Lavender Grace: Vincent’s Descent – atoz blog challenge

Vincent’s Descent

Chapter 12: Lavender Grace

before

            Pure black against waves of lavender. Heads and beaks, eyes and feathers. And talons, claws, ripping sharp, tilling soil underneath. Silence from a noisome horde, attentive. The hunters arrived first, securing the landings. Heads cocked, they wait. Latecomers

 pecked, subdued. They will not do that again if they survive this meeting.

            Lavender Grace arrives after dark.

            She lands on a gathering of her raven elite, each bearing an equal portion of her hollow bones and belly weight. Her Grace has fed heartily, digging into the entrails delivered to her. Her journey was extended to the gathering. All black eyes are on her.

            Diving down from the black clouds, her Condor arrives.

            “Clamma pro-Regina!” It bellows.

            Pandæmonium. Every voice cries out for their Grace. Wings snap open, knocking over the weaker, set upon, for feasting happens. Blooded beaks and wild eyes return to the Condor, hovering to the side of their liege.

            The Condor barks and voices still. Her Grace waits.

            “Regina nostra, Gratia nostra!”

               As one: “Gratia Nostra!”

            As one: “Gratia Nostra!”

            As one: “Gratia Nostra!”

            Her Grace unfurled, puffing out her chest, her black feathers bristling with hints of jade and purples, of deep-hued blues, and blackest of blacks. One eye went to her Condor; the other scanned the sky—the barest of nods, one to the other.

            Her full attention went to the mob.

            “Grackle Prince! ” she thundered. “Find. No rest until you find, then destroy what surrounds him. Bring the Grackle Prince. To me. No rest. None. Find. Go!”

            With that, she jetted out of sight in less than a breath. Her Condor still hovered, glaring.

            The murders, the parliaments, the outrages, the flock dispersed.

            Only the feasted’s feathers remained where the conclave trampled the lavender fields.

after

            “I didn’t kill the guard.”

            “I know.”

            “You have to convince them. I’m tired, Maria. I am…”

            Pause.

            “Losing. They find me; they keep finding me; they keep coming through me.”

            “Vincent, I…I don’t know how to help you.”

            Vincent bit the inside of his cheeks. Saliva formed slowly, but his throat felt as if he had been the thousands screaming.

            “I may need to die, Maria.”

condor

               “Where are you, my portal, my conduit?”

               Cat-grandpa’s sharp nails tapped down into the wooden arms of the porch chair. He searched the skies.

Kaleidoscope-Around: Vincent’s Descent – AtoZ Blog Challenge

Vincent’s Descent

Chapter 11: Kaleidoscope-Around

Faye

            They had been running under a yellow sun, blue clouds, white sky, all agitated spirals. The air was brisk; it was hot, it howled, it caressed. She had touched his hand. No, he had touched hers. No. She. No.

            Vincent led the way, a zig ziggurat pathway that made no sense. A laugh lurched out of her, not caring. They were nude. Then she was sheathed in linen, and a wide-brimmed hat coalesced around her auburn hair, which had trailed after her, patterns weaving that fell apart with each step.

            Past the flowers, the trees, the greens, the golds, and diving into the clear water of a lake that appeared before them. Nude again, and the cool water licked her breasts. No. Vincent. She touched his back, smooth, and her hands ran up the nape of his head, kissing him, then pushing him under, the two of them, and she a bubble laughed at them as it broke the surface.

            Vincent was gentle, gentle rough, exploring hands under a sky that went dark with bright pinpricks of light that caused the lake water to crest and twirl. He was translucent, and she saw his eyes go from blue to green to black.

            She guided him inside, willing, hungry. His crooked smile. She bit his lip. It bled, and she kissed it clean, but it continued to bleed as they continued to explore, and his hips were a piston, and she took each thrust and gave in return, and they cried out at the same time.

            Mistake, for that brought the flock, and they disapproved. One at first sat on a stalk of golden flowers and cawed raw, drawing two others. Three, who squealed, putting their heads together so three razor beaks looked like one.

            Faye screamed as they came at her. Vincent blocked the first strike, missed on the second, took the hit on the third. He grabbed one, gripping its wings to its body, squeezing with clenched hands, white knuckles, and Faye screamed again as the bird imploded in blood and feathers.

            “run,” Vincent cried, flinging the carcass over his shoulder, reaching out for another of the blackbirds. Faye froze as Vincent tore a wing off of their attacker.

            “run,” he struggled to get out as the first of the birds went for his eyes; the membrane reflected the sun’s reflected light on the moon. Faye stood naked under the onslaught of feathers and light, lovemaking gone gone gone.

            And she heard Vincent say, “I wish.”

            And she was gone. And she was afraid. 

            The dreamscape repeated itself, reforming, taking different paths, the color palette constantly changing. But the birds remained the same, and their sex was still vivid, the lust ripe, and Faye woke up once to pour another glass of whisky only to fade back into the world she rejected when awake.

The shape in the bed

            “I’m tired.”

Dr. Maria

            Maria heard. She stood, going to his side, touching only the bed railing.

            “Vincent?”

            “I’m tired, Maria.”

            “I know.” She bent close over to whisper. “You’re back.”

            “I didn’t kill the guard,” he whispered back.

            Pause.

            “I know.”

Jade-Eye: Vincent’s Descent – AtoZ Blog Challenge

Vincent’s Descent

Chapter 10: Jade-Eye

            The two nurses and the orderly’s attention shifted immediately to Dr. Maria. She let out a practiced sob, loud enough that the soft, slow beeping was overshadowed. They were by her side, one nurse kneeling in front of her. The back of a hand went to her forehead, fingers found her pulse, the orderly stood frozen watching her, and they all missed what was happening behind them.

            They missed that tree roots and juniper branches had replaced the hospital bed, that the shackles became vines. That the heart monitor didn’t exist anymore. They didn’t notice that deep jade-colored trees made up the walls. Maria kept their attention as Vincent went away. None saw Vincent morph into one aspect of Grackle Lord, the harsh feathered, the dark jade-eyed harbinger with a thirst for vengeance ever circling.

Fully awake, its neck snapped on her. She caught the glare peripherally, not wishing to draw anyone’s eyes the wrong way. Maria knew it sneered at her, mocked her as before, but the executioner was strapped down and remained silent. Before looking at the nurse at her feet, Maria felt Vincent assert himself through the black void of the bird’s eyes.

Vincent was fighting an ebb-and-flow battle.

            Tom, of the broken nose, felt something was off. Vincent was behind him. Tom hated this new feeling; his laissez-faire patient attitude shifted after what happened to the guard. Once they subdued Vincent and got him onto a stretcher, Tom looked at the blood, the ripped-open stomach, the guts on the floor. But the eyes; well, eye. One was missing.

            He felt something pulling at him to turn around, to look behind him, to look at Vincent. Sweat broke out in waves. Tom knew what flop sweat was like, and this was worse. He dripped as he fought the urge to turn around, hands beginning to shake, fighting to remain in place but slowly losing. It was a twitch…

            Maria bolted from her seat, head butting Tom’s chin.

            “What the fuck?” His hand went to his chin.

            Turning, Maria “tripped” over the kneeling nurse into the one whose hand had been on her head. The three of them went down, tangled limbs and sharp elbows that hit Tom.

            “Ouch. Again. What the fuck?”

            Maria lay prone and began to laugh. It was genuine and contagious enough that the room was filled with chuckles. Propping herself up on her elbows, her eyes glanced over.

            The bed was back. The walls were walls. The heart monitor beeped.

               A shape lay on the infirmary bed, tied down. It dreamt and wished.

Faye, Vincent’s lawyer, softly snoring, fully stretched out on her living room couch. A tumbler of Crown Royal, thrice filled, laid on its side, the final contents having dripped into her white carpet. She shivered though it was not cold in the room. Faye had, in sleep, tossed off the throw cover she pulled over her before passing out.

A whimper, a shifting of her legs, the left one kicking out while her right leg was trapped under the sofa pillows.

The whimper:

“Vincent.”

Impasto: Vincent’s Descent – AtoZ Blog Challenge

Vincent’s Descent

Chapter 9: Impasto

Nine years Earlier

             Vincent succeeded on his sixteenth journey. He did not have to have direct contact with his grandfather. The old man followed the trail that Vincent was creating. He was a feather’s breath away, their connection strong enough. Cat-grandpa remained close enough in case Vincent drifted into another Edge.

            Impatience drove the now fourteen-year-old. Vincent had not succumbed to teenage apathy. Instead, he obsessed with initiating the crossing of thresholds, shaping the way, being lead to actualizing. He had been frustrated with his grandfather. Five years since the first gateway unfolded. Five years of walking the old man’s pathway. Five years of internalizing.

            Tap. Tap. Tap.

            There was a thickness in the air, rich enough that Vincent felt it. Vincent swayed with the gusty wind that brushed around him. His long, ginger hair haloed around his head. His arms had hung by his side, but now he slowly raised them, plucking a golden flower from stalks that rose close to his heart.

            “Clothes, boy,” came the chide right behind him.

            Vincent flushed.

            “I wish,” he muttered. Converse blacks, ripped indigo jeans, Hawkwind tee.

            The old man sighed behind him.

            “I would have gotten to it.”

            “Ha.”

            “Would have.”

            Cat-grandpa laughed, watching Vincent walk further ahead. He shrugged, stopped, and waited until Vincent was out of sight, any humor in him dripping away with each step Vincent took. Once drained, he croak-coughed three times, then blew a sustained whistle.

            Three came, a flexing blackness against a waning bright sky. As one, they landed on the flowers, stiff enough to hold their light.

            Nodding in the direction Vincent went, the old man only wheezed out a series of squeaks.

            “Follow him,” Cat-grandpa commanded. “He will get lost.”

            The largest of the three blackbirds hopped, beating its wings, coming close, eye to eye. The old man did not flinch. He was ready, just in case.

            The bird flew overhead, turning in the direction instructed. The other two took wing and followed.

            Once he saw that they, too, were out of sight, he faded back home.

            Vincent loved the dotted night sky. He wanted a lake and a small town, and it was there. The lake held echoes of light from above and the small village on the other side of the water. He wished for music to float along the top, ripples forming from the energy of the musicians. He began to walk toward the town, it not occurring to him that he could have wished himself there.

            He heard wings flapping behind him. Never a fan of birds, Vincent winced, then shrugged as he continued.

            The sounds followed him as he made his way, swooping in front of him a few times. They cawed when he shooed them away. This annoyed Vincent. Before he made it to the town, Vincent picked up a few rocks, ready for another harassment.

            It came quickly, an onslaught of black wings and golden claws. Vincent struck out with the rocks. His aim was true with one, knocking the bird out of the air. Another came in closer, and Vincent slammed it with a second rock. The bird spun away, screeching.  

            The third kept its distance. Vincent panted, the veins in his head pounding.

            “I wish,” he yowled, but the bird remained.

            “I. Wish.”

            The bird laughed.

            “Grackle Prince,” it said clearly, a harsh vibration that hurt Vincent’s ears.

            “What?”

            The bird said nothing more. It flew off, and the one knocked out of the air hopped and flew after. Vincent watched them, then looked down, expecting to find the bird he slammed before him.

            Nothing.

            Vincent felt tired. It was only then that he realized his grandfather was not with him.

            Shrugging, he was torn between entering the town or retreating.

            “I wish,” and raindrops began, adding to the river, reverberating new ripple after ripple.

            “I wish,” he said, and Vincent went away.

Today

There was a long droning noise from the heart monitor.

Dr. Maria screamed.

Hues of the Harriers: Vincent’s Descent – AtoZ Blog Challenge

Vincent’s Descent

Chapter 8: Hues of the Harriers

“Vincent,” Dr. Maria nearly cried out. His hand was quicker, palm squelching the sound.

He put his forehead against hers, eyes unblinking. Vincent released the pressure, whimpering softly.

“They are outside. Listen. The flocks. Shh. Listen.”

Wings aflutter assailed her ears, the screeches shrill calling echoing through the cavern. Maria’s heartbeat ached in her ears, drowning out the sound of the sky marauders when they receded. Yet the pack returned, or a new one arrived, and the fierceness overwhelmed her.

In an un-Vincent move, Vincent put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her in tight. She shuddered as the noise intensified.

His lips were on her ears: “You give me strength.” Sotto voce. Barely a breath.

“I wish,” and there was no opening to the cave. Infinitesimal fissures manifested, enough to allow air to circulate for them to survive. Nothing large enough for even the tiniest hunters to see through.

It deadened the caterwauling but did not eliminate it.

Huddled together, mouth to ears:

“Vincent. You promised me….”

“Yes.”

“Why am I here?”

Silence sat.

“You promised. Never again.”

Vincent nodded. His chin scruff was rough against her cheek.

“Yes. I. I tried. I…I’m tired, Maria. The drug they gave me. Too much, powerful. I needed help.”

Maria gave one brief nod.

“I touched your hand. It was a mistake.”

“You touched my hand. It was enough.”

Sounds from outside intensified, a whirlwind of activity that stopped instantly. The eye of the storm engulfed the cavern.

“Transgressor” came through the throats of a legion of winged executioners.

“Transgressor, you are known. We are here. You are here. Come, Grackle Lord. Meet us. The Sky waits.”

Vincent shook his head with fervor. Maria bit her lips, and the metallic smell assaulted him. With no warning, Vincent placed his mouth on hers, taking the blood in.

He was not quick enough. He smelled it. They smelled it.

Maria’s head jerked back, hitting the rock wall.

“Wha…”

Sledgehammer pecking slammed against the cavern, dust began to fall, a pebble here, a tremor in the wall.

“Go back,” Vincent said through gritted teeth. “Wake me up, Maria. I don’t have enough in me to fight them.”

“Grackle Lord,” shrilled an ungodly number of caws.

“Vincent,” she said, nodding.

“I wish…”

Dr. Maria awoke on the floor by Vincent’s infirmary bed. A nurse was bending over her, orderlies entering the room. Resist as she might, they checked her out. One of the orderlies -Tom of the broken nose – got the call button out of her fist. He was gentle enough, yet her fingers hurt from how hard she had grasped it.

They helped her to the chair in Vincent’s room, but they had scooted it away from the bed. Maria saw that Vincent’s eyes were still closed as he strained against the restraints. The machines hooked up to Vincent were squawking at a high pitch.

“You,” she caught the nurse’s wrist. “He’s going to stroke out. Wake him up. Your dose was too strong. Fucking wake him up!”

 Her eyes went to the heart monitor.

Greying, Wings: Vincent’s Descent – AtoZ Blog Challenge

Vincent’s Descent

Chapter 7: Greying, Wings

“The devil’s script sells you the heart of a blackbird.”

…and he soared, hoping not to be flying an Icarus path.

He would evade one pack only to encounter another as they crested through the cumulus cloud he rode. The sky was patchy with fractocumulus streaks of puffiness. This allowed the dying star night sky to shine. Vincent hid in one that covered a larger area of the sky, but the Murders pursued him relentlessly. Vincent chose to dive, wings furled tight against his body, heading to the glittering lake below him.

The white puffs had soured, moisture points rising as one joined another, ruining the purity until they grew dense, darker, and greyer. The lake was losing its light.

Vincent touched the ground with talons extended, gripping the silt around the shoreline. Swiveling, he looked for pursuers. Puffing out his chest, the Grackle Lord became Vincent again.

Rain was starting to fall. His unshod feet began to sink slightly into the forming mud. It was cool, but Vincent knew that it would soon get cold. He wished for warm shoes, then added socks inside them. Woolen feel without any itch, black as the drawing overcast skies.

Vincent was forming the landscape. The lake was large, with enough of a mirror quality to it. He saw nothing, and there were no beating of wings to be heard. They could be gliding. Vincent took off at a trot. Crafting a ridge of hills with a plethora of caverns, Vincent made for one to his right. Once inside the opening, he waited for a count of twenty.

Nothing.

He skittered three caves down. There was a thick overhang of ivy and moss; others also had this. Vincent hoped for a chance to breathe.

            The rain fell in earnest, steady. Usually, Vincent felt calm, drifting into the consistency of the sound. Cold seeped into the cave. Vincent wished to be clothed. Thick jeans, black flannel shirt, a thick dark gray sweater, woolen hat. His fingers were freezing. He wished for gloves.

            Fire was out of the question. He had wished for it a few times before, but fire is alive. It has its wants and desires, a will to consume, to control. Its voice was strong, stronger than any of Vincent’s resolves. So, he did without fire.

            Vincent first squatted, then sat, back against the cave wall. His stomach lightly grumbled. Food was easier to come by. He wished, and a paper bag of sandwiches and chips was on his lap. He was biting into his second PB&J when the sound of wet wings and angry cries flew near his hiding spot.

            no.

**********

            Dr. Maria’s eyelids flew open. Vincent thrashed in the bed, a droning moan emitting from his tight lips. His body convexed against the restraints then fell back onto the mattress.

            Again.

            She was reaching for the call button. The dose of Diazepam they injected should have kept Vincent under for a few more hours. Her face was taut. She had the call button in one hand as she placed the other over Vincent’s closest hand.

**********

            “No,” Vincent subvocalized as Dr. Maria sat beside him in the cave.

___________________________________________________________________

A to G, the first seven chapters of Vincent’s Descent. H is for Monday, and I kinda/sorta have an idea where this is going now. I told a member of my Writer’s Group this morning that I have no clue to where this will end.

Well, maybe, but don’t hold me to it.

If you are just coming upon Tale Spinning/”Vincent’s Descent” for the first time, I STRONGLY suggest that you start with the April 1st entry, “Azure Dreams.”

My plan for Sunday is to return to the first post and edit along. There are some things I’ve added as the story has progressed that need to be incorporated into day one.

I’ll post a post with thanks/links to bloggers who have supported my work on Sunday as well. Some really great writers and great new blogs I’ve been introduced to.

Check out other AtoZ Blogging Challenge blogs HERE. As of this writing, there are 228 blogs to check out.

Thanks for reading.

Fugitive Pigments: Vincent’s Descent – AtoZ Blog Challenge

Vincent’s Descent

Chapter 6: Fugitive Pigments

Shoved away from the doorway, Dr. Maria put her hands over her ears. Vincent’s lawyer did the same, for the wailing of orders shouted, Vincent’s guttural screams, the orderlies cursing, the red alarm klaxon, the crush of bodies, and the decibels mixed too high. They could not see the downed guard from where they stood, pressed against the opposite wall, but she and Vincent’s lawyer were witnesses to the increasing pools of blood that oozed over the grey and white tiles of the observation room.

The RN returned with a 3 ml syringe. An attending doctor and two more nurses followed. Maria wondered what was in the IM injection. She grabbed the trailing nurse, pulled her close, mouth to ear, and asked.

The nurse returned “Diazepam” before jerking herself free to follow the others.

Knowing they had to subdue an extremely agitated patient, Maria thought shit.

The alarm turned off, yet Maria knew the tension across BBHPC must be palpable. Their floor was locked down, and she imagined what some of the wards must be like.

Faye remained plastered against the wall, initially panting so that Maria thought she would hyperventilate. The lawyer noticed Maria watching her. She shook her head, then nodded for Maria to go to the room. Faye knew that Vincent was the doctor’s primary concern.

One orderly held Vincent from behind; one grappled his right leg, the other the left. Maria noticed the badly bleeding broken nose from the one behind him. Vincent was fighting them, banging his head back. He must have connected a couple of times to cause that much blood.

Vincent’s right leg broke free momentarily, kneeing the last nurse in before restraining him again.

The three of them brought Vincent to the ground. He was screaming gibberish, screeching, cawing. The metal table that they had sat at was on its side. Maria was thankful: the guard hidden from view.

It took more time to subdue Vincent. The RN shoved the IM into his thigh and plunged the contents of the syringe in. Vincent continued to buck. The RN and the attendant passed glances. He shook his head no.

Vincent fell away.

Hours. Ms. Faye Smythe left once the ward allowed her to escape. She stopped outside for a smoke. Then another. When she stopped shaking, she left the hospital grounds. A bottle of Pouilly-Fuissé waited for her.

She wasn’t sure if she would be returning and told Maria that.

Maria stayed.

Vincent’s arms and legs restrained, a sealed room of the infirmary. He was out of it. They rightfully gave Vincent a high dose of the benzodiazepine.  

Sitting by his shackled side, Maria waited, hoping to get something more than “I’m tired” out of Vincent. She knew he would deteriorate under the harshest of interrogations.

Maria nodded off at 4:17 am, her last thought:

When he returned.

Evergreen and Golden Fields: Vincent’s Descent – AtoZ Blog Challenge

Vincent’s Descent

Chapter 5:

Evergreen and Golden Fields

Vincent ran ducking through a tall golden swarth as a murder swarmed after him. They cackled above him, marking his way as he cut one way, then zigged another. He dove between a dense forest of stalks, holding his breath, face to the ground, doing what he could protect his eyes.

The birds were hungry for them.

A single snorted caw bellowed overhead, followed by a hundred others, which echoed over the open fields a thousand times. The afternoon sky was jet black with wings. The night eclipsed the bright sun. Vincent bolted, staying close to the ground. His skin blistered when the fronds gave way.

A faraway corpse of green came swiftly into focus. As the ground shot upwards, Vincent crested the knoll, laying prone. He searched the branches, but they were high up on the trunks. A giant tree, off-center from the central mass, was dead, an oval cavity that looked large enough to climb into at first. Vincent crawled over, but upon inspection, it was a dashed illusion. Neither large enough nor with any depth, Vincent sank, his back against the bark of Cyprus.

The birds were screeching for him. Vincent banged his head back against the gnarled wood. He felt a trickle of blood leak along the nape of his neck. He slammed it again, feeling something other than the terrors from above. Once more, but too hard and forceful. He began to drift away.

 Blood swirled along the grooves of the tree trunk, draining down to roots that had cracked through the earth. Vincent heard lapping in rhythm with the throbbing in his head. His head fell to his right shoulder, his ear nearly touching, floating slightly above. Vincent’s neck was taut; the muscles strained as his ear wanted to kiss his shoulder, as it moved closer closer closer.

Vincent jerked, eyes bubbling open. The sky was clear blue with a smattering of white clouds that held a hit of grey. Some were lazy in their way across; others appeared to race out of view. Vincent took in the musky smell of wet dirt. His hand was wet. With stiff pain, Vincent took in that he sat on a muddy plain, no tree in sight. He took a handful of mud, grinding it through his fingers. He brought a tiny lick to his mouth, the earthiness-rich loam, a mixture of clay and silt, earth and sand. Vincent was standing but had no memory of standing.

In the distance, the blackbirds were returning. They were calling for him. A fierceness, a desire for him. He wanted to run again, yet what he held in his hands was. There was an enticing smell, and Vincent burrowed his face into his palms.

copper. and salt. and oily fats.

            “Grackle Lord,” the blackbirds sang out in unison, pitched high and low, lengthy and stringent. “Grackle Lord,” they called Vincent. “Dominus homicidii, Dominus mendacii.”

            Maria and Faye stood in the hallway watching three orderlies subdue Vincent. They saw the blood on his face, on his hands, over the table, over his clothes. He was screaming, unintelligible.

            A team had gone in to tend to the guard alone in the room with Vincent. The RN came out, looking down at the ground, up at Maria, shook her head, and then shuffled down the hallway to her station.

The green noise in the hallways held nothing for Maria and Faye.

Dandelion Passage: Vincent’s Descent – AtoZ Blog Challenge

Vincent Descent

Chapter 4: Dandelion Passage

The hallways of BBHPC (Brooks Behavioral Health Psychiatric Center) sound with the shuffling of feet on white tile floors, the shooshing of opening and closing doors, files being flipped, papers rustling, and muffled screams.

Conversations occurred behind closed doors or were taken outside of the concrete and faux marble building. Faye needed unsterilized air and another smoke. Maria joined her, upwind, so they could talk. Well, so she could mainly listen.

Faye knew the outward details. As a lawyer who would be asked to defend Vincent, she had to. They both had their own version of confidentiality. Maria knew that Faye’s bouts of snippiness with her were frustrations that Maria could not, would not, share more.  

Under swirling, overcast clouds, they walked along the patient garden path. Guards, nurses, and aides moved along, keeping tabs on their charges. Eighteen feet high security-welded metal fence surrounded the BBHPC grounds. Open air, but Maria felt it gave off enough of a claustrophobic air.

Flakes of snowflakes began to drift down. Faye cursed, took her last puff, and threw the butt down to grind it out. A guard “humphed,” and Faye bent over to pick it up to dispose of it properly. If he saw her give him the finger, he gave no indication. Maria noticed.

Fixing their ID lanyards, the two made their way back toward Vincent. Maria turned her head before disappearing inside. The snow had already gained strength. Remembering a snippet of a conversation with Vincent months before the incidents, way before BBHPC, she smiled.

He kept looking outside the window of her office. It had been snowing during the day, and the wind had been whipping up during their session.

“Vincent.”

“Hm.”

“You keep drifting.”

He chuckled, a rare honest one.

“What?” Pause. “Oh. Drifting. Snow drifting?”

Vincent nodded.

He turned to her.

“We’re in a snow globe right now,” he half-smiled. “All shooken up, end over end, everything whirling around.”

Vincent looked back out the window again.

“We’re in a snow globe.”

“What?” Faye said, her annoyance rebuilding as she draped Lawyer Ms. Faye Smythe back on.  

Dr. Maria shrugged it off and smiled.

“We’re in a snow globe,” she murmured as she walked through the door, the guard desk check-in, and into the center.

The walls of the hallway in Vincent’s ward were a soft yellow. It was designed to have a calming effect, as was the ever-constant playing of green noise. It droned in the lowest levels of consciousness, volume raised enough to create a baffle for the HVAC sounds.

It didn’t always have the effect the designers intended.

Vincent, though, fell into the sound. He slowed his breathing and closed his eyelids after Dr. Maria left the room. He was quiet for a long time. The guard thought Vincent had fallen asleep. He leaned against the wall, relaxing.

Arms still on the table, Vincent mentally was tapping away, as dead old Cat-grandpa dug into him, reminding himself that his mind was the way to his portal journey.

The tapping was consistent until it flew away into wings beating.

“You’re back,” the Blackbird yelped.

If beaks could smile.

*****************************************************

Ooops. Only the fourth post and I ran into a brick wall.

I will catch up later this evening, so there will be two posts today.

My apologies.

BTW, for those who may only have found Vincent’s Descent today, this is a continuous story. If you are interested, please go back to April 1st’s “Azure Dreams” and read on. Hopefully it will begin to make sense for one and all by the time we get to Z.

Stuart

Crimson: Vincent’s Descent – AtoZ Blog Challenge

Vincent’s Descent

Chapter 3: Crimson

             oh. blood. yes. 

            Cat-grandpa’s index fingernail was always sharp and jagged. All of the nails were in that shape. He bit instead of cut. He used his hands to talk for him, his fingers acting as punctuations, his palms as rests or, too often, harsh beats. Vincent would zero in when Cat-grandpa’s hands morphed into fists. When the knuckles went white, Vincent’s eyes would tear up.

            “The best portal stories are.” Tap. “Right.” Tap. “Up.” Tap. “Here.”

            Vincent winced. He felt the nail slice into his skin. A light dribble followed. It would leave a scar on top of a scar. His mother never noticed; if she did, she refrained from saying anything. Vincent often looked to see if she had an imperfection in the same place.

            She always wore her hair down.

He held himself still. It stung. Vincent’s mouth went dry. He knew not to say anything, not to make any sound. He felt himself lose focus, his eyes darting for any escape. There were birds in the distance.

            He wished he was a bird.

            They had been sitting on the balcony, Cat-grandpa reading with seven-year-old Vincent. They had finished “A Princess of Mars.” Instead of continuing to the next book, “The Gods of Mars,” Cat-grandpa had Vincent go inside to fetch a different book.

            “But…,” Vincent began, eyeing the cover of the unread paperback. The silence that followed got Vincent moving.

“The second one from the top of the pile,” Cat-grandpa yelled through the screen door as it slammed shut. Vincent walked through the small kitchen, hurrying past the overflowing garbage bin. Flying bugs of all sizes chased him into the living room.  

The worn wooden side table had a tilt to it. Vincent found two books had tumbled onto the convertible couch, face down. The author’s faces stared up at him, the titles hugging the sofa. The scratchy faded orange fabric was shiny with bald patches. He thought it looked like Cat-grandpa. Vincent bit his inner cheek not to laugh.

A pile of books was next to the one teetering to join its brethren. He ignored that pile, unsure if the wanted book was on the couch. Vincent studied the two book towers and made a decision. He was reaching for the second book when he noticed the top one.

“Not the first book?” Vincent yelled, turning back toward the screen door. “It has the number one in the corner.”  

He heard a faint “idiot kid” before, “What did I say? The second book.”

Vincent returned outside, plopping down on his side of the two-person seater. It rat squeaked, the coils underneath hard and sharp.

Cat-grandpa was having Vincent read aloud, prodding him over words he stumbled over. When Lucy pushed past all the clothing and found herself somewhere else, Vincent stopped.

“Like John Carter? Is she somewhere else? Is she on Mars?”

“Narnia,” Cat-grandpa sighed. “Narnia. Different place. Different world, if you like. Not Mars.

The lecture on Portal stories began, ending with the digging into Vincent’s scalp.

The couch had been turned out, another rusted accessory. The mattress was thin, the pillows were essentially pillowcases, and the sheet was a series of threads holding onto each other, so it all didn’t disappear.

Like he wished he could.

The best portal stories as he closed his eyes and went elsewhere.

The lawyer and the therapist stood in the narrow hallway. Vincent sat in the room behind them, alone. The guard inside watched him like a hawk.

“Maria, you’ve got to get him to talk with me.”

She nodded, tucking her lips in slightly. Her gaze flitted over Faye’s crossed arms, the grey suit jacket, the tips of the white blouse, the minute showing of olive-hued skin, and the sharp yellow lacquered nails. There was a chip at the top of the ring finger. Maria wasn’t going to mention it.

“Look, Faye,” she stopped, seeing the other woman tense. “OK. No excuses. Why do you think he won’t?”

“Fuck, Maria. Don’t therapist me. Answer the fucking question.”

It was a non-staring starting contest.

“He thinks you are afraid of him.”

Faye blinked quickly.

“What?”

“Sigh. Afraid. You of him. Vincent holds his tongue if he feels someone is afraid of him.”

“Afraid? No. Unsettled? Very much so.  He’s a creepy fuck.  But yes, afraid. Unsettled.  If I wasn’t the family lawyer, after what he did?”

“Really? Isn’t it supposed to be ‘allegedly?’”

The lawyer sighed.

“Fuck this. Fine. Yes. I have to take the stance ‘allegedly.'” She leaned in close to Maria, never sure. “The damn photos, Maria. The photos.”

Ms. Faye Smythe turned her head away from Maria.

“All that blood.”