crawford could do not to kill them on the spot. But then, he had a better idea, as he always did. “It looks like he’s waking up,” he said, directing their attention back into the observation room with a nod of his head. The boy groaned and sat up, one hand coming up to cradle what must have been a killer headache. “Poor kid…” one man muttered. The boy drew his knees up to his chest, wrapped his arms around his legs, and stared into the mirror like a frightened rabbit. “He can’t see us, can he?” “No, but he knows you’re here. My guess is, he’s trying to read you through the glass.” The two men exchanged an uneasy glance. “Can he do that?” “Ordinarily, yes, but the room is shielded,” Crawford answered. “Hello? Please…” the boy whimpered in German. Then abruptly, as if he suddenly understood the situation, he switched to English. “Hello? Somebody? Help…” “Jeez…someone should go in there and talk to him,” one man said, his voice softening with pity. “Actually, I think you should speak to him. Seeing me would only upset him, which would cloud the issue,” Crawford suggested.
The taller man frowned as Schuldich started crying miserably. “This is ridiculous,” the shorter one snapped. “If you’re so afraid of him, then I’ll go in there. Someone should…kid’s probably scared out of his mind.” Crawford allowed himself a crooked smirk as the man carefully opened the door to the observation room, and slipped inside. The boy whipped around to stare at him in surprise. “Hey, easy, kid. I just wanna talk to you, all right?” the man soothed. He moved closer to the bed, talking softly like he would to a frightened kitten. “Nobody’s gonna hurt you. I just wanna talk.” The man had finally maneuvered himself to a standing position next to the bed and about an arm’s length away from the boy. Crawford had to give him credit…he hadn’t expected him to survive that far. But then a vision flashed before his mind’s eye, and he knew he had spoken too soon. The attack came so suddenly that even the man standing next to Crawford jumped back away from the mirror. The boy grabbed the lumbering fat man and slammed his head into the metal bedframe. Blood sprayed onto the floor even as the youth sprinted across the room and wrenched furiously at the door.
Frustrated, he whirled around to glare directly into the mirror. “Oh my god…” the reedy man whispered in shock at the sight of blood, and the raging boy who had only moments before seemed perfectly tractable. The clairvoyant assassin grinned in satisfaction. He walked over to the door and opened it. Immediately, the boy tried to slip past him, but Crawford shoved him back inside, closing and locking the door behind them. “You!” Schuldich hissed. “You sick fuck, I knew it! What the hell is going on here? Who the fuck are you? What’s-” “Shut up and listen!” Crawford snapped, switching the conversation into German. He didn’t know how proficient the boy was in English, (though he could certainly curse with amazing fluency), but he didn’t want any communication barrier to cloud his meaning. “No, you listen to me, you asshole! I don’t know who you are or what you th-“
He grabbed the boy and locked him into a chokehold, effectively silencing the stream of invective. Schuldich kicked at him, struggling violently in his grasp. Crawford winced as a heel connected with his left shin. It would definitely leave a bruise, he decided. “If you behave like an animal, then you will be treated like an animal. Is that what you want?” The boy was turning blue, but Crawford waited. Finally, just when the assassin was afraid his captive would lose consciousness again, the boy shook his head. Crawford released him. Schuldich dropped to the floor, coughing and wheezing as he sucked air into his lungs. “Sit down,” the American ordered, indicating the bed with a wave of his arm. The boy merely coughed at him some more. Crawford felt a headache forming between his eyes. He wanted to just let it slide, but he knew that if he didn’t gain control now, he never would. “SIT!” To his amazement, the boy glared death at him, but obeyed nonetheless, sitting on the bed with a defiant flop. “Good.” He felt as if he were training a dog or something. Roll over, sit, speak, good dog. Ignoring the bleeding fat man on the floor, he pulled up a chair and sat down opposite the boy. “My name is Brad Crawford. As you’ve probably guessed, I’m not your typical customer.” “No shit,” the boy mumbled under his breath, but loudly enough that Crawford could hear. The American reigned in his annoyance with the ease of years of practice. “As you are most probably also aware, you have a gift…the gift of telepathy. Your abilities allow you to hear thoughts.” “How-“ “NOT. One. Word.” He gave the boy what he knew to be his most intimidating glare. “You will speak only to answer my questions, is that understood?” “Yes, Brad,” Schuldich sneered between clenched teeth. “Crawford. Now, as I was saying. You’re a very talented young man. I specialize in seeking out people like you, with unique talents, and then I help them. What I am offering you here is an opportunity to better yourself. I can train you to realize the full extent of your capabilities. You can learn to contro-“
He broke off as the boy raised his hand in a sarcastic attempt to get his attention without speaking. Fighting exasperation, he nodded. At least the boy was learning. “YOU want to train ME?” “Yes.” “Personally? You yourself?” “Yes.” “Why? What d’you get out of it?” Schuldich asked suspiciously. “I won’t lie to you. You and your abilities will be very useful to me in the days to come.” “Useful for what?”
Despite himself, Crawford was impressed with the boy’s shrewdness in summing up the crux of his situation. Schuldich scowled. “There’s no such thing as a free lunch,” the American stated. “Everything has a price.” And everyone too. “Yeah, but how do I know it’s worth it?”
Crawford smirked. The boy seemed to be waffling, his cocky confidence deserting him. Crawford felt the moment slipping away. He would have to press the boy into making a decision as quickly as possible, before he lost him. “Is your current situation really so appealing? You have nothing to lose, and everything to gain.” “Oh yeah, like what?”
Crawford smirked. “Anything?” “Anything.” Crawford waited in silence as the boy wrapped his mind around that one. Just when he thought he would have to say something more, the boy nodded almost imperceptibly, just once. “Good.” Standing up, he headed for the door. “Come.”
Schuldich scrambled off the bed to follow him. “Home.” There's the first 8/19 pages. Grar. Did I mention how much this fic annoys me? >_< Oh well. More tomorrow, because I'm tired of htmling.
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