Endgame

Endgame (Pt. 4, Vincent)

{XI:III AM}

“Vinky-dinky! Time to wake...”

I swore I heard a cheerful and whimsical voice, somewhere among the darkness that swims in my vision. Darkness enveloped me, blocked and blinded my senses. I open my palm, curl and uncurl my hand. Everything was intact. “Vinky...Din...” That light, optimistic voice again. Where have I heard such a crooning and satisfied tone? My ears begin to ring, as if even listening to this feminine voice tires me. Dizziness swims in my head, and I can’t force my eyes open. My eyelids are tombstones, and the all-seeing orbs below are made of lead. Pain intensifies in my right eye, forces me to groan quietly. The darkness is soothing.  “Vincent!”

At the calling of my name, my eyes snap open, sending a sudden pain to the back of my head. Gasping, I wait for my vision to adjust to the blinding lights held above me. I try to move my arm, but needles and tubing of all kinds bind me. My attention then focuses up onto the face hovering several inches away from my own. Whomever is keeping me here undoubtedly feels my troubled breathing, and heard the pounding of my heart.

“W-who...” I rasp, but a cough rocks my back, and leaves me struggling to breathe. I focus on the diluted colors of black, blue, and white to make out a face. I’m suffocating, and being held hostage by a complete stranger.

“Aw, Vinky-dinky. You look so cute right now, lying helplessly with tubes all over you. Here, lemme get you some air!”  

“Vinky...Din...” There is nothing but confusion in my rasping voice. “Wha...” Pain explodes in my chest as my back arches, and I continue to wheeze and cough. Vinky-Dinky? Vincent?

The enthralled speaker appears to be a tall boy, the sharp angle of his chin and roundness to his face gives him the curious look of a fourteen year-old. Their hair is slicked back, regal and shiny from bottles of gel- His eyes are a soft hazel.

Their voice. It is crisp, graceful and light. My mind races, etches a possible of draft of how my captor is. One of Lucifer’s men? Quite possibly, by their regal posture and servant’s attire. My chest heaves once more. How did they find me? Why am I even still alive?

My captor smiles at me, showing rows of pure white teeth. “Hey, Vinky-dinky,”

I blink and stare dumbly at him. My eye. Am I half-blind, or am I imagining the darkness that blocks half of my vision? I shook my head from the left to right, frighteningly taking in my surroundings.

I am inspecting the small shack I lie in, as well as rejecting the current and undesirable situation. “I am your servant.” He bows.

...Realization forces laughter to bubble up my throat. My captor only looks up from the tiled ground and smiles, eye glinting genuinely. For a single moment, the throbbing in my eyes and side are gone.

“You’re doing better than expected, Helena.” I force myself to sit up, leaning against a pillow for support. The movement and forces a me to gasp painfully- My past laughing fit makes it harder to breathe.

“I had a good mentor, nothing more.”

Helena shuffles forward to my side, a smirk spread across her face. She’s as thin as ever, now that it is winter outside. Underneath the make-up and shaven, close-cropped hair, her familiar blue eyes scrutinize my face. For a tender moment I shakily reach my hand up, miserably and weakly cupping the familiar girl’s face.

She smiles and pulls away, and a lump rises in my throat.

“How’s work?” I take a breath in between words. Sweat drips down my forehead, swims into my eyes and blurs my vision. It’s a feeble question, but it breaks the threatening silence between us. I look away, realizing I’ve stared into her eyes for too long.