Dyatlov Pass [6/12]

[x-carnivale-x.livejournal.com]

Title: Dyatlov Pass.
Author: x_carnivale_x
Pairing: Chip/Jeff.
Rating: R/NC17 [violence, homosexuality, graphic description of gore]
Summary: The causes of the accident are still unknown. Neither the official inquest, nor attempts by enthusiastic unofficial investigations have solved the mystery.
Author's Notes: Does Jeff have asthma? I don't think he does, but oh well. He does now. :\ I explain it in the notes at the end of the chapter. It's kinda important, so I couldn't just write it out.
Previous Chapters: Chapter One // Chapter Two // Chapter Three // Chapter Four // Chapter Five //




The next time the team made camp it was in the middle of snowy plains. The wind had picked up at the end of the day and instead of trekking on till dark, they stopped before sunset and set up the tents and prepared for an early night. Everyone laughed and cut up around the small fire they'd made, even Jeff let himself relax with the group, despite his lingering feelings of anxiety and ill. He still wasn't sure why he was feeling so... wrong. He was beginning to doubt himself, maybe he had heard something that night in the woods. Or maybe he was just losing his mind. He wasn't sure, and that was a telling factor. Was it his mind messing with him again? Or was there something more to be found in the mazes of the trees? He glanced over his shoulder across the plain towards the woods. The sun was setting now, and the fire was beginning to be the only light source available for them. Jeff rubbed a hand over his ear. He was getting cold. Slowly, he turned back to the fire and plastered a smile across his face to rejoin the conversation.

The night settled over them, and finally it was time to rest for the next day's hike. After the group's jovial conversation, Jeff began to feel more at ease, despite the freezing cold and the strange events of the previous night. The night was quiet when they settled into their tents and blankets; and as they drifted into sleep, Jeff felt calm.

He woke up in the middle of the night with a clutching pain in his chest. As he gasped and clenched his eyes, attempting to gain his breath, he remembered that he had forgotten to take his asthma medication. With a groping hand he sought out his inhaler and brought it to his lips. With a desperate inhale, he could feel his lungs calming. The tightness in his throat began to loosen and the grip he had on the neck of his shirt was lightening. He closed his eyes and let his medicated breath out slowly, reveling in the relaxed feeling in his chest. Jeff sat awake after that for at least thirty minutes. He noted how his surroundings were dead silent. And he liked it that way. But by now he was getting frustrated. He was comfortable and relaxed and yet he couldn't sleep. Despite the fact that it was five in the morning, he couldn't sleep. He bitterly decided instead to just get up, his friends would been waking soon, anyway, it was almost dawn. Slowly, he slid his boots and jacket on and slid outside the tent. He hadn't had a smoke in days, maybe that what was keeping him up. (One would think his previous asthma attack would have made him shy away from the inhalable tar, but Jeff didn't care all that much.) He grappled in his pockets for his cigarettes and lighter and lit the cigarette, inhaling slowly and treasuring the ashy taste. His team members didn't notice, nor did they care; he wasn't the only smoker in the bunch.

He suddenly wanted to sit down, and using his lighter as a pathetic guide, he found his way to the little log circle they'd made around the now-extinguished fire. He sat down on one of the logs and moved to adjust his pants, but as he did his elbow brushed something; he felt the fire poker standing upright next to him, perhaps stuck in the ground. It had not been that way hours before when they had put out the fire. Instead, quite the opposite, it had been left on its side directly next to the fire the night before. He clenched his eyes as he felt that wave of uneasiness wash over him again. He reached forward and touched the pole and felt a thin piece of twine attached to it. Against all better judgment, (in fact his mind was screaming at him to just leave and go back to the tent and go the fuck to sleep), he lit his lighter and held it near the pole.

As soon as the flame was close enough to allow him to see, Jeff stood up roughly, flinging himself backwards away from the fire poker and almost toppling over the log he'd been sitting on. A short strip of twine, no longer than five inches had been tied tightly to the top of the pole, at the bottom of the twine was a noose-like loop around the obviously broken neck of a dove. The front of the bird had been sliced, its entire breast gaping open, and every entrail hung outside of its body.

Jeff covered his mouth in attempt to suppress his heaving stomach and whimpered into his fingers. He turned his head and looked across the plain; the sun was starting to come up. The others would be awake anytime now.

He wasn't sure why he did it, but with a careful glance towards the silent tents, he inched closer to the fire poker and untied the twine from the top, holding the dead bird by its noose. Without a thought, he ran off towards the edge of the woods and tossed it into the trees, where it would hopefully be forgotten. He crouched quickly and gathered a bit of snow in his hands. They weren't dirty, but he didn't care. He let his body heat melt the snow and used the freezing water to wash off the imaginary filth. It washed the nothingness on his hands, and he felt slightly comforted. He returned to the fireside and sat on his log and saw where there were drops of blood beneath the fire poker. Quickly, he removed the stick from the ground and set it back next to the fireplace where it had been left the night before, he covered the hole where it'd been stuck and the tiny red droplets with more snow. And that was the end of it.

Without a second thought, he lit another cigarette and he heard the tents unzipping and heard his companions muttering greetings to him and to each other. He forced his hands to stop shaking, wiped his eyes, and turned to them, forcing a tired smile on his face. And that was that.

::

When Chip woke up the next morning, he could tell that it was late. The sun had been up for sometime, it seemed. When he rolled slightly, he was surprised to find he didn't bump into a body next to him. With a confused stare he turned his head and saw that the bed was empty. He wondered if Jeff had ever fallen back asleep the night before. He looked past the foot of the bed and saw Jeff sitting on the floor, his back against the wall, and his knees drawn into his body. His left arm rested limply by his side but his right arm was upright in the air, making tiny drawings in the air. The room seemed silent, and if Chip had not seen his lips moving, he would have thought it to be so. But Jeff's lips did move, and in time, it seemed, with his fingers.

Jeff's mutterings were rhythmic and for some reason they sent a chill down Chip's spine. He wasn't sure if it was just because his friend was in such a condition, or if it was something more. But he couldn't shake the horrid feeling his insides had at that moment. Wasn't daylight supposed to bring new days and good things? He listened carefully to his friend and watched his lips move steadily.

"Poistaa." Chip heard him mutter.

"Jeff?"

"Poistaa."

Chip crawled out of the bed slowly, keeping his eyes on Jeff. The boy seemed to stare at nothing, but his fingers were deliberate in their movements, and his lips never stopped moving.

"Poistaa."

"Jeff..."

"Poistaa."

Chip swallowed thickly and walked towards Jeff, listening to that word. Over and over again. Jeff's voice was barely above a whisper, but his tone was hard, and yet delicate at the same time. Chip crouched next to the raven on his left side and took hold of his limp left hand, trying to comfort him.

"Poistaa."

"Jeff, it's okay."

"Poistaa."

Upon closer inspection of his movements, Chip managed to see the small pattern that Jeff's fingers were drawing with every repetition of the word.

"Poistaa."

X

"Poistaa."

X

"Jeff, stop."

"Poistaa."

X

"Stop it."

"Poistaa."

X

Finally, out of desperation, Chip couldn't take it, and he yelled.

"Stop!" He reached his arm out and grabbed Jeff's moving hand, clutching his digits in his fist. Jeff silenced immediately and turned to look at Chip, who was now breathing heavily and shivering slightly in Jeff's presence. Jeff said nothing this time. Chip unwillingly let a tear slip past his eyelashes. But although the younger man was silent, Chip's attention returned to their hands quickly when he felt that inside his fist, he could feel Jeff's thin, bony fingers continuing to rhythmically twitch.

[Chapter Six Cut]



So that bit about the bird was my doing, not at all from the actual story. But hey. Shh. Also, about the whole asthma thing. I don't know if Jeff actually does have asthma, but he does in this story because this wasn't originally written for this fandom, but the asthma was written as a fairly important factor. So, without it, the story would be lacking, so I couldn't just change it. So we're just going to say that he has asthma (and smokes, but whatevs).

Also, 'poistaa' means 'to eliminate' or 'exterminate' in Finnish. I would have used Russian instead of Finnish, but as far as pronunciation and comprehension for English speakers, Finnish uses an alphabet closer to English than Russian.... Honestly, I wouldn't and know how to pronounce Устранить... So saying/reading "poistaa" is easier than "Устранить".

Also, reviews make me a very happy Panda. So review and make me smile. :)

[pandora]