"My Lady," Walter motioned for the door, "Perhaps you should wait outside."
"Why are we here, Walter?"
He glanced back outside to the darkening road ahead. "Travel at night invites trouble in many forms. Shelter is what we seek now. We can start the last stretch tomorrow morning, but for now we are safer inside."
Richard could not argue with his logic, "Alright, but please dispose of the dead bodies. This foul smell is too much."
Nodding, Walter headed in.
Vincent, who had suspiciously been silent the entire afternoon ride, walked back out and headed for the horses. At first, Richard thought the stench had affected him into a nauseating daze as it had for her, but she slowly began to realize that he either did not notice it, or that it did not bother him.
Lost in her own thoughts, she missed what he whispered under his breath while patting his mount.
"Pardon?" She asked.
His eyes flicked to hers for a moment, then back to the dead bodies, "Crows."
"...What about them?"
"Schrodinger is far ahead of us. These bodies have been dead for a day at the very least."
"And?" Richard pressed impatiently.
Vincent lowered his head and squinted, following the trail of bodies ahead and behind them until trees and shrubs along the road obscured the pathway, "Crows should be circling the untouched kills by now, yet we haven't seen a one."
This gave her pause. She looked around and squinted passed the house and down the road until the pathway took a turn out of sight. Then she realized there were no birds at all, not even songbirds. And there were no evening torchbugs or crickets chirping. Everything was silent.
Vincent must have realized this at the same time, for their eyes locked together in apprehension.
"I think we should keep moving," Vincent stated, "Something feels…amiss."
Richard jumped when Walter abruptly opened the door to the house. She breathed a sigh of relief to calm her nerves, until she noticed that he looked pale as a ghost.
"Walter, is something wrong?"
He visibly gulped, "The bodies…the family who lived here. I had originally thought that they had no puncture marks which would indicate a blade, no strangulation rings, and no bludgeoned bruises. After some time searching, I found two small puncture marks on each of their necks."
"What kind of marks?" Vincent interjected.
Walter looked over and hesitated, as if he was unsure he saw correctly. "Two small puncture wounds deep enough to reach blood, but incredibly smooth. And…" He trailed off.
"And?" Vincent began to walk up the stoop.
"And the bodies themselves. They were pale as the moon. When I finally moved them, I noticed that one had been stabbed in the back, another slashed in the leg, and the third hid the tip of a broken dagger in her ribs. But there was no blood spatter, no pool of red, not even staining on their clothing."
"What?" Richard gawked, "That cannot be possible."
Vincent hushed her, and for a split second she turned to chastise him for rudely cutting her off. But she looked over at Walter who was also silent. She waited, again in that eerie silence, only this time something rustled.
Turning around to face the road again, Vincent focused his eyes on a crow that had descended onto the dead body of a fallen Ottoman soldier. The three watched the bird eye the corpse for a moment as it walked up and down the soldier's chest, contemplating whether to pick off a bite or two.
Suddenly the Ottoman's arm sprang up from the ground and snatched the crow. It squawked loudly and made a terrible shriek as its neck snapped from the corpse's grip. Richard screamed and reached for her sword, as did Vincent and Walter.
"Get inside!" they shouted in unison.
Richard slammed the door behind her and shut her eyes tightly. This all had to be a dream. It was a corpse, a very dead corpse. How in God's Holy Name could it have reanimated? Another rustle caused Richard to snap her eyes open, only this time the noise was not from outside.
The bodies of a young woman, a man, and their son rounded the corner. Their faces were sunken in and hollow, and lifeless black eyes stared back at her as they stumbled toward the door. These were the bodies of the farmer and his family who lived here, but how?
"Stop where you are! I am armed! I said STOP!" Richard shouted as her back pressed against the door.
The corpses made no motion to cease their movement, and finally when what used to be the farmer lunged at her, Richard cut into his midsection. When she drew back her sword, only a light smear of blood followed. No scream, no jolt. Nothing. The farmer just kept walking.
Bursting through the door, Richard raced out into the front yard where she found a dozen more animated corpses slowly surrounding Vincent and Walter.
"What is happening!?" she demanded as they both protectively shoved her in between the two of them.
"Schrödinger," Vincent glanced back at her, "He did this. These are his victims."
"But why are they alive?"
Walter relented, "My Lady, these men and women look many things, but alive is not one of them."
Rapidly searching for an answer, she remembered what Herr Major had said about all the power they could achieve. And she remembered how her own blade met Schrödinger's torso. No scream, no jolt. Nothing.
A faint slow clap echoed off of the trees until it became louder and louder. Bodies stopped moving closer and instead began to part and turn in formation until a singular figure appeared out of the darkness.
"Wery good!" Schrödinger's cat-like body glided into vision, "These are mine thralls. They vill follow me to the ends ov the earth, vill kill on command, or vill kill one another if I order it."
Instinctively, Walter and Vincent shielded Richard's view.
"A very disturbing parlor trick. Now if you don't mind us, we will be on our way," Walter tensed and motioned for the road.
Schrödinger chuckled, this time opening his arms and watching his thralls take ten steps back. More breathing room was always better. He then turned and in a blur was instantly facing Richard on the other side of her protectors' barricade. A gasp from both men did not deter his next words.
"My Lady, Herr Major and I knew you vould not believe us if ve based our argument solely on vords alone. Ve needed to demonstrate to you how powerful a being ov perfection can be, und how advantageous it vill be to count us among your ranks."
"What do you mean 'will be'?" she cocked one eyebrow. Clearly there was more than this heresy at work. She watched his eyes glimmer and change color.
He stated his next words carefully, "It would behoove you to consider what ve offer you, free ov charge, for the var to come. The Ottomans vill not cease until their empire expands from one end of this world to the other. Und this vill be your only advantage ower their endless supply of soldiers, vhich grows a little more ewery time they conquer new territory – und mind you, my Lady, they are coming for your Kingdom next. It ist now only a matter of time." Clasping her hand in his, Schrödinger kissed the back of her hand and delicately released.
She watched, somewhat entranced, as he met her gaze and smiled. Her stomach turned. "What have you done to these poor people? You killed them and then willed for them to…awaken from the dead?"
This time, her feline conversationalist turned to Vincent, "I did exactly that. Und they have now become an unstoppable force: an army untethered to hunger, fatigue, consciousness, or pain. Their souls have long departed. I merely use the husk of vhat ist left behind."
Gritting her teeth, Richard looked into the farmer's little boy's eyes, or what was left of them. Expressionless, he opened his mouth and groaned softly, lopping his head from one side to the other as if restless. "I may have forgiven the Ottoman soldiers' lives you took, but I cannot forgive you for killing innocent people like this boy."
Schrödinger shrugged, "Did you take a look at their crop yield? Their farmland has been vashed away vith this year's unseasonably long rains. This family vas starv
ing. I saved the child from suffering for veeks," his eyes changed color again, and his posture morphed from open and playful to cold, "Und trust me, starving ist the vorst vay to die."
Walter sheathed his sword, which granted him a few baffled looks from Vincent and Richard. "I'll make you a deal. Let us continue our journey back to Târgoviște and then back to the castle, and we will think upon your offer. I can offer you this, but no more. I cannot guarantee that the Regent will align with your sentiments."
Schrödinger grinned, as if he understood the punch line to some joke Walter had said. "You vere never in any danger. Und do not vorry about the Regent," his eyes met Richard's quizzical frown, "Your ruler vill come around."
There it was again. The song. The black and white keys pulling sound from the wires within the piano. She was there. Her song was there.
The teen's muscles flexed under his letterman's jacket, which had his last name sown into the back in large silver letters. The black wool that made up the rest of the jacket blended into the shadows the boy crouched in, as had become custom since the first time he had heard the enchanting song and arrived in time to see the black haired girl run out of the room when his presence had become known. Now he slowly stood, praying to God that his knees would not crack, and he edged towards the area the music was originating from. The school's music room was pitch black, bringing a new respect for the one playing from the boy. He swallowed as he saw that he was not going to be discovered. His eyes had become used to the darkness, and they saw the outline of a white collar and the white star on the converse the other teen was wearing. The boy who wore the name Rodriguez on his back, could see the head before him sway with the music, he could hear her content sigh, he could hear his own rampant heart thudding between his ears…as he stretched out his hand and hesitated, pulling his hand back a few inches, and then he extended his fingers. Quickly, he caught a hold of the shoulder, and the two gasped in unison. This he had expected, and he opened his mouth to begin his hurried apology, but what he had not expected was a strong, good sized fist swinging around and clipping him in the head, breaking the contact between the two. Stunned, Rodriguez clutched his head in disbelief while the figure seated at the piano jumped up and stumbled over a misplaced chair, landing on the floor with a loud thump.
"Are you alright?" Rodriguez called out in alarm, concern obvious in his tone, and the teen followed the direction the other had taken. But the teen on the floor scrambled out of his reach. The door was only a few strides away when Rodriguez's football training surfaced and, after a short sprint and a wild leap over a chair that the one he was perusing threw in his path, Rodriguez's hands caught the girl and pinned her against the wall. Suddenly anxious about how aggressive all of this seemed, the boy's other hand swept over the wall to find the light switch. He grunted with pain and effort when a powerful struggle began, almost causing him to abandon the light switch. But he was able to click it before bringing both of his hands to the surprisingly ungirlish shoulders and the monstrous strength the figure was showing as it pushed the six-foot-four teen away.
Then the light illuminated the room, blinding its occupants for a breathless second.
Rodriguez's jaw dropped in horror when very familiar red eyes were glaring at him instead of the kind and timid eyes he had expected. His mortification grew as his knowledge of the teen in front of him rose in his mind. The girl he had been longing after…was in fact a boy…a boy who was also a senior, the same age as Rodriguez…and was also a well known delinquent…a gangster who came to school in blood stained clothes. Vincent A. Ramos, a.k.a. the First from the streets. And, good gracious God almighty, he had thought this thug was his mysterious crush…the silent, phantom girl who played beautifully haunting music just after the sun set…
Rodriguez jolted back into reality when a pale fist formed in his vision and then, a split second later, struck him in the face, knocking him to the floor. He sat there, dazed into a stupor as the other boy approached. Vincent's arm extended and he caught one of the chairs, dragging it behind himself as he did not slow his steps. The chair left the ground, rising above Vincent's head as he towered over the felled teen, red eyes flaring with murderous intent. Green eyes turned upward at the image of death and Rodriguez's eyes sparked. The chair descended with a roar from the black haired boy.
There was a choking gasp as Rodriguez lunged forward, head-butting Vincent in the stomach. The chair grazed the football player's back before it clattered harmlessly to the floor, Vincent Ramos gagging and crashing to the tile with the much larger boy falling on top of him. The two wrestled on the ground without a different result. Rodriguez had the upper hand in size and in his position. But Vincent continued to thrash under the boy, hissing in frustration as this failed to deter Rodriguez who brought a heavy knee to the boy's back when Vincent managed to flip onto his stomach. Leaning to apply pressure, he heard the boy's back crackle a few times.
Coughing with a reddening face, Vincent resorted to cussing at the other teen, gasping out the words as breathing became increasingly more difficult.
"Get off! Fuckin' bastard! Get off of me! You're Goddamn heavy!"
A palm forced Vincent's face into the floor while Rodriguez scowled, disgusted by the boy.
"How dare you take the Lord's name in vain? A runt like you…!" Rodriguez was cut off as a renewed bout of thrashing commenced.
"BASTARD! GET OFF OF ME!"
Rodriguez grabbed the other boy's shoulders and shook him until he was quiet, yelling at him as Vincent's head lolled. "A girly little runt! How dare you! You ignorant piece of heathen trash!"
"And…and what harm…was…I…!" Rodriguez realized Vincent was speaking so he stopped shaking him. Alarm widened the green eyes as he realized the boy was wheezing disturbingly, and Rodriguez eased up the amount of weight he was leaning on Vincent. "What harm….came from my playing the fuckin' piano?" he panted, squirming a little. "Fuckin' ass hole!"
There was quiet, with the exception of Vincent's panting and his snarls. Rodriguez's mind was blank as he stared down at the teen, remembering the song he had fallen in love with…and the girl. His eyes ran over the lengthy black hair covering most of the boy's face. Then they moved to his clothes and he realized how thin and boney the boy was. His black sweatshirt was torn and smudged with dirt and the white collar had marks of blood spatter on the back of it.
"So…" he began quietly while Vincent continued to squirm uncomfortably. "…you really are the one who has been in here."
Vincent paused and then sneered at the floor. "Dumbass. Who else? You've been watching me and now you've caught me…I know your kind. You'll spread this around to anyone who's willing to listen, that 'First Vincent does this or that.'" He growled as he continued. "Worthless bastards, all of you. You have nothing more fulfilling in your lives other than finding ways to ruin the lives of those living outside the laws of society, eh? Now…get off of me! Fat ass!"
"I'm not fat!" Rodriguez spat back but then he was quiet, mulling over what this all meant. Guilt began to bite at him. "I didn't come here to expose you…I came here because…just to find out who was playing the music…"
"Bullshit! It was you! You came here two nights ago! It was you, wasn't it? Don't lie!"
"I'm not!" Rodriguez scowled with a huff of annoyance. "I came here to see who was playing the piano!"
"Liar! You knew! Bastard! YOU KNEW!"
"NO! I thought it was a girl playing! Not you! If I knew it was you, I wouldn't have even bothered coming back!"
"Dumbass! I'm not a girl!"
"I know that." The blonde boy sighed and his attention returned to the other boy's clothes. His nose crinkled a little. "You're filthy."
Vincent flinched and hissed back. "Go fuck yourself, rich boy! And….GET OFF OF ME!"
Rodriguez pressed more of his weight on the boy when he struggled, chuckling with a smug grin when the delinquent yowled in outrage. "You really are dirty…" he stared at the clothes and moved his knee as he felt th
e prominent ribs beneath them. "…and scrawny."
"Shut up and get off! Faggot!"
"You shut up."
"I would if you would get your heavy carcass off of me! How much do you rich boys eat? Damn it!"
Grumbling to himself, Rodriguez lessened the weight but refused to free the boy entirely, earning a few extra curses. "Stop cussing. It's crude and…"
"Shove it rich boy."
The weight returned until Vincent gasped in pain, then Rodriguez reduced it. "Why don't I wash out your mouth with a bar of soup and you can take the rest home with you and do something about these clothes. There's holes in them too."
"Shut up!"
"And your hair…it needs to be brushed…"
"Shut it!"
Rodriguez smiled as he knew he was pushing down the delinquent's pride, and he laughed. "Go back to the streets, it's where you belong anyway. From the looks…and smell of you, you probably live in a gutter…eh? First?"
"I'LL FUCKING MURDER YOU WHEN YOUR FUCKING FAT ASS STOPS CRUSHING ME!" The boy shrieked, kicking at the nearby chair, sending it flying. Rodriguez wrapped his arms around the struggling creature, shocked by his increased strength, but easily overcoming it. "WHAT RIGHT DO YOU HAVE TO DO ANYTHING? SO WHAT IF I SNUCK IN HERE? ARE YOU GOING TO REPORT ME FOR TRESSPASSING AFTER SCHOOL HOURS? BIG, FUCKING, RICH-BOY, JOCK! SOME DAY I'M GOING TO KILL ALL OF YOU BASTARDS! I WILL! I SWEAR I'LL GET YOU ALL!"
Frightened by the wild behavior and the death threats, without thinking, Rodriguez grabbed the boy's hair and shoved his head into the floor, once, and then a second time as he cursed. But Rodriguez's blood ran cold when the body suddenly went limp.
Within the quiet, the haunting music rose in Rodriguez's mind. His hands released the black locks and he got off of Vincent, sitting to the side of the boy. Nudging the body didn't produce any result other than a pained groan, and as time passed, Rodriguez's eyes ran over the dirt smudged clothes and the marks of blood, recalling the nameless music and the girl he had once believed to be the one playing it. "Are you still planning on killing me?"
Trapped with a Way Out Page 39
