***Los Angeles, April 25th, 1976, 8:30 P.M.***
"Nice place you got here," Rambaldi said. It was only then that William noticed that Rambaldi was glowing: a sort of goldish-orange light was just emanating from around him. Almost as if he wasn't fully there. Like a spirit, urging to leave its own dimension and willing itself to enter Will's.
"Of course you're not really here," Will commented, trying to turn it over in his head. This is all just a dream, or-or something." He stuttered over his last words, trying to come up with a better explanation.
"No, it is truly me. In the flesh. Well, almost, anyway. You've been a very good servant, lately, William."
"No! I am in charge of my own life!" Will cried in exasperation. "I am in charge… I am…" he started to sob with the last statements.
"There, there, Signor Vaughn. It will be alright," Rambaldi shot back, with a touch of his Italian accent about him.
"No, you're wrong. I will be all right. I'd love to say the same of you, though!" and he sprang up from the table and started to barrage the architect with everything he had; jab, jab, roundhouse kick, uppercut, crescent kick, another crescent, karate chops, bear hugs. Any martial arts technique he could muster. But Rambaldi avoided them each with ease, never using anything more than a simple hand motion to protect himself.
"Heh-heh…" he chuckled to himself, as he dodged a few more punches. Two kicks came at him, and he simply cried out "WAX ON, WAX OFF, BITCH!" Eventually, Rambaldi had had enough and grabbed Will's arm and pulled, then pushed him to the ground.
"Is that out of your system, Will?" Rambaldi taunted.
"Almost!" He cried, and kicked the frail man off him. But in midair, Rambaldi regained his balance and flipped around to ensure his landing. Will knew the kick would be futile, so he ran to the kitchen.
"Come on, Nicole, where'd you put those damned knives?" The question was answered by a butcher's knife whizzing by his ear, and digging itself into the wall next to him. Immediately, he turned his head and there was Rambaldi, knives held by the handle in between his long, brittle fingers.
"Let's go!" and Rambaldi began, one by one, tossing the knives across the kitchen. William tried his best to dodge them, but there was little he could do. Eventually, he ducked down and opened a cabinet door to use as a shield. Looking in it, he found what he had been looking for all along: the pots and pans. He quickly grabbed a pot and a cookie sheet and re-entered the battlefield with a new confidence. A knife came at him, and almost in slow motion he put the sheet up to deflect it, and caught it with the pot. Another knife came flying, and he baseball-batted it out of the way with the pot.
"Who's in trouble now, bitch?" Will screamed.
Upstairs, little Mikey heard the clanging of metal from the kitchen. He laughed. "You're such a klutz, Daddy," he thought to himself. But then the cursing made him worried. Daddy never screamed unless it was at Mommy, and Mommy was in bed. She, definitely, could not hear it, over the racket of her tears and the music pouring out of her record box. Little Mikey suddenly decided to face his fears, and confront Daddy about his anger problems. Stumbling down the stairs, Michael tried to pick out an approach. In his wondering, he didn't stop to hear the two voices arguing. But Rambaldi and William were fighting, and they had passed physical harm by now.
Rambaldi stood, his arms folded in a very intimidating pose. "Admit it, Vaughn. You're mine forever and for always. Stop trying to resist, and succumb."
"Never! I am in control of my own destiny, and no matter what you think, you can't change that!"
Just then, Mikey did enter the room. Rambaldi was all set up to retaliate, when Mikey called out, "Daddy?"
Instantly, Rambaldi changed his shape and took on the appearance of the little boy's father. With a few illusions, there was only one William Vaughn in the room, as far as Michael could see.
"Daddy, what are you doing?"
"Nothing, Mikey. Having trouble sleeping?"
Innocently, Michael nodded his head in that cute way that only little boys can pull off.
"Here," Rambaldi called out, silencing the real William Vaughn. For an instant, Michael could see both of his fathers, and was slightly confused. But he put it out of his head, and he headed over to his father. "Take this watch; you can set your heart by it."
"What does that mean?" Michael asked, treasuring the assumed family heirloom.
"I'll explain it later," the imposter said with a wink. "Now go to bed, I have important work to finish."
Mikey left the room, confused by tired too, so it was all good in his mind.
But while Rambaldi wasn't looking, the real Vaughn carved something into the stretch of skin between his thumb and his forefinger with a knife he had caught during their fight.
"Now, Slave, here's what you must do next…" Rambaldi said, finishing his illusion and setting everything back in its place. He began to pull out a scroll, when William made a mad dash for a door outside the kitchen. Rambaldi knew the house by heart, and simply glided through the floor in the basement to meet Will.
"Ahhhh, yes. I remember designing this one…" Rambaldi said. "My greatest yet." His "Greatest" was actually just a series of 94 Rambaldi artifacts assembled together. Each one helped to create a portal.
"Well, I hope the memory remains!" Will screamed, and he ripped out the artifacts one by one. A telescope there, a gyroscope here.
"NO!!!!!" Rambaldi said, as he faded out and the light around him dimmed.
Gasping, William took out every artifact but two. And those two were absolutely nothing, as far as he was concerned. The phantom was gone.
"You can't get rid of me…" a voice came from nowhere.
William fainted at the voice. He regained consciousness in his bed, next to Nicole. "I love you, honey," he said with pure respect. He went to hug her, when he noticed his left hand. Carved between his thumb and forefinger was….
0 : April, 25.