"Bluebeard"
This door you might not open, and you did;
So enter now, and see for what slight thing
You are betrayed - Here is no treasure hid,
No cauldron, no clear crystal mirroring
The sought for truth, no heads of women slain
For greed like yours, no writhing of distress,
But only what you see - Look yet again:
An empty room, cobwebbed and comfortless.
Yet this alone out of my life I kept
Unto myself, lest any know me quite;
And you did so profane when you crept
Unto the threshold of this room to-night
That I must never more behold your face.
This is now yours. I seek another place.
(Edna St. Vincent Millay)
Nagi felt ill at ease in the back of the car. It was more like a truck, large-wheeled, white and bulky, just the right automobile for regions such as the snowy whites of the Alps. It ploughed through the drifts of snow on the street as if they were made of other things than ice crystals; Nagi did not ask Farfarello if he knew which road they had to take. Any road away from their last location was fine with him. The youth turned in his seat and looked out of the rear window of the truck: he could not see the Eszet base anymore, nor the forest of fir trees that stood near it, but he saw the column of smoke that represented the building. They had set fire to the building, or rather, Farfarello had, with the aid of canisters of gas he had gone to fetch without ever having been inside the mainframe base before. In the early hours of morning, the smoke was black and gray against the piercingly blue sky. And yet, compared to the mountain, the Finsteraarhorn, the column of smoke was tiny. Nagi shivered. If he had any say in it, he would never set a foot near the Alps again.
They drove past a lake, its frozen surface mirroring the sky. Nagi stared at it until it was gone from his sight. The car that stood near the lake, a Jeep, was half-hidden under snow. One of the doors stood open; he thought, or maybe he just imagined it, that the open car door was inviting him to stay, to return, to linger.
In the front of the truck, Schuldig moved his head a fraction. Farfarello cast a glance in the rear view-mirror and sped up.
They took the road that lead around the lake and away from it. Fir trees and snowdrifts gave way to the open, flat planes of a highway, its surface pristine, untouched. There were no signs of other cars.
But there was an amazing amount of dead animals.
Hares, birds, and even a few deer, some lying in the middle of the highway, some among the bushes and firs that grew on the side, lying as if something had plucked them out of life in an instant, death a short, sharp shock and then nothing.
"What happened here?"
Nagi turned his head, looking out of both side windows. A few minutes later, they passed a car that had apparently been heading into the opposite direction. Farfarello slowed down, and both the Irishman and Nagi looked at the driver of the car. It was a man, clad in a business suit, the remains of a cigarette hanging between his lips, blisters frozen around his mouth where the filter had burned down. His eyes were open, his face slack. Here death, too, seemed to have come instantaneous.
Schuldig leaned his head against the headrest and sighed. "Can we please go on?"
The farther away they got from the Finsteraarhorn and its neighbouring mountains, the more cars they passed. Some stood in the middle of the road, some were coiled around trees, their drivers either sitting behind the driving wheel as if they were sleeping, or hanging out of broken windows, open doors, shattered windshields.
Farfarello stopped at a gas station and filled the truck up, and then escorted Schuldig into the small shop all gas stations seemed to have. The few cars in the parking lot were deserted. They found the drivers in the shop, dead. One small boy lay on his side, hand curled around a half-eaten sandwich, a mouthful of bread and cheese in his open mouth. The Irishman watched Schuldig as the German walked behind the counter and helped himself to several packs of cigarettes and a handful of lighters, and then silence ensued as Schuldig sighed and looked at his shoes, while Farfarello looked at Schuldig.
"I'm confused," Farfarello finally said. "I was coming there to rescue you. Why didn't I have to?"
"You sound angry."
"I'm confused," Farfarello repeated. He raked his hands through his hair. "I don't know anything anymore. What happened? What did they do to you? What did you do to them?"
Schuldig tucked a long strand of orange hair behind one ear and lit a cigarette. His gaze remained locked on his shoes, or the floor, Farfarello did not know. Yet, the Irishman did know that Schuldig's open refusal to look at him was beginning to anger him.
"I killed them," Schuldig said, voice barely above a whisper. "I killed all of them."
"That much is pretty obvious," Farfarello snorted. "How? They had you strapped to a chair. Who was that voice that spoke to me outside the mainframe base?"
"Me. And not me. It's hard to explain."
"Try anyway."
"Not here."
"Yes. Here." Farfarello said it with more vehemence than he himself realized. At the same time, he felt Schuldig's mind brush against his own; his reaction was defensive, startlingly so, and yet it was the only thing he could do. He felt like he did not know the person who stood before him. He looked like Schuldig, sounded like Schuldig, smelled like Schuldig, and yet Farfarello was not sure. The Irishman felt cut lose, lost. He did not know what to say, what to do.
"Did Moriate tell you about the old woman before she died?" Schuldig, if there was any, did not show his pain at being rejected, and did not try to enter Farfarello's mind again. Instead, he gently stroked a mental finger over the bond that connected him to the Irishman, reminding the other that what had once been between Moriate and Schuldig was now between Farfarello and Schuldig. Maybe it wasn't the same, for Farfarello was not a telepath, but it was there, more vibrant than ever. The connection they had shared before this nightmare was nothing compared to what they shared now.
"Moriate mentioned someone. Didn't tell me a name though."
"She had no name. She didn't need one. Look, this would be a lot easier if you'd just let me into your mind."
Farfarello tilted his head to the side. "Schu, why do I have the feeling that you could show me what you wanted without my permission? We've passed over two hundred dead people on our way here, and fuck knows how many dead animals. It was you who killed them. I'm sure of that. How?"
"That's not important now," Schuldig sighed, crushing the butt of his cigarette beneath his heel.
"Well, then be my guest." Farfarello said, with more force than he had intended. A small pressure made itself known in his chest - pain? It didn't feel like it. It was nothing like what he had felt when Schuldig had been treated for the gunshot wound.
Carefully, the telepath nudged the bond between himself and the Irishman open; this time, he did not encounter any defensive walls. Schuldig could have cried. Even though they had not been parted for that long a time, being let inside Farfarello's mind meant more to him than being free from Eszet. He swallowed heavily as he stepped into the land he knew so well and loved so dearly, glad, beyond glad, that the merge between Farfarello and Moriate had not changed anything.
Actually, Schuldig was surprised. He would have expected the young woman to fight, just as she had fought him in the warehouse in Japan.
But there were no traces of the female telepath, other than large chunks of information and a handful of images Farfarello's mind had found useful and kept.
Maybe Moriate had not valued her own life as much as Schuldig had believed.
He relayed what the old woman had told him, watching the Irishman out of the corner of his eye. Farfarello's face remained blank at first. Schuldig began to show him images, of the old woman, of what had happened to Moriate, of what had happened to him. Though painful as it was for him to again see how easily he had been beaten by the old woman, how easy it had been for him to be cracked open like an egg and filled with the minds of the other telepaths in the mainframe base, Schuldig knew he needed to see it as much as Farfarello did.
Farfarello's eyebrows shot up as he saw what Schuldig had done to free himself from his own mind's prison. He shook his head, lifting a hand to rub his brow. Schuldig disconnected their minds again and walked to the Irishman's side.
"I don't understand it," Farfarello said quietly. "You 'mirrored' them? And what is the Hollow Night?"
Schuldig put his arms around the Irishman's neck, glad to feel how the other's body almost automatically molded itself to his own. He closed his eyes and trailed his lips along Farfarello's neck before he rested his head on Farfarello's shoulder.
"Do you remember what I said the night I merged with Moriate?"
"'I am the mirror, cracked inside the frame'?"
"Yes. I understand it now. We are all mirrors. We reflect what's inside, and what the world shows us. When the old woman managed to make me give in to my rage towards her, she was counting on me to let go of my control, too, and I walked right into that trap."
"But - "
"Let me finish, please." A gentle bite to Farfarello's neck underlined the command. "There were telepaths in the mainframe base. A lot. I believe, no, I know they were there for just that occasion. Moriate said the old woman used her trust to infiltrate her...like a virus. I don't know what to call that power, but it's like a sponge for psychic powers. She waited until someone either trusted her enough to let her into their minds, or for someone to attack her. I attacked her. She used that moment to let the telepaths that were under her control into my mind, and I - "
" - recoiled," Farfarello finished. Schuldig nodded.
"I could handle the merge with Moriate because she was a single mind. One person. The psychic barrage of all the other telepaths overwhelmed me, and I recoiled. This...prism that she made of me was nothing but a gathering point for telepathy. And all of these telepaths were under the old woman's control. I had no chance."
Farfarello frowned. "That doesn't make sense. How did you get out? I mean, I guess what you did to get the Elders to stick to the ceiling like that was basically what Moriate supposedly did to that woman in Vienna, but - "
"This is where it gets sappy," Schuldig said in a small voice. "Sappy and stupid."
"Well?"
"The prism discovered you outside of the mainframe base after Nagi escaped. It attacked you and went into your mind. I can tell they were pretty taken aback by your thought processes," Schuldig chuckled, tightening his arms around Farfarello in affection. "Guess how mind-boggled it was when it discovered that someone like you could love. And it was even more mind-boggled when it found out that what you love was hidden in the prism itself."
"So it looked at itself and you kicked its ass."
Schuldig snorted. "No, not really. I mirrored them. All these telepaths. I echoed them. I threw back at them what they were throwing at me." Farfarello did not see it, but Schuldig's smile was smug. "I guess Crawford was right in his belief that I'd one day be able to go across half the planet with just a thought."
Farfarello shook his head. "I still don't get it. If this was all it took, why didn't you do it before?"
"Because I had to bare my entire self to them to do that. And throwing your soul to the wolves is never easy. I guess she didn't expect me to do that. Heh. I surprised her." Schuldig was silent for a moment. "I think I surprised myself with that."
Farfarello's right hand crept up Schuldig's arm, coming to rest on the telepath's shoulder. It lingered there for a moment before wandering on, up his neck, to tickle the ear it found beneath the waves of orange hair. Finally, Farfarello cupped Schuldig's chin and lifted his head; they stood nose to nose, slung around each other, just taking the other in as if for the first time.
"So you beat them," Farfarello said quietly, accentuating the 'beat' with a quick kiss. "Now, the Hollow Night. What exactly where they planning?"
"They wanted to rule the world." Schuldig leaned in closer. "Did you notice something strange about the guards you fought?"
Farfarello's eye began to slowly slide shut. "They seemed empty to me, h - "
"Hollow? Exactly. They were robots. Drained of personality and will, drained by the telepaths that were under the old woman's control, they would have been Eszet's puppets, while the prism would have been Eszet's power tool."
Their lips were touching now, their voices down to whispers. Schuldig licked across Farfarello's lower lip, lingering on the scar. He pulled back slightly as the Irishman tried to deepen the kiss.
"The Hollow Night did take place."
"The dead people and the animals," Farfarello mused. "Instead of making them robots, you killed them."
"I had to channel the leftover power somewhere, and they came in handy. I don't even know how many I killed. It doesn't matter." Schuldig laughed quietly, the sound reverberating through both their bodies where their chests were touching. "They called it the Hollow Night because it was supposed to happen at night, and because it was supposed to leave hollow people for Eszet to use."
"So on top of all, Eszet didn't even have style," One of the Irishman's hands fastened around the back of Schuldig's neck, keeping him in place for the kiss that followed. Schuldig sighed his breath into the other and received Farfarello's, and it was true, it was coming home, it was better than anything else, and it was all and everything both of them needed to know that between them, nothing had changed.
The kiss became heated. Schuldig ran his hands into his lover's short hair and ruffled it, feeling it slide through his fingers. Farfarello's free hand leisurely wandered down Schuldig's back to curl around one hip.
"Wonderful. That is just wonderful."
They froze, mouths still locked. Slowly, simultaneously, they turned their heads, their lips parting. Nagi was standing in the doorway, hands on his hips.
"This is simply great. We barely manage to get out of that hell hole with our lives, the entire country seems to be populated by corpses, and as soon as you two get a chance, you get it on." The youth's voice rose. "You know what? I tell you what I've had it. You never tell me anything! You two wanna fuck? Fine! Fuck! Right here in the middle of a fucking store amid a few fucking corpses. I'll be waiting in the fucking car until you're finished. Because, you know, there's something I want, and I want it now, and if I don't get it I'm going to FUCKING KILL SOMETHING IN ABOUT TWO SECONDS!"
"Breathe, Nagi," Schuldig said, genuine concern lacing his voice. "You're turning red."
"What do you want?" Farfarello asked.
Nagi's eyes, so dark they were nearly black, leveled in on the pair.
"I want a hug," he said, "Because I never seem to get them around here."
"...the region around the Finsteraarhorn has been evacuated of the populace that survived the as of yet unknown virus. The authorities have blocked all streets, claiming that the danger of the virus is not determinable; people whose family members lived in that area are advised to contact the police at the following telephone number..."
He turned his head away from the television, and gradually, the noise of the small German airport replaced the voice of the news speaker. Around him, tourists and locals talked in hushed voices, sending concerned, outraged, or simply shocked glances at the TV, doing their own to spread the urban legend of "The Virus."
4,598 dead people. 800 were still missing. Among the dead: children, women, men, animals - every being that once had drawn breath around the Finsteraarhorn had died.
They would never know what had really happened. With time, the 'Virus' would be forgotten, the now deserted houses sold, the dead buried or burned. Life would return to a place that for Schuldig, would always hold only memories of decay and death. But perhaps it was time to bury these memories too, along with the untold numbers of people the telepath had killed. Not for forever, but perhaps long enough for him to remember that there had been good times, that the dead would not rise, that Eszet was gone, and that they were now truly free.
The German looked over to where Nagi and Farfarello stood at a newspaper stand. In the harsh neon light of the airport, Farfarello's hair and skin were almost translucent, his black clothes only adding to the deathly pallor of his appearance. Nagi, next to him, was talking animatedly, using his hands to underline what his mouth put forth; Schuldig had to grin at the suffering look his lover sent at the ceiling in a moment when Nagi was not looking at the Irishman.
Thoughts brushed his mind, driving his attention away from his lover and Nagi. He sat up in the lounge chair and scanned the room, his mind idly following the thread of thought until he saw them: a young man and a woman, barely older than Schuldig himself. They stood almost hidden, close to a group of Japanese tourists; nervous as they were, even a non-telepath would have found their behaviour suspicious.
Both started violently, clutching at each other's arm, as Schuldig inserted himself into their mental conversation with ease; for the first time since they had left the Finsteraarhorn Schuldig used the power that had killed 4,598 people, but he only made himself known and even smiled as two pairs of eyes came to rest on him.
Don't worry. I won't harm you. Where do you come from?
They exchanged a glance, uncertainty showing on their faces. Schuldig noticed they were holding hands - either siblings, or lovers. A little digging through the young man's mind confirmed the latter.
Rosenkreuz, the young woman finally answered. She fidgeted with the hem of her sweater. Everyone is leaving because the old ones are dead.
Rosenkreuz. It took Schuldig a moment to place the name. Rosenkreuz had been Eszet's second base, another stronghold of power; mainly used to train young gifted though, the place had held little of interest for the Elders.
What happened to the leaders loyal to the Elders?
We killed them. They had shipped some of us off to the Finsteraarhorn...I don't know what happened to them. But the old ones are dead now, and we're leaving. A smile passed the woman's face. We're free.
Yes, Schuldig smiled back at both of them, We are free now.
"Oi, Schu, what're you staring at?"
The German turned his head and grinned up at Nagi. "What, can't I avert my gaze from the glory of Nagi Naoe for a minute?" He laughed out loud as Nagi rolled his eyes and gave him the finger. He did not have to turn to know the other two telepaths were gone. Instead, Schuldig smiled as Farfarello sank into the seat next to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, drawing him against a muscled chest, into a short but deep kiss.
"Lovebirds," Nagi muttered, plunking down next to Farfarello.
"You're just jealous," the Irishman muttered back, eye closed, arm like vice around Schuldig's shoulders.
"Maybe I am."
The quiet statement made both of them look at the Japanese youth. Nagi's face was terribly naked for a moment, as if his last words had escaped against his will. His dark blue eyes reflected pain for a second, pain, and loss of a thing that could have been had the circumstances been different.
"You miss Moriate?" Schuldig asked.
"Maybe. I don't know. I think I loved her, but I hated her too." Wistfully, Nagi trailed his hand along the armrest of the lounge chair. "If it hadn't been for her, all this would never have happened."
"If it hadn't been for her, we wouldn't be free now," Farfarello pointed out.
"True," Nagi conceded. "I guess there's something good in every devil."
"Nagi's getting philosophic," Schuldig drawled, grinning. He became serious a moment later. "In the end, I think she got what she wanted. She's free now. Whatever she was, in the end she was our ally. Even though she was a cold little bitch with an attitude a mile long. Even though you raped her."
Nagi scowled, sending the German a scathing glare. "You don't have to rub it in, Schu."
"Oh, to feed those demons..."
"Now who's getting philosophic here?" Farfarello asked dryly, silencing Schuldig with a hard kiss.
"Lovebirds," Nagi muttered again, but this time, he was smiling.