Krähe - Charles Bedlam (mobi reader txt) 📗

The afternoon light filtered in through the face of the clock and onto the platform that Derek had been training on. The platform was situated high above the ground, worked in between the massive iron workings of the clock. It was made of wood and hung in the air by heavy metal chains. In the middle of this platform, Derek stood on his hands, feet in the air, body straight. The scythe rested on his feet, perfectly balanced. Aleena walked around him in circles, never taking her eyes off of him. He seemed to be struggling.
“Down,” she said, harshly.
He bent his arms, bringing his face closer to the dusty, rough wood. His breath quickened.
“Up...”
Against his body's will, he pushed himself straight up again. This was the hundredth and last in this particular set of exercises. But he had to wait for her to decide when he could rest. It was a test of endurance, mental strength, and spiritual power. As good as that might seem, it was one of the most taxing and soul-crushing training methods he knew. Once, a while ago now, Aleena left Derek standing on his hands, scythe on his feet for six long hours. But she was feeling generous on this day.
“Rest.”
Derek slowly lowered himself to the ground and rested on his upper back. Carefeully and skillfully, he rolled down to his lower back and with steady breathing, reached up for the scythe. He held it in front of him as he came to a seated position. He took a deep breath, then fell backward. His chest heaved up and down.
“You're getting stronger,” she said in her thick Russian accent. “You'll need to if you want to continue to be Krähe.”
Derek sat up and looked at his hands. They were covered in blisters from holding up his body weight. He balled his fists and felt the pain course through his hands and up his arms. He took a deep breath and stood to his feet. Taking up his scythe, he pressed the button that released the blade. It swung down so that it pointed straight out, as a spear would. He pressed the button again and the blade swung to the back of the scythe, giving the blade the appearance of a crescent moon. He pressed the switch once more and his weapon returned to normal.
“I think I'll try using it as a spear,” Derek told Aleena. “I haven't had a lot of field practice with it yet.”
He made his way back to his apartment and showered off. He got dressed and packed his Krähe costume in his bag. He then walked toward the door,.
“Where are you going?” Aleena asked, appearing behind him.
“To the cemetery, then to Holloway to visit Julia,” he replied.
“Today is not a good day to visit an asylum.”
Derek considered this for a momentn, then Aleena spoke again.
“You should give up on her. She is a lost cause.”
Derek turned to face Aleena. “How would you feel if someone told me to give up on you? How would you feel if someone called you a lost cause?”
Aleena didn't say anything. She looked down at her feet. Derek turned and opened the door.
“Wait,” she said, staring straight ahead. He waited. “Beware the witch...”
Derek looked back at her, then left his apartment. He made his way down the stairs and out onto the streets of Nocturne. It was a little chilly, but not too bad. It was comfortable enough to wear just a long sleeved shirt without a coat. Derek felt sad on this day. He felt that something inside was missing. He walked down the street and turned a corner. He crossed the street there and walked down another street. He hung a left and walked down another street. At the end of this street, he found himself before a large grassy area surrounded by a large black, iron fence; Blackwood Cemetery.
The gates were open and wide enough to allow cars through. A long asphalt path lead to a giant mausoleum about a quarter of a mile from the entrance. Derek entered Blackwood and, with a heavy heart, walked into the grass, weaving in and out of gravestones. After about a minute of walking, he came to a tree. This tree was what gave the cemetery its name. It was a giant oak tree with back that was a deep red. Without direct sunlight on it, it appears black.
Near this tree was a small, rectangular stone that stood about a foot out of the ground. Derek approached this stone and knelt before it. It read: Isabelle Bethlehem – 2007-2015.
Derek stared at the grave for a very long time. He reached into his back pocket and took his wallet out. He opened it and removed a small newspaper clipping from it. In this clipping was a photo of a man with dark, shaggy hair and a goatee. Underneath, it read: Mick Herman, Escaped Convict. Any information, please call 1-800-297-7766.
“My only regret,” Derek said, “was not being able to protect you from this madman. But if it takes me the rest of my life, I'll find him.”
He placed the picture back in his wallet and ran his fingers across the cold stone. His heart was breaking all over again, knowing that six feet below him, his daughter rested. At the same time, he had to remember that it was her murder that made him Krähe. The sacrifice of her life made him the faithful warrior of Nocturne.
Derek stood, and holding back tears, he left Blackwood and headed for Holloway Sanatorium for the Mentally Insane. He walked through the streets, looking past everything that was around him, staring off into space. At one point, he passed a group of men that he was sure was in a gang. They stared at him as he walked by. It greatly bothered him that if they knew he was Krähe, they wouldn't look twice at him. He thought they were cowards and part of him wished that they'd attack him. They did not.
After a twenty minute walk, Derek came to a street with a high cement wall. There was a large iron gate that stood open to allow cars onto the premises. The road winded up to the Sanatorium, a massive gray building that legitimately took up the entire block it was resting on. It stood seven stories tall and columns outside held up a portion of the building that jutted out from about half way up. It was an old style building, probably built some time in the late 1800's. The road stretched all the way up to the asylum, then circled around a large marble statue of a man in a suit with a monocle. The plaque on the base of the statue read Anthony Holloway.
Derek approached the large wooden double doors that led inside. As he walked, a white van followed by a police car passed him on the road and stopped in front of the doors. Two men in white uniforms exited the van and moved around to the back. They opened the doors and wheeled a man out on a standing stretcher. The man was bound in a straight jacket and wore a muzzle over his mouth. He was an older gentlemen with lucid blue eyes. He was balding, but still had straight, silver hair around his head that hung just above his shoulders. He stared straight ahead. Derek recognized the man. He was known Dr. Maxwell Weaver and he was one of Krähe's most dangerous enemies.
Immediately, Derek's mind was plagued with questions. But the one that stood out among all the others was: Why would they bring a mass murderer to a civilian psychiatric hospital? He was about to approach one of the men when a hand grasped his shoulder.
“Can I help you?” a southern female asked him.
He turned to face her. She stood about five foot, seven and had wavy brown hair tucked under her hat. She had burning hazel eyes that were certain and decisive.
“I was, uh. I was wondering why he's here. This institution isn't for criminals.”
“They want to try a new kind of therapy on him. But we'll be watching him very closely. You don't need to concern yourself with the likes o' him.”
How wrong she was. If Dr. Weaver broke free, it would become Derek's primary concern. The woman walked away, following closely behind the two orderlies that kept Dr. Weaver restrained.
Derek entered behind them and watched as they wheeled the madman down a hall to the right. The interior of the building was just as one would expect. The floor tiles were a sickly green color and the walls were a dirty tan. Old wooden furniture sat against the walls as well as plastic plants to add a bit of life to the asylum. Derek had been here several times before. He walked passed the reception desk and stepped into an elevator behind it.
He pressed the number 6 and the door closed. On the way up, the elevator stopped and let on a male doctor in a white coat. The two nodded to each other and Derek got off on the sixth floor. He headed to room 624 down the hall. As he turned a corner, he was grabbed by his arm and pulled against the wall. He nearly lashed out at his attacker, but stopped when he realized it was a young woman. She had long, raven colored hair and striking green eyes. They had a burst of gold and brown in the middle and her irises were lined with blue.
“Beware the spider!” she hissed. “Danger will come in the form of a spider.”
And just like that, she frantically trotted down the hallway. Derek watched her until she disappeared around a corner and continued on his path. He thought about what she had said, but danger was his whole life. He arrived at room 624. A tag on the door read: Julia Morrison. Derek knocked on the door and entered.
Her room was all white. The floor, the walls, the bed, the tables, everything. Her bed sat against the right with a tall window directly on the wall opposite of the door. There was a table with two chairs, a desk, and a massive pile of drawings on it. Julia, with her green eyes and wavy red hair, sat with her back to the door, drawing something.
“Julia,” he called.
She dropped her pencil and whirled around. Even though she knew it was him, she still looked surprised.
“Derek...”
She was clothed in standard hospital attire; pants, two shirts, slippers, and a robe. She stood to her feet and walked over to Derek, wrapping her arms around his waist. He embraced her.
“You seem surprised to see me.”
“If I were you... I wouldn't want to see me...”
“Don't talk like that.