Should he kill the boy? No. No reason too. A foot stepped towards Vincent but the stunned boy didn't react, only gazing at his uncle with the same open horror that seemed empty, like an empty void had just been torn into his eyes. The child did not look away from the blue orbs even as they came closer, seemingly growing larger and brighter, flashing with nonexistent light with each step taken by the man.
Pale lips moved, opening a fraction and closing just as far, unable to form words. A breath was the only voice the boy possessed, and even it was inaudible. Walter stood over his nephew and looked down at his shadowed features and the unblinking, empty eyes.
"Boy."
The eyes continued to stare, paralyzed, lips moving, twitching into shapes, into words, a word. The breath became a whisper. "Uncle?" A moment of breathless struggle tightened Vincent's chest, choking him until it passed and he could gasp and even blink away some of the haze of his disbelief. "Are you my uncle?"
The blue eyes darkened in degrees as they narrowed, almost a glare that bore down on the child whose breathing was heavier now. A crisp, hard, and very real voice shattered the boy's daze and left him to the raw and nonexistent mercy of reality. "Go home, boy. Do not speak to anyone until I get there." Vincent stared, lips parted, his lungs frozen, blinking incredulously when the man continued. "I'll be home late."
The boy couldn't move, so he did nothing for too long and a hand roughly gripped his face, covering his mouth and marking his jaw with bloody fingers, wrapping horizontal bars.
"Go. Home." The blue eyes were burning again, chilling Vincent and sending a tremor down his spine. When the hand released him, the boy ran. He ran into the darkness, seeing nothing.
And he did not go home.
"J-Jack-bean."
The broken whisper tugged on the teen's shirt, pulling two brown eyes that gazed at the quiet, familiar boy. Jake was sitting outside on the front steps of an apartment where the opened windows emitted the sound of music and voices. The teen had been smoking, but now he choked on the fumes at the sudden appearance of the boy sitting beside him. He hadn't even noticed Vincent until that moment, the kid was so quiet. The pale hand gripping the teen's shirt was unrelenting, yet, unsteady. It was trembling faintly in an erratic, twitchy way as if his arm couldn't decide if it was supposed to tremble or be still. Jake removed the cigarette and the red ember moved down to his side, so that he could give his whole attention to the distressed pale face. "What?"
Vincent hesitated, his eyes wandering as he thought, his fist tightening on Jake's shirt. He wasn't supposed to speak to anyone. He was supposed to go home. But he couldn't. He just couldn't. His uncle- His uncle-
Vincent shuddered, bending over and bunching his shoulders as if cringing from an external and internal attack, his eyes shut tight and his brow creased with helpless confusion and regret. Regret for having witnessed such a thing, for having discovered such a secret…a secret.
"Hey, hey kid. Max, you're gonna tear my shirt. Hm? What's up? Why're you like this?"
Vincent responded to the pat on his head by jerking away from Jake, startling the teen, and then the boy sat, hugging his knees on the steps, looking in the opposite direction, taking a deep breath. Jake watched him, perplexed and then uneasy about being discovered by the others inside. This wasn't a good time to have them around the kid.
"Jack-bean…I- I need- I was wondering…if, if I could…stay with you, live with you…for a while."
Jake was quiet, listening to the small voice as it caught on the breeze and was brought to him, Vincent still facing the opposite direction so Jake couldn't see the boy's face. Brown eyes blinked, a street light that was giving the sidewalk in front of the apartment and the steps most of its light, brightening his eyes with white specks. He blinked again, his mouth opening twice while he stared at the narrow back. "Why?" The back stiffened and the black head of hair drooped and was soon held by white hands as Vincent's fingers knitted themselves into the midnight strands.
The whisper was hoarse, blowing a chill down the teenager's neck when he heard it and observed the child's position. "My-my uncle…he- he…I can't…go home. I-I can't. N-no, Jack-bean. N-no."
Unable to comprehend or respond effectively to the boy's fear, Jake's spine stiffened and he looked up at the street light, dragging on his cigarette so that the ember flared with searing sparks turning the tobacco into withered ash. "I gotcha, kid. I gotcha, just ease up a bit for me, okay? Ya want me to take you to my place for the night? …I…" The sound of Vincent's voice in his ears and the large, hopeful and yet desolate eyes that now gazed up at him as if he were the kid's savior, prompted the teen to breathe in a lungful of black tar and then sigh it out with purpose darkening his eyes and tightening his jaw. What he was butting into couldn't be anything good for his health… "I think I can do you that favor. …I was planning on leaving now anyway. How about it? Gotta hell of a nice couch and I have some friends I think you'd like to meet." Jake smiled encouragingly and got up with a faint grunt, his body wishing to stay on the steps when he refused to let it.
The child, oblivious of anything other than the fact that Jake was taking him to an enclosed, private location where he would be warm and hidden, didn't react to Jake's other words. Any childish excitement could not be contained within his troubled mind. Everything was jumbled and messy, fumbling around inside him like something broken put in a container and shaken, making it impossible to fit the pieces together to get a clear picture of what it was supposed to be anymore. Messy, shuffled, damaged puzzle pieces that wouldn't fit together even if they were supposed to.
Jake was seventeen now, and Vincent was still eleven. They hadn't known each other for very long, but the amount of time Vincent spent with Jake and the consistent reminder that he was the kid's only close friend, made it seem like they had known each other for more than nine or so months. And Vincent was special. He was different, in looks, behavior, and actions. He was different, so he stuck out as being different for Jake. Different made Vincent particular, set aside, something…special and one of a kind. If he lost the red eyed boy, he would never find another person who could replace him, so Jake was protective of the kid, looking out for him a bit and teaching him indirectly how to be streetwise, though to call the boy his own close friend…was pushing it. Vincent could think of him as a close friend, but it was more difficult the other way around. Jake's father, meanwhile, was not sure what his opinion of the child was when he found the boy sitting in his living room with a black and white rat on his lap and his son explaining to him that the boy would be staying the night. Jake's father, at a lofty stature of approximately seven feet in height looked down upon the scene, at the troubled, meek little creature that gazed up at him with anxiety and misplaced dread. Dark eyes picked up the faded lines of dried blood on the child's cheek, and then looked at the lengthy black hair, subconsciously recalling the identity of the child and whose blood the boy shared. Joshua Collin Savage, father of Jake Hunter Savage, a man sometimes known as Joel, Tripwire or Gunner, the weapons merchant, smiled carelessly in the way his mouth had become accustomed and left the room. A phone was removed from his pocket and Walter's number was dialed. No ring, just the answering machine, so the Angel of Death was preoccupied… Jake's father snapped the phone close without leaving a message. But he would wait for a call in return while leaving the pale boy in his living room.
"Does the boy get bullied often? You told him to fight back yet?"
Walter showed his impatience for the topic by not looking at the man when he responded, disdain evident in his voice. "The boy says that he doesn't want to hurt people. 'Hurting people is bad'…it's stupidity. The boy's a moron. I'll leave it at that."
Jake's father had chuckled after a moment. "Are you sure he's related to you?"
Then Walter had scowled in response and ignored the man completely.
The boy wasn't his uncle, but he was young and malleable. He would learn. He would have to learn. Passiveness throws you under the f
eet of people who have a goal, those who will aggressively pursue whatever they set themselves up to, no matter who they trample in the process. But, when Joshua Savage looked at the pale face and the blood-red of the boy's eyes, an otherworldly feeling would prick at the back of his consciousness, leaving him with the impression that the boy could never be so carelessly trampled without a pile of casualties being the result.
For now, Vincent held the friendly, licking rat, trying to smile but failing to do more than give an odd grimace that disturbed Jake, though the teen said nothing, only encouraging his pet rats, Bell and Jasmine, to interact with the kid. Vincent wasn't hungry, but he said he liked holding the rats. The rats, he claimed, helped and made him feel a little better. They took the rats with them into the room where the varying models of computers Jake's family owned were kept. When offered the chance to play a medieval game where the player builds his own kingdom and battles other kingdoms, the boy declined, content to watch with the black and white rat on his shoulder. Time passed quietly, the quiet easing Vincent's frayed nerves slowly.
Vincent was asleep on the couch when Jake's father received the call he had been expecting.
"What?"
W.C.D., no one else had such a way with words, the man smirked beginning to pace in his bedroom, aware of his seclusion and Vincent's ignorance. "Have you gone home yet?"
There was a quiet pause while Walter made sure he had heard the question correctly and then scowled, trying to see what reason the man could have for asking him such a thing. Joshua knew that Walter didn't want other people to have information about him, that he didn't tolerate questions that touched such forbidden territory. So he allowed a pause.
"Why?"
Joshua smiled to himself and stood still, one hand going to his pocket before he answered. "I have your nephew."
Quiet. Walter stared dully at nothing while the heat of anger flickered in his eyes and the lines of his scowl grew deeper. The anger was lightened for a moment with the deeper voice on the phone.
"I have your nephew and if you want him back alive you will have to…actually, give me a sec C.D., I don't know what I want yet."
"I didn't know that he knew where you live."
The man sighed, disappointed as Walter ignored his humor, and he turned, his hand going to his hair for a moment, smoothing over the black strands that were collectively gathered into a stub of a bun at the back of his head. "My son brought him here-"
And…he hung up on me. Jake's father slipped his phone back into his pocket and left his bedroom to check on the sleeping lump under the blanket in the living room. The boy was curled up into a ball, tucked into the corner of the couch. The man went to the hallway that led to his front door and then leaned against the wall to wait.
"I thought I told you to go home, boy."
With a sharp gasp Vincent bolted upright and stared at the blue eyes above him where his uncle was standing before the couch. Red darted about the lit room, unable to accept that he was still in Jake's house where he was supposed to be safe, and yet his uncle was standing before him, glaring at him. Oh god, oh god, oh god. Vincent's eyes searched and found his uncle, making his body cringe and retreat back to seek protection with the couch cushions. Huddled and gripping his knees with his hands, Vincent finally found the man named Joshua towards the wall. The feeling of betrayal washed over the child, welling in his eyes as dry tears and a shudder that Joshua observed all too clearly with his gut twisting itself into a knot. The man's arms were crossed and this did not change, neither did the blank look in his dark eyes, but he leaned back to rest some of his weight against the wall with an unnoticeable sigh. Betrayal in any form was difficult for him, his character incompatible with disloyalty and going against any of his other moral codes of conduct which he had laid out himself. The man abided his codes almost religiously, but in this case his duty to call the Angel of Death had been a priority.
He would watch. That was the least he could do for the kid. W.C.D. in a rage was not a pretty sight, and it was a time when the man was at his peek of unpredictability, when he was at his most dangerous level. W.C.D. was an odd, brilliant, terrifying individual. Joshua pitied the boy at the moment, filled with dread at the notion of being in Vincent's place. …Just don't rip the kid apart in my living room, C.D. He's just a kid, a scared kid… Jake's father tried to send his thoughts telepathically to the long haired Angel of Death, but could not tell if his message was getting across as he watched the man's back.
Vincent stammered, gazing up at his uncle, gaping in horror when he tried to speak. Walter's eyes became slits at the show of cowardice and weakness. He leaned forward slowly, gradually coming to hang over his nephew with the boy pressed into the corner with round eyes, a gloved hand gripping the back of the couch to support the man. The glare, at such a close range, almost stopped the boy's heart. Shallow breaths and an irate heart beat hammered in the child's chest, his whole frame quivering with fear. The leather of Walter's glove creaked slightly, making Vincent swallow and shiver violently. "I'm," He swallowed again and tried to stop shivering, failing to make himself blink though his eyes stung so sharply that they were beginning to water. "…very sorry Uncle." His voice cracked.
The glare deadened, the blue dulling but providing an effect that was more terrible than the previous glare. Vincent stared, his head jerking with a shiver and his chest heaving with a hard breath. He could kill me and not feel a thing. The child's mouth opened, as if to scream, but the muscles of his face never tightened to show the fright that was required to make him do so. The undeveloped mind struggled to cope with the situation. Walter watched, his gaze just as detached as it had been before. "Why are you sorry?"
"I-I didn't go home, Uncle."
The room contained only the boy's shallow breaths, blue staring into the red orbs as time pierced Vincent's mind with lances of panic.
"You know that I told you to go home. Is this home, boy?"
The child shook his head desperately while he answered with a croak. "No."
Walter continued to take his time, speaking slowly in a well controlled voice. "No? Then that's too bad for you... I'm considering not sharing my house with you any longer. Then your home will be the streets, the gutters, wherever you can find a card board box. Would you like me to put you outside so you can find your home?"
Red gaped, the shivering escaping as the pale body numbed with chilling shock. Dismay made his fear combine with this new threat, and the boy stopped pressing into the couch and blinked up at the man with a pitiful crinkle in his brow. "No! No, please! I want to go home! I want to go home! I do, Uncle! I'm sorry! Really sorry! Please-!"
The other gloved hand which had been forgotten shot out at the boy's hair and twisted it before shoving Vincent into the corner he had been cowering in. Walter leaned closer to Vincent, a menacing glower erasing the wince of pain Vincent had on his face. "Then why didn't you go home in the first place, boy, if you wanted to so much? Do you think that it will always be there for you to go back to whenever you want? Why should I house and feed a little shit like you? I hate kids. Did you know that Vincentimir?" Walter's face moved closer to his nephew's while his voice grew quieter again. "I hate children. Why shouldn't I send you away to some foster home or orphanage, whatever will take you? I've treated you a hell of a lot better than I should. No one else would take in a little mutated freak. There's no way for you to earn money as you are now, a fool and a freak…"
"C.D…" Jake's father moved uncomfortably and then bit his lip, watching as Walter intimidated the child. He could no longer see Vincent clearly, but while his voice was ignored, he did nothing to stop Walter.
Vincent's mouth was open, his face creased with many compiling emotions, from fear to agony, and tears built in his eyes, threatening to spill down his grayed cheeks, his flesh drained of blood. "I-…I am sorry, Uncle. I'm sorry. …I… won't do it again."
Walter didn't draw away from his nephew, not allowing the child's heart rate to drop. "How d
o I know that it won't happen again?"
Vincent's eyes blinked and a shudder of deformed hope made his eyes earnest. "I promise. I'll do everything you say, Uncle. I won't do it again. I'll go home. I'll always go home when you tell me to, Uncle. I'm sorry. I- I don't want to go to strangers."
Walter stared at the boy, his glare replaced with his removed look that offered no foresight of hope or dread for the receiver. The man spoke again while Jake's father continued to watch, never looking away from the scene. "Then you do what I tell you to do, when I tell you to do it. You never disobey me. Do you understand the consequences that come with disobedience, Vincentimir?"
He said my name. He said my name! Hope flashed across Vincent's face and he moved his own eyes closer to his uncle's. "Yes, yes, yes I do. I'm sorry. I very, very sorry, and I promise I won't ever disobey again. I…" want to stay with you… Vincent stopped and all expression faded from his face as his eyes unfocused, a change that caused his uncle to watch and slowly move away to stand up and look down upon the child. Vincent's eyes were hazy and distant, as if stunned by a blow. White of the eyes rolling back with the spray of dark blood and the droplet of blood that fell from his uncle's hand and the one that slid down his cheek…he saw these things again and no longer knew what he should think or do or say. Beyond hesitation, the boy had revoked all of his pleas and now stared dimly at his uncle. His eyes drifted to the side to look at Jake's father, lingering there before they descended to find the floor, seeing and not seeing it. The quiet was everywhere, filling the room, more so now than before without the boy's fear. Walter came to understand, in this quiet, what was happening to the child. Vincent finally spoke. "Are you a person that does bad things?"
Trapped with a Way Out Page 74
