Endgame

I.

{XII:0I AM}

The hushed barking of my hounds tell me he is here.

One by one, each and every howl, every snarl outside my window is silenced with a whimper. The chorus of each of my guard dogs are being torn apart, scattered, bad music abruptly coming to an end.

I know very well that this racket will awake my men. They will spring from their quarters, and rush to my locked room to aid me. Cassius would want to destroy the intruders for ever setting foot on my land. But I am no fool. The cracks and cobwebs in this empty mansion all hold a special place in my heart, first planted in the youth of my childhood. I knew where every tiny crack was located, where the families of mice gather in my walls. (All these walls are mine; This mansion has housed me, and therefore I am the mansion.) The exact blueprint of my estate is pinned, forever etched into my mind.

 As long as I accurately execute every escape in my head, every security breach that I had purposely left in this mansion, he cannot hurt me.

He’s only a childhood friend, and  it was him who agreed to a meeting. For several years he was dead to me- Until a servant of mine had returned to my office with a triad branded upon his back. I had never known when exactly he would decide to faithfully return to me.

“Vincent.”

I do not need to turn around to acknowledge my comrade’s presence. Moonlight casts long shadows onto the bedside. Although my hair is slightly tousled, I sit up and lean against my golden bed frame. All that is needed to sense Vincent’s presence is his looming shadow over my body. I yawn, rubbing grit from my eyes. The alarm clock on my nightstand tells me in blaring red LED lights tell me it is midnight.

The pounding footsteps of several men near my door, hoping defend me, their master, from harm in their nightgowns. “They will kick down my door and search this room. If you are hiding behind my wardrobe, I suggest you change position frequently.” I say aloud, staring at the shadow that spilt over my lap.  It does not move.

Moments later I laugh in realization. “But I suppose you do not need a warning. You have killed all my hounds that guard the gates of this mansion in less than..” I glance at my stopwatch, hung neatly on a lamp. “..Five minutes. I own sixty-five.”

There is no answer.

“You are also clever enough to realize hiding inside this very mansion would indeed be a very bad move. Instead you use the light and glass to your advantage, and position yourself exactly where the two meet to cast a shadow, without ever having to set foot in this room.” I really can’t hide the admiration out of my voice. Vincent had never changed. When we were no older than eight, houses burned and buildings were vandalized- All thanks to Lucifer and that street rat named Vincent.

Bluntly to put, the street rat had always come up with every plan to ensure we were not caught and sent to rehabilitation centers. I had only tentatively observed his works..

A chill blows through the room. Ah, so Vincent was confident enough to approach me face-to-face as well. I wonder what he looks like now; Someone such as him are currently not popular on the streets. Someone as disturbing as my friend was uncommon in the first place. I wonder if he is starved from the cruel acts this city had committed and melded onto my friend.

I am convinced most of his scars are self-inflicted.

Vincent steps through the window, gracefully leaping from a willow branch. He closes the window behind him with gloved fingers, but leaves it unlatched. He intends to escape quickly if necessary. When I lean forward in bed to peer over his shoulder (Which he politely overlooks) I see a pulley-like mechanism set up with rope on the branch. The fatal loop I had seen in the gallows is tied on one end.