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Mein Herz Brennt - Part II Monday, June 10, 2002 -
Ok, as promised, here is the continuation. It's not really parted out properly into equal sections. In fact, I haven't thought of a good way to part this fic out yet. There are many places where I could part it, but for some reason I feel as though the flow of the fic would be broken up too much. And yet, 19 pages is a hell of a lot to digest in one sitting. So, I dunno. There's also a second part to all this, from Schu's perspective, and I'm not sure if I should put that under the same title and name it after the next consecutive part, or give it a new title, or what. Maybe I'll just name them part I and part II. Gah. Whatever. Here's your fries, eat 'em.
The slim man stepped out of the building onto the sidewalk, a gust of wind whipping his long wool coat around his ankles. The boy at his heels gaped in shock at the sheer profusion of city lights that illuminated the late October sky. “Where the-” “We flew in early this morning. Welcome to New York City.” He continued walking to his car, but stopped when he realized that the boy was no longer following him. Turning around, he caught sight of Schuldich gawking at a grotesque neon sign, which advertised a strip club in the vicinity. “Hey, can we go there?”
Snatching the boy’s wrist, Crawford proceeded to drag him to the waiting car. “Where are we going?” “I told you, home.” “Do you live alone?” “Yes.” “And I get to stay with you?” “Yes.” “Will I get my own room?” “Yes.” “Do I have to sleep with you?”
Crawford choked.
Schuldich eyed him warily.
Crawford rolled his eyes.
The boy was silent. Then suddenly, “WHAT? No!” “I really-“
He jerked the boy’s arm angrily.
Schuldich grinned.
Crawford sighed. “I can have anything?” “Yes.” “Really?” “Yes.” “Even if its-“ “Just pick something!” he snarled. “How about pizza? Isn’t that what you Americans eat all the time?” “No, it isn’t, but yes, we can order it if you like.”
The boy grinned as they passed a crowd of people. Without answering, Crawford shoved the annoying boy into his car. Then, he slid behind the wheel and pulled out into the steady stream of downtown traffic. “Wow, cool car! Do I get one too?” Schuldich was saying. “When you’re old enough to drive, yes.” “How do you know I’m not old enough?” “Because you’re not.” “Maybe I am.” “You’re not.” The redhead sighed and flopped back in his seat. Crawford was glad for the blissful silence that descended on the car. After a few moments, however, “Brad, why are you so quiet?”
He rolled his eyes. “No…” Schuldich tapped a finger to his temple. “Most people are always thinking…but when they stop talking, that’s when it gets louder. Like…like that night, when you-”
Crawford cut him off.
Schuldich frowned. He hesitated, then nodded. “Have you been lying to me, Brad?”
Sighing, Crawford dropped his shields a bit. It allowed the boy to read most of his surface thoughts, but nothing too deep. Schuldich’s face split into an ear to ear grin. “What, no thoughts about me this time?” “No. Now stop distracting me.” Slouching down into his seat, Schuldich contented himself with staring out the window in fascination at the thriving city. With a sudden flash of understanding, Crawford realized that the boy had become so accustomed to knowing everyone’s every thought intimately that shutting him out with the shields had been tantamount to blindfolding him. No wonder he had been talking incessantly, like a blind man tapping in the dark to compensate for his lack of sight. ”You’re a smart guy, Brad.” “Hn.” “You don’t like me much, do you?” Schuldich asked suddenly, twisting in his seat to peer at Crawford.
He frowned. “Sure it does. You either like me, or you don’t,” the boy insisted. “Well then the answer is I don’t,” Crawford snapped. ”Oh.” *** Crawford sighed as he lounged on the couch, his mind not at all on the late night news flashing across the television screen. Schuldich was in the bathroom taking a shower, and once in awhile he would catch snippets of tuneless humming. The evening had been fraught with inconsistencies, which he very much hated. It frustrated him that he had yet to get a solid grasp on the boy he was meant to train. One minute Schuldich would be so childish and immature that Crawford had to restrain himself from smacking him, and the next minute he would say or do something that made the American wonder if he was twice his age after all. It was confusing and exhausting dealing with the adolescent telepath’s erratic and sometimes bizarre behavior. The boy’s reactions were never the same twice, not even in response to the same or similar stimuli. It was so odd. His forehead creased in concentration as he struggled to grasp the revelation that sat just at the edge of consciousness. Reaction… That’s it! Reaction! The boy was reacting to his surroundings, and more specifically, the people around him. Reviewing the evening in his mind, he realized that every time Schuldich was near other people, his behavior would vary wildly, but usually when he was alone with just the two of them, he would stabilize. When they were walking to the car, he remembered passing a whole crowd of people. In fact, he recalled that Schuldich even commented on their thoughts. Shortly thereafter, the boy’s personality had digressed dramatically into an unmanageable state of hyperactivity. The second mood swing had occurred soon after he had pulled onto the freeway. Assumedly, crawling along at 30 miles per hour in downtown New York had still been close enough for the people in the vicinity to affect him. Once on the freeway, however, the traffic was sparser. As he examined the evening, it became clear to him that each and every personality switch had been accompanied by a change in the composition of the people around them. He shook his head in disbelief. Some of it is deliberate, I’m sure, but not all of it. I think he honestly can’t separate himself from the thoughts and minds of the people around him.
He shuddered. He couldn’t think of a worse way to live. “Say what?” Schuldich asked, popping into the room dressed in one of Brad’s old t-shirts, and a pair of old boxer shorts. The oversized clothing hung off his skinny frame like rags on a rake. His long orange-red hair draped in dripping dark red strings down his back, soaking his t-shirt. “Come here, I want to try something,” he beckoned. “Oooh?” the boy asked, eyebrow arching in surprise.
Crawford rolled his eyes. Schuldich plopped down next to him on the couch, and drew his legs up to sit cross-legged and facing him. “Tell me, do you find it hard to concentrate? When you’re around a lot of people at once, do you ever feel overwhelmed?”
The redhead frowned. “Do you ever feel like there are just too many voices?”
His face lit up.
Crawford nodded.
Schuldich snorted. “Good. Think of a book, and then I want you to concentrate on telling the story. Make it a somewhat long and complicated book.” He thought for a few moments, and then nodded. “Ok. Once I read this book about a samurai. It was really freaking long and there were lots of characters with really long Japanese names that all sounded alike. The main guy though, his name was…” Closing his eyes, Crawford let his shields slip away, and allowed his mind to wander. He worried about his car, and the strange noise that it was making. Briefly, he pondered taking it to the shop the next day. Then, he mentally listed all the things he would have to do in the morning, including open an expense account for Schuldich so he could buy himself some decent clothes. “…and his childhood best friend…Hey, I get an expense account? Cool!”
Crawford scowled and cuffed him.
The boy smirked shamelessly. “Focus!” the American growled. Schuldich frowned, obviously trying to, but the angrier Crawford got, the more distressed and frustrated he became.
With a sigh, the spectacled man snapped his shields back up.
Twisting a wet strand of hair around one finger, Schuldich shrugged. “Well think about it!” Crawford snapped. “You need to learn to block out the things that are unimportant, so you can concentrate on the things that are. But more to the point, you need to separate yourself from everyone else so that you can function in your own capacity. Do you understand what I’m saying?” The boy nodded, bright blue eyes wide and mouth open in surprise at the usually laconic man’s sudden outburst. “Good. Now, try again.”
Schuldich nodded, closed his eyes, and started again. Once again, Crawford dropped his mental shields and let his thoughts drift. Realizing that the boy was most easily distracted by the thoughts that were related to him, the clairvoyant kept himself from thinking about him. He wanted to ease into it, and then build in difficulty. Back to his car, he decided that he would take it into the shop. After all, if the noise indicated something amiss, he didn’t want to do further damage by driving it around that way. And speaking of damage, that suit he wore the other night was a total loss; it wouldn’t do any good to dry clean it. His other suits, on the other hand, could probably use a good dry cleaning. He opened his eyes to check on Schuldich. The boy’s forehead was creased in a look of intense concentration, and his fists were balled in his lap. Crawford’s lips quirked in a smile of amusement. “…and his enemy was this really cool guy, who had a neat nickname. I think it was... I forget, but anyway, he had this bad ass sword technique called the…” With a sigh, he wondered if maybe he should order some groceries brought to the apartment. Now that he had someone to think about beside himself, he supposed he ought to keep the refrigerator stocked. Idly, he hoped they liked the same foods, as it would make buying groceries easier. What sort of things did Schuldich like to eat anyway? “…disciple was this really annoying kid who he met at a shop somewhere. I guess the shop owner couldn’t write, so…so…uh….” Schuldich shook his head. “…so he had him take down the note for him…” Crawford continued their exercise for a full hour before finally stopping. By then, the boy was visibly shaking with the effort of blocking him out. “Enough, you can stop now.” Schuldich continued rambling on, so deep in his trance-like state of concentration that he failed to hear him.
Crawford snapped his fingers.
Startled, the boy jumped, blinking in disorientation. “I think that’s enough for tonight. It’s been a long day. Why don’t you go to bed?” “Hmm, okay,” he said, surprisingly compliant. He slid off the couch and went to his bedroom without another word.
Crawford was left staring after him in surprise.
With a bone weary sigh, he realized how truly exhausted he was. In fact, now that he thought about it, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept. It had been at least a couple of days, of that he was sure. Rising from the couch, he quickly completed his nightly routine of checking the doors and windows, locking all the locks, setting the alarms, and turning off the lights. Just please…no nightmares tonight. His eyes slid closed and almost before he could complete that thought, he was sound asleep. *** Brad opened his eyes slowly to take in his blurry surroundings. The room was slightly chilly, but he was warm under his blanket. He reached over to the nightstand and put on his glasses, checking the clock for the time. With a start, he remembered he had a meeting that morning. As much as he hated to do it, he carefully untangled himself from the mess of sheets. Dressed and freshly scrubbed, he went to the kitchen for a quick cup of coffee. As he emerged, cup in hand, he noticed that the TV was on, its volume turned down low. Video game controller in one hand and remote in the other, Schuldich was sprawled across the couch, deep in sleep. Empty wrappers and soda cans littered the floor around the couch. He sighed. Sometimes he wondered if he was too easy on the boy. He probably should have given him a bedtime, forced him to eat well-balanced, nutritious meals at regular times in the day, taught him manners, maybe. Perhaps it was ill-placed sentimentality, but a part of him wanted the boy to have the opportunity to live the way he wished he could have when he was that age. The only thing he was absolutely stringent about was that the boy study. As long as Schuldich learned what he was supposed to learn, paid attention during training exercises, and kept his annoying comments to a minimum, Crawford let him do whatever he liked. Schuldich mumbled something in his sleep.
Crawford smirked. He walked over and shook the boy roughly awake.
Schuldich yawned and opened his eyes.
Finishing off his coffee, Crawford nodded. “It sounds like so much fun,” Schuldich said, yawning again. “Damn, I wish I could go”
He rolled his eyes. “I hope so. You know I can’t function without your constant presence.”
Crawford ignored him. On the way out, *** All eyes turned to stare at him as Crawford walked into the conference room. He took his seat with characteristic indifference.
The short blond woman at the head of the long oval table stood and cleared her throat. A large, thickly muscled man stood and flipped open his notes. On the wall in front of them, a photograph appeared of a tall building composed primarily of steel and glass. “Progress has been rapid in the last several months on the building and staffing of our international offices. What you see here is a photograph taken two weeks ago of our base in Russia. As you can see, it is nearing completion. It currently has twenty staff members, twelve talented and eight non-talented. This is, of course, only a skeleton crew. Final manpower figures are estimated in the area of three hundred employees.” Takeda thumbed a switch and the image flipped. “This is our office in Australia. It is only partially completed.” The image flipped again, this time to reveal a table of facts and figures. “These are the building materials still required, and their preliminary costs.” Takeda quickly ran through several of the more important figures, and then went on. After about an hour of this, Crawford was having a hard time staying focused. He had hoped this would be quick, because he particularly despised meetings. They were so…corporate, and they made him feel like such a shill. “And what of our base in Austria, Takeda-san?” the chairwoman asked. “Aah,” Takeda smiled. “Our Austrian base is our first to achieve completion. It is completely operational, and there is now a staff of one hundred operatives. Recruitment is slow, but we are hoping to expand to a total of four hundred personnel by the end of the year.” Heads in the room nodded in approval. “That’s very good news, and I’m glad to hear it. Now, the next item on our agenda is Mr. Crawford’s training progress report.”
Hearing his name, the tall clairvoyant stood. “That won’t be necessary,” the chairwoman interrupted. “I beg your pardon?” Crawford asked mildly. “I think we all would agree that you’ve done an excellent job thus far, and I think he’s ready for field work. Phase IV can be completed in situ at his new assignment.”
Crawford felt his blood run cold. “Yes. I’m anxious to get our facility in Austria functioning at peak efficiency as soon as possible and every effort should be made to expedite that end goal. I think the completion of Schuldich’s training comes at a remarkably opportune time. Our Austrian office needs some good people, and I have the utmost confidence that you have trained him well. Besides, he already speaks the language. The less time wasted in addition language training, the better. Wouldn’t you agree?”
He swallowed. “Good. Come by my office later and I’ll give you the necessary transfer documentation.” The American nodded and sat down, feeling as if a bombshell had just gone off nearby, leaving him deaf and numb. Why had he not seen it coming? But more importantly, why was she doing this to him? Over a year ago, he had been granted permission to assemble a crack team of operatives. He was allowed to use any resource he liked, so long as it did not interfere with his other projects and duties. He had spent months of research and weeks of tracking to find Schuldich. Not to mention, he had just spent an entire year of his life devoted to training him! Deep down, he knew there were other reasons, more personal reasons to resent this new assignment, but he ignored them. He was good at ignoring his feelings; he had had much practice. What mattered the most, he convinced himself, was his team, and the valuable asset that Schuldich’s skills would be to that team. Crawford’s eyes narrowed in silent rage. They weren’t going to take him away just like that. He’s mine. *** “Crawford, good, come in. Here are the papers I wanted to give you. There’s also some minor paperwork that needs to be filled-“ “He’s not going,” he stated, cold fury evident from the glint in eyes. “Excuse me?” “He’s part of my personal project, the one which, if I’m not mistaken, you yourself granted me permission to undertake.”
The blond woman folded her arms in irritation. “But he isn’t fully trained. He hasn’t even completed Phase IV,” the clairvoyant interjected.
The woman sighed in exasperation. “What are you saying?” Crawford gritted, although he already knew the answer. “I’m saying that you’ve lost your emotional detachment to this case. You are no longer suitable for the position.” “There’s no way I could have pushed him any harder than I already have!” “Yes, you could have. It’s all right there in the projections.” “Tests aren’t everything,” he snapped.
The woman made a short, hacking sound that might have been interpreted as a laugh. Her words hung in the air like a guillotine as it all sank in. He’d failed. It was pretty obvious that this was a direct result of his ineptitude. And now…now they were going to send him away. Just like...
// “Sssh, be quiet, you’ll wake the kids.” “No, I won’t be quiet! I want you to tell me what the hell is wrong with him!” A long pause. “The doctor says he has delusions.” “Are you telling me my son’s a fucking nutcase?” “No! He’s not crazy! He’s just…” “Just what, Beth? What does that mean, delusions?” “He thinks he sees things happen that haven’t really happened. Or things that are there, but aren’t.” “Are you shitting me? /That/s why he took Stevie out of his crib and dragged him out onto the front lawn in the middle of the night, because he thought…what, that there were monsters or something?” “Sssh, keep your voice down! Apparently, he thought the house was on fire.” “What? That’s crazy, all right, that’s the definition. I don’t care what you say, that boy’s fucked up. He’s already retarded, or something. He won’t talk, he fails all his classes, and when he’s home he just sits there, staring off into space. After all that trouble we had with him in that last school, I’ve had it! This is the last straw, you hear me?” “The neighbors can hear you, Charles!” “I don’t care! This is it, Beth! It was bad enough before, but now it’s gone too far. What if he thought Stevie was on fire, and threw him in the river? What would you do then? Or do you think that’s ok, too? How long are you going to defend that little freak? What if he turns psycho and kills us all, huh?” “Charles! For god’s sakes, he’s ten years old, what’s he going to do, overpower you in your sleep? He’s just a child, and he’s your son!” Another pause. “You’re right, he’s my son, and it’s my responsibility to take care of him. Call that doctor tomorrow…I want something arranged. Put him in a hospital, or an asylum, or whatever place the doctor recommends.” “You…you can’t be serious! You can’t do that…he’s just a child. You can’t just throw him in some looney bin, all alone. He’d miss us-“ “No, you mean you’d miss him. I don’t think he’d miss us. Honestly, Beth, I don’t think he has the capacity to miss us.” “How can you say that? He’s not an animal!”
“I don’t care. You call the doctor tomorrow and get something set up. This discussion is over.” His hands balled into fists as he thought about the night he ran away from home. That useless bitch! He’d hated her for her weakness. She never could stand up to that bastard. And now, what was he? No better than she was. He was just like her.
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and reopened them. “I see no reason to wait. There’s a routine supply plane leaving first thing tomorrow morning for Austria. I want him on it.” “I’ll see to it.” This whole section doesn't sit right with me, but I've been over it several times and I can't decide what it is exactly that I don't like about it. The memory transition also feels particularly rough, but that's because it was a semi-recent addition. I think it definitely adds a lot, and makes up for some of the things that this section was lacking, but I still feel like it's missing something. Oh well. ***
Schuldich stared at the papers in shock, his ever-present smirk absent for once. Crawford’s jaw clenched. Because I failed. “Because they need agents. You should be flattered. From the documentation, it looks like an important assignment.” “But I don’t want to go!”
Crawford scowled. Sometimes he forgot what a whiney fifteen-year-old Schuldich could be. “Why? What’d I do?” “It’s not a punishment; it’s graduation. As of today, you no longer need me.”
The boy shook his head. “This isn’t a negotiation.”
The boy stamped his foot in petulant protest.
Crawford glared. “I’m not throwing a tantrum! I just don’t see why I have to go back!” “DON’T. Argue with me!” “I’m not!” Crawford smacked him with such force that his hand stung. Instantly, he regretted letting his temper get the best of him, especially since it was obvious that the root of his anger lay buried elsewhere. He shouldn’t have done that. Despite the unfortunate brutality that had dominated their first encounter, theirs was not a violent relationship. He couldn’t remember ever having struck Schuldich in anger. The boy stared at him, mouth open in shock, eyes clouded with hurt and betrayal. Guilt gnawed at him. Then abruptly, the boy ran to his room and slammed the door. With a sigh, Crawford snagged his coat and stalked out of the apartment. He spent the rest of the day wandering aimlessly around the city, his thoughts and emotions a mess. He searched continuously as he walked; over and over again he strained for a glimpse of the future, but it was all so vague. Whenever he tried to sharpen the grayness, the vision would slip away. The tighter he clasped, the sooner it would melt into nothingness. The only impressions he could obtain were ambiguous at best. He didn’t return home that night. It was too much to deal with, and, concerned that he would only make matters worse, he simply stayed away. The next day, as he stood on the desolate runway in the darkness of pre-dawn, he watched as a part of him disappeared into the horizon, taken from him as punishment for his failure. For once, the clairvoyant was reduced to flailing in the dark like the rest of humanity, hoping and praying for a future yet undecided.
A rather anticlimactic end, wouldn't you say? Short confrontation, no waterworks, no long drawn-out goodbyes. But you know, I don't think Brad would have had it any other way. Not that I'm sure he would have run away. But hey, this is Brad like 7 or so years prior to WK, so he's young yet. He hasn't had time to really perfect his asshole persona. XD
Anyway, next is Schu's perspective. While this section covers a year of time, the next section covers like five. Or six, depending on where my finalized plot is going. Heh. The last section will cover a year, or less. Long fic. Bah. And I hate it so. Oh well. *shrugs*
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