𝕊𝕥𝕦𝕡𝕚𝕕 ℂ𝕦𝕡𝕚𝕕 ➶

𝕋𝕙𝕚𝕣𝕥𝕪-𝕋𝕨𝕠: 𝕆𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕄𝕠𝕣𝕖

The moment it dawned on Valentina that she was essentially holding Deuce's severed head in her hands, she quickly dropped it. It fell to the ground, just narrowly missing her toes, and rolled under the bed. Her hands shot up to cover her mouth, lest she scream and alert everyone in the hotel --including Deuce's murderer-- what she had found.

Vincent was right, she thought, hysterically. Then, again and again, Vincent was right, Vincent was right, Vincent was right!

What was she going to do? What could she do? She was panicking now, couldn't think straight. At times like these, she needed someone older and wiser to tell her what to do.

Maybe... Maybe Vincent would know? Hell, maybe he even had a cellphone with which to call the proper authorities.

Where was he, though? How could she find him before Gomez found her? Like Vincent said, she was a terrible liar and an even worse actress. Gomez was going to be able to tell she was scared of him, put two and two together to realize why.

Did Morticia know? Was she a knowing accomplice in Deuce's murder? Or was she as much in the dark as Valentina had been?

There was no time to theorize right now. She had to find Vincent.

With tears in her eyes, she crouched down to retrieve the stone head from under the bed. As much as she never wanted to touch it again, it was evidence, and they'd need it in order to get justice for the dead boy. Without it, the case would be their word against Gomez's, and that's not how murder trials were won.

One of the stone snakes had broken off when she dropped it. She didn't exactly have time to look for it --Morticia and Gomez could be back any minute now-- so she stowed the damaged stone head back in its evidence bag, slung the tote over her shoulder, and headed for the door. She didn't know where Vincent was, but she knew who would.

"Hello!" She greeted the clerk at the front desk. The man was a little creepy looking, but she could say the same for all of the staff working at the haunted hotel. "I'm looking for the room of Vincent Thorpe!" Her voice was high and shrill, too sharp even to her own ears.

He hemmed and hawed at her for a while before saying, "We don't usually share where our guests are staying..." Oh shit. "But I think we can make an exception this once, seeing as you're a part of the same party." Thank God.

With the room number in mind, she turned to hurry down the hall, when the clerk added, "I see you have a bag with you. Leaving so soon?"

"No! I-- I just-- Um, I got one of his bags by mistake. I need-- Uh-- I need to return it to him."

He nodded, as if this was perfectly reasonable and not an obvious lie. "If that's all, I can call one of the busboys to bring it to his room for you, and you can join the rest of the guests."

"No, no, no, no, no! It's best if I just return it myself!" Then, "Uh, I've gotta go! Bye!"

She basically ran down the hallway, anxiously checking the room numbers as she went. Soon enough, she arrived at Vincent's door. There was a, "Do Not Disturb," sign hanging from the knob. If luck would have it, he was sleeping off a hangover himself.

"Vincent!" She hissed, knocking frantically. "Vincent, open up!"

"Go awaaay," a muffled groan came from the other side of the door.

"Open the door, Vincent! It's important!" When he didn't even dignify that with an answer, her knocking turned to pounding. Ever vigilant, she kept throwing sideways glances up and down the hallway.

For the first five minutes, she didn't see anything or anyone. Then, suddenly, Morticia turned the corner and appeared at the end of the hall. She gave Valentina her trademark smile, cool as an autumn breeze, before taking her in: her apprehensive face and body language, the bowling bag slung over her shoulder...