The sun tinted the grey sky and the numbers on Carroll's bedside table read 6:21. Her eyes cracked open a little, then closed again at the sharp headache that had pounded itself into her head. She was late for a meeting with someone, but she didn't care.
"Too fucking early..." She mumbled , then turned over on the soft pillows.
Light was pouring into the room when Carroll awoke again. 12:43. She sighed and dragged herself out of bed and into the bathroom, leaving the light off and absorbing the dim windowless atmosphere. A quick glance in the mirror confirmed the dull pain she felt all over her body. Dark bruises blossomed all over, a silent ominous reminder. She took off her clothes, still smelling of smoke and sweat and left them on the bathroom floor, stepping into the shower.
The porcelain tile was cool and startling before hot water cascaded down to touch her pale skin and remove the dark smudges of makeup from her eyes, lips and cheeks. She ran her fingers through her short tangled hair, muting the effect of the hair spray she piled in it, face upturned to the eggshell white ceiling. She stayed there, numbed by the heat and letting her mind clear for a long time, then turned off the water, walking out to the hall dripping for a towel.
She returned to her room, clean and still with that stabbing headache. A piece of paper was stashed neatly under her alarm clock, with Vincent's neat script on it.
Carroll,
Take the day off. I'll be at work, you know where to find me if something comes up.
There are leftovers in the refrigerator.
-Vincent
She smiled, and pulled the note out from under the clock, sticking it in a drawer. She dressed carelessly, and headed to the kitchen for food. She hadn't eaten since yesterday morning at least, and she was ravenous. She pulled open the refrigerator door and pulled out a square plastic tupperware box and opened it. Casserole. Vincent really was more help to Carroll then she was to him. She couldn't cook for crap, and when he wasn't around she usually ended up with some horrible cheap takeout. She stuck the box in the microwave and slouched in a chair at the little table in the kitchen, watching the green numbers count down.
After she had eaten, Carroll got up and washed the dishes. She usually didn't, and it drove Vincent crazy, but she was on good behavior after last night. She lit a cigarette, and walked over to the couch. Before she could sit down, a knock echoed on the door.
~A stranger~
Carroll's head snapped up towards the door, the instinct bringing a wince from her still-active headache. She wondered who it could be. Vincent said he would be at work, and none of her friends dared to come by except after nightfall. She walked up to the door and slid the chain lock into its metal groove. Then she undid the bolt locks and opened the door a few inches. "What do you want?"
The woman behind the door had long wavy brown hair, sunglasses, and a long black dress. "I'm here to see Vincent." Whereas Carroll's voice held malice, Merlose's voice had a tone that suggested she always got what she asked for, and for a reason. Carroll recognized this. It was a sure sign of money, power, or both. "Who are you?" She paused, and they both took the silence as an opportunity to look distastefully at each other's appearance.
"My name is Merlose, I'm a friend" Carroll scoffed. "That's probably bullshit. Vincent's not here anyways." She slammed the door and took a drag on her cigarette. The woman was giving her bad vibes.
She was starting to head back to the couch when there was another knock. "What the hell! I told you he wasn't here." She said loudly in the direction of the door. Merlose just knocked again, as if she were too good to raise her voice in reply. Carroll glared and opened the door again. "This better be good." Merlose looked at her levelly, but with a touch of desperation. "Who is Lucrecia?" Carroll stopped glaring, and just looked at the woman for a few moments. Then she unlocked the door. "Come on in."
Merlose looked like a white dove among pigeons in the turmoil of the little apartment. Most of the filth, of course, was compliments to Carroll, but the apartment was still run down, cracks in the walls, and dismal lighting. Carroll sprawled out comfortably on the battered couch, and looked at Merlose.
"What do you want to know about her?"
Merlose sat on the arm of the couch, her hands in her lap, her feet resting parallel on the floor. "I don't really know.. I think Vincent is convinced I'm her. But I couldn't be.." Carroll sighed. "Poor child. Vincent's a bit obsessive over this chick. She died, a long time ago, and its still 'Lucrecia this, Lucrecia that.'" Merlose listened, seeming to be in deep thought. "Do I look like her?" Carroll paused, squinting, then shrugged. "No, not really. Your hair maybe, or the figure, but you're not a lookalike or anything. Hey.." She seemed to remember something "I'll be right back." Carroll dragged herself up from her spot on the couch and disappeared into Vincent's room.
She opened his coffin and ran her fingers along the satin lining for a moment or two. Then she found what she was looking for, the little cut in the fabric, and beneath it the glossy surface of a photograph. She carried it back and presented it to Merlose.
Merlose looked at it for a while. Lucrecia was sitting on the floor amidst open books and strewn papers, sunlight pouring in a window and backlighting her hair and glasses. She was laughing at something, blushing slightly, her hand raised as if to stop the photographer from taking the picture. "You're right. She doesn't look like me." Carroll shrugged again.
"Maybe..maybe you shouldn't mention this to him." Carroll gave her a look. "Since when was I taking suggestions on what to tell Vincent from you? Don't think that because I'm doing this I like you. I'm just looking out for Vincent's feelings."
"So am I!" Merlose snapped back at her. Carroll glared, and Merlose got up. "I'm leaving." She walked to the door opened it and walked out, closing it behind her. Carroll had expected a slam.
Carroll sat down again and closed her eyes. The pieces were coming together. The late nights Vincent had been staying out, less of the usual brooding from him. She opened her eyes again. She was going to confront him about it tonight. She lit another cigarette, the last one had been put out shortly after Merlose's arrival, and sighed.
~Evening, a secret is waiting for you~
Hours later, Vincent was returning home from his job. He stopped in front of his mailbox and casusally checked it as he did every day. There were usually just bills and junk mail. There was a red enevelope inside. He lifted it out and looked at it, turned it over. Nothing. He put it in a poket, closed the mailbox and took out his keys to the apartment, unlocking the three sets of locks on the door and walking in. Carroll looked up from the jigsaw puzzle she had spread out on the floor space that constituted as a living room. "Hey there."
"Hello Carroll. Feeling better?" He closed the door and walked over, tossing his keys on an end table. Carroll nodded slightly. "Yeah." Vincent noted the brusies that had started to go purple at the edges, signs of healing. "Good." He started towards his room, and Carroll watched him go, anxiety rising through attempts to calm herslf down.
Vincent sat down on the lid of his coffin, and took off his metal plated boots and cape, unbuttoning his shirt partially. He sighed, leaning his arms on his knees and hanging his head, causing his silky black hair to fall forward over his face. It had been a long day. He looked up at the sound of light footsteps pausing at his doorway. The lights of his room were off, and Carroll stood self consciously silhouetted against the light of the living room.
"Vincent..." She hardly ever took the time to use his full name. He listened.
"Someone came by asking for you today." Vincent frowned. "Who?" "Merlose." She watched his expression turn from confusion to slight fustration to anger, and then nothing. "...Oh." Carroll walked in, uninvited, to sit by him. "Hey, Vince, we need to talk." He looked at her, crimson eyes betraying nothing. "About..? I don't see how she conserns you." Caroll looked a little hurt at the defensive coldness. Even living with him for over a year she wasn't used to it. "Vincent, I don't want to see you hurt over her. You know she isn't..."
"Isn't what?" He dared her to say it. "Isn't Lucrecia, Vince. She's dead, you have to accept it." Vincent turned away from her, his hands slowly clenching into fists. "No." It was almost a whisper, yet clear and stated. Carroll held back tears of fustrated empathy. "Listen! Merlose doesn't even look like her! You're putting faith in an illusion. It's just your mind..."
Vincent was suddenly pushed over the edge, and he stood up abruptly. "Do you think I can't take care of my own relationships? I don't need your protection from the world, Carroll." His voice was only slightly raised, but even that was enough to make Carroll cringe. He could be very threatening when he was upset or angry, even though Carroll knew he would never touch her. Carroll met his eyes. "Sometimes you're so naieve. So what, you've been eternally scarred by her. She was some kind of angel. But Merlose won't be as perfect as your memories of her were. She's human, and if you love Merlose because of who she is, then by all means, be with her. But don't love her because you think she's Lucrecia." Carroll handed him back the photograph of her. Vincent took it, but didn't look at it. He reamined standing, worldessly, but expecting her to leave.
"Vincent, please..." Slience.
She resigned, and left him in his room to his thoughts. He closed and locked the door behind her. He turned over the photograph so that the blank side was facing up, still not having looked at it, and picked up a lighter from his dresser. He caught the corner of it in the small flame and let it slowly burn, smoke twirling, until it reached his fingers and burnt out. He dropped the remaining piece in the trash, and sat down at the chair uunder his small window.
~Red~
He remembered th mysterious enelope and reached into his pocket, drawing it out. It was a woman's handwriting.
Vincent,
Tomorrow night, meet me at my house. 9:30. I'm expecting you.
It was unsigned, but there was really only one person it could have been from. She was inviting him to her house. It must have meant she changed her mind about him. He smiled to himself, and put the envelope into the book that was lying on the windowsill. He looked out at the setting sun, tinting the sky red and orange.
..................................................................................................
"Too fucking early..." She mumbled , then turned over on the soft pillows.
Light was pouring into the room when Carroll awoke again. 12:43. She sighed and dragged herself out of bed and into the bathroom, leaving the light off and absorbing the dim windowless atmosphere. A quick glance in the mirror confirmed the dull pain she felt all over her body. Dark bruises blossomed all over, a silent ominous reminder. She took off her clothes, still smelling of smoke and sweat and left them on the bathroom floor, stepping into the shower.
The porcelain tile was cool and startling before hot water cascaded down to touch her pale skin and remove the dark smudges of makeup from her eyes, lips and cheeks. She ran her fingers through her short tangled hair, muting the effect of the hair spray she piled in it, face upturned to the eggshell white ceiling. She stayed there, numbed by the heat and letting her mind clear for a long time, then turned off the water, walking out to the hall dripping for a towel.
She returned to her room, clean and still with that stabbing headache. A piece of paper was stashed neatly under her alarm clock, with Vincent's neat script on it.
Carroll,
Take the day off. I'll be at work, you know where to find me if something comes up.
There are leftovers in the refrigerator.
-Vincent
She smiled, and pulled the note out from under the clock, sticking it in a drawer. She dressed carelessly, and headed to the kitchen for food. She hadn't eaten since yesterday morning at least, and she was ravenous. She pulled open the refrigerator door and pulled out a square plastic tupperware box and opened it. Casserole. Vincent really was more help to Carroll then she was to him. She couldn't cook for crap, and when he wasn't around she usually ended up with some horrible cheap takeout. She stuck the box in the microwave and slouched in a chair at the little table in the kitchen, watching the green numbers count down.
After she had eaten, Carroll got up and washed the dishes. She usually didn't, and it drove Vincent crazy, but she was on good behavior after last night. She lit a cigarette, and walked over to the couch. Before she could sit down, a knock echoed on the door.
~A stranger~
Carroll's head snapped up towards the door, the instinct bringing a wince from her still-active headache. She wondered who it could be. Vincent said he would be at work, and none of her friends dared to come by except after nightfall. She walked up to the door and slid the chain lock into its metal groove. Then she undid the bolt locks and opened the door a few inches. "What do you want?"
The woman behind the door had long wavy brown hair, sunglasses, and a long black dress. "I'm here to see Vincent." Whereas Carroll's voice held malice, Merlose's voice had a tone that suggested she always got what she asked for, and for a reason. Carroll recognized this. It was a sure sign of money, power, or both. "Who are you?" She paused, and they both took the silence as an opportunity to look distastefully at each other's appearance.
"My name is Merlose, I'm a friend" Carroll scoffed. "That's probably bullshit. Vincent's not here anyways." She slammed the door and took a drag on her cigarette. The woman was giving her bad vibes.
She was starting to head back to the couch when there was another knock. "What the hell! I told you he wasn't here." She said loudly in the direction of the door. Merlose just knocked again, as if she were too good to raise her voice in reply. Carroll glared and opened the door again. "This better be good." Merlose looked at her levelly, but with a touch of desperation. "Who is Lucrecia?" Carroll stopped glaring, and just looked at the woman for a few moments. Then she unlocked the door. "Come on in."
Merlose looked like a white dove among pigeons in the turmoil of the little apartment. Most of the filth, of course, was compliments to Carroll, but the apartment was still run down, cracks in the walls, and dismal lighting. Carroll sprawled out comfortably on the battered couch, and looked at Merlose.
"What do you want to know about her?"
Merlose sat on the arm of the couch, her hands in her lap, her feet resting parallel on the floor. "I don't really know.. I think Vincent is convinced I'm her. But I couldn't be.." Carroll sighed. "Poor child. Vincent's a bit obsessive over this chick. She died, a long time ago, and its still 'Lucrecia this, Lucrecia that.'" Merlose listened, seeming to be in deep thought. "Do I look like her?" Carroll paused, squinting, then shrugged. "No, not really. Your hair maybe, or the figure, but you're not a lookalike or anything. Hey.." She seemed to remember something "I'll be right back." Carroll dragged herself up from her spot on the couch and disappeared into Vincent's room.
She opened his coffin and ran her fingers along the satin lining for a moment or two. Then she found what she was looking for, the little cut in the fabric, and beneath it the glossy surface of a photograph. She carried it back and presented it to Merlose.
Merlose looked at it for a while. Lucrecia was sitting on the floor amidst open books and strewn papers, sunlight pouring in a window and backlighting her hair and glasses. She was laughing at something, blushing slightly, her hand raised as if to stop the photographer from taking the picture. "You're right. She doesn't look like me." Carroll shrugged again.
"Maybe..maybe you shouldn't mention this to him." Carroll gave her a look. "Since when was I taking suggestions on what to tell Vincent from you? Don't think that because I'm doing this I like you. I'm just looking out for Vincent's feelings."
"So am I!" Merlose snapped back at her. Carroll glared, and Merlose got up. "I'm leaving." She walked to the door opened it and walked out, closing it behind her. Carroll had expected a slam.
Carroll sat down again and closed her eyes. The pieces were coming together. The late nights Vincent had been staying out, less of the usual brooding from him. She opened her eyes again. She was going to confront him about it tonight. She lit another cigarette, the last one had been put out shortly after Merlose's arrival, and sighed.
~Evening, a secret is waiting for you~
Hours later, Vincent was returning home from his job. He stopped in front of his mailbox and casusally checked it as he did every day. There were usually just bills and junk mail. There was a red enevelope inside. He lifted it out and looked at it, turned it over. Nothing. He put it in a poket, closed the mailbox and took out his keys to the apartment, unlocking the three sets of locks on the door and walking in. Carroll looked up from the jigsaw puzzle she had spread out on the floor space that constituted as a living room. "Hey there."
"Hello Carroll. Feeling better?" He closed the door and walked over, tossing his keys on an end table. Carroll nodded slightly. "Yeah." Vincent noted the brusies that had started to go purple at the edges, signs of healing. "Good." He started towards his room, and Carroll watched him go, anxiety rising through attempts to calm herslf down.
Vincent sat down on the lid of his coffin, and took off his metal plated boots and cape, unbuttoning his shirt partially. He sighed, leaning his arms on his knees and hanging his head, causing his silky black hair to fall forward over his face. It had been a long day. He looked up at the sound of light footsteps pausing at his doorway. The lights of his room were off, and Carroll stood self consciously silhouetted against the light of the living room.
"Vincent..." She hardly ever took the time to use his full name. He listened.
"Someone came by asking for you today." Vincent frowned. "Who?" "Merlose." She watched his expression turn from confusion to slight fustration to anger, and then nothing. "...Oh." Carroll walked in, uninvited, to sit by him. "Hey, Vince, we need to talk." He looked at her, crimson eyes betraying nothing. "About..? I don't see how she conserns you." Caroll looked a little hurt at the defensive coldness. Even living with him for over a year she wasn't used to it. "Vincent, I don't want to see you hurt over her. You know she isn't..."
"Isn't what?" He dared her to say it. "Isn't Lucrecia, Vince. She's dead, you have to accept it." Vincent turned away from her, his hands slowly clenching into fists. "No." It was almost a whisper, yet clear and stated. Carroll held back tears of fustrated empathy. "Listen! Merlose doesn't even look like her! You're putting faith in an illusion. It's just your mind..."
Vincent was suddenly pushed over the edge, and he stood up abruptly. "Do you think I can't take care of my own relationships? I don't need your protection from the world, Carroll." His voice was only slightly raised, but even that was enough to make Carroll cringe. He could be very threatening when he was upset or angry, even though Carroll knew he would never touch her. Carroll met his eyes. "Sometimes you're so naieve. So what, you've been eternally scarred by her. She was some kind of angel. But Merlose won't be as perfect as your memories of her were. She's human, and if you love Merlose because of who she is, then by all means, be with her. But don't love her because you think she's Lucrecia." Carroll handed him back the photograph of her. Vincent took it, but didn't look at it. He reamined standing, worldessly, but expecting her to leave.
"Vincent, please..." Slience.
She resigned, and left him in his room to his thoughts. He closed and locked the door behind her. He turned over the photograph so that the blank side was facing up, still not having looked at it, and picked up a lighter from his dresser. He caught the corner of it in the small flame and let it slowly burn, smoke twirling, until it reached his fingers and burnt out. He dropped the remaining piece in the trash, and sat down at the chair uunder his small window.
~Red~
He remembered th mysterious enelope and reached into his pocket, drawing it out. It was a woman's handwriting.
Vincent,
Tomorrow night, meet me at my house. 9:30. I'm expecting you.
It was unsigned, but there was really only one person it could have been from. She was inviting him to her house. It must have meant she changed her mind about him. He smiled to himself, and put the envelope into the book that was lying on the windowsill. He looked out at the setting sun, tinting the sky red and orange.
..................................................................................................