Chapter Eight: Nothing To Loose
Vincent sat alone in the kitchen, sullenly looking across the table as he remained in complete silence. He felt vulnerable now, as he was no longer concealing a multitude of handguns and rifles inside the crimson cloak that he wore. Also missing, was the metal claw that he was worn for so many years. It was sitting atop the dresser, upstairs in his room.
The situation in itself was absurd; the events of last night had thrown everything into chaos. How strange it must have been for everyone else to wake up to the sudden, violent sounds of gunfire.
This was what he had been afraid of; the violence. It would seem that no matter where he went or where he hid, that danger and death followed him- like crows. But he had no choice; despite his best intent, the inevitable violence had sought him out and lashed out at him.
Force to defend himself- once again- the lone gunman was driven back to the familiar realm of combat. In that place, all you could think about was how you were going to be able to kill the other man- before he most assuredly would kill you!
As expected, Marian was very unhappy and had chastised him repeatedly and told him to go wait downstairs while she tried to fix all the trouble that he had brought down upon her home.
Vincent clicked to attention when he heard the sound of footsteps coming his was. He looked over to see a man looking down at him nervously.
"Are you Vincent Valentine?" He asked, barely able to keep his cool.
"Yes." The sitting man replied, showing no emotion whatsoever.
"I am Sheriff Tatum and I'm afraid that I'm going to have to arrest you." He informed him, just barely keeping the stutter out of his sentence.
Vincent looked him straight in the eyes. "I'm not going anywhere." He answered grimly.
The man practically blanched at the words, but managed to regain his composure. "I' don't want to have to use force. sir," He began. "But I will if you do not co-operate." He added.
Vincent could tell from the way his eye was twitching that he was about to try and draw that gun that hung at his side- in its holster.
So, he then did something that the Sheriff was not expecting, he pulled out singer dark pistol from his cloak and pointed it right at him. It was already locked and loaded. It was his beloved Death Penalty- more an extension of himself then a simple weapon. "Try me." Vincent told him.
"You wouldn't dare!" Tatum exclaimed, too frightened to even try to pull out his weapon. "You'd be a dead man!" He added, trying to sound tough.
"I already am!" Vincent exclaimed as he stood up and leered at the man, his eyes peering straight into the man's very soul- causing the lawman to turn pail
"W-What?!" Tatum stuttered as he stumbled back against the wall.
"I'm dieing- even now as we speak." He told him, still looking straight at him. "Cancer." Vincent added with a very dark smile.
Tatum eased up about a nervous laugh. "And here I thought that I'd be coming home in a box." He remarked. "But now," He began. "You're gonna be no problem at all." He added, suddenly feeling confident.
"Maybe you don't understand what I'm saying," Vincent began, walking towards him with his gun aimed at him. "Just because I'm sick, doesn't mean that I couldn't kill you in a secant." He added.
Tatum looked at the end of the gun- now less then a foot away from his face- and almost soiled himself as he watched Vincent turn the gun's safety off.
"You seem to fail to realize that I have nothing to loose by killing you." Vincent told him with a smile. "Now get out of here, while I'm still feeling generous!" Vincent commanded.
The man stumbled over to the side and then looked over his shoulder. "You're lucky, because I'm going to let you off this time," He shouted, failing to sound defiant. "Only because I feel sorry for you!" He added, again failing to sound defiant. He then vanished through the doorway.
Vincent sat back down and placed his gun back in his cloak, not bothering to put the safety back on.
He then looked up to see Marian looking down at him. "What just happened?" She asked him.
"Just setting the recoded straight with that tin-soldier." Vincent replied, curtly.
"Damn you, Vincent." She exclaimed. "Do you have any idea of the repercussions of your actions last night?" She demanded.
"I guess you're going to tell me." Vincent replied, rudely- as he had not yet come down off of the familiar bloodlust he had felt briefly during the moments he stood before the pathetic excuse of a Sheriff.
Marian clenched her fists. "The whole thing scared all of the renters terribly. and some of them are threatening to leave." She explained. "And I need the revenue they provide to pay off my debts." She finished.
Vincent started to feeling sick, both from the sudden realization of what he had done to her and from a strange nausea that he began forming inside him. "I'm sorry." He replied, placing his hand on the table to steady himself as tremors began to run through his body.
The woman noticed his sudden change in demeanor and her expression quickly became one of concern. "Vincent?" She began.
The gunman waved his hand in front of her. "It's nothing," He began, "It's probably just a side effect of overexerting myself earlier." He tried to reason.
She walked over to him and looked him in the eyes. "Vincent, I'm sorry for- "
But Vincent cut her off before she could finish speaking. "Don't just say that to me because you feel sorry for me." He spat. "Pity is something I don't need." He then added. He suddenly felt horribly sick to his stomach and ran past the woman before she could say a single thing.
"Vincent?!" She exclaimed as he ran out into the entry room, watching him stagger up the stairs while he leaned against the wall.
She stood there a long for a moment, in the entry room, gazing sadly up at the top of the stair.
"Mom?" A familiar voice asked.
Marian turned around to see Gilliam standing there, his red bangs hangs down on his forehead. His hat was gripped tightly in his hand.
"Where'd Vincent go?" He asked innocently.
"Just up to his room, dear." She replied. "He's not feeling well at the moment." She then added.
Gilliam watched as she walked up before him and brushed the locks of red hair out of his eyes and then smiled at him warmly. She then took hold of his hands and looked off to the side.
"Is something wrong?" the young man asked.
"No," she began, looking back into his eyes. "I'm just thinking about how much you remind me of your father." She replied simply and then walked past him and through the back door. "I need to be alone for a moment." She told him as she went go sit down on the back porch.
At that Moment, Scatz walked into the room. "I finished fixing the saddles for the chocobos." He announced. The black man then looked at Gilliam for a moment and could see that something was troubling him. "What's wrong?" He asked the young man.
"I don't know, Scatz, I just don't know." He replied.
Scatz was quiet for a moment then spoke up again. "Something bad's going on," He remarked. "Mr. Valentine must be getting worse." He then added.
"It's not fair, Scatz." Gilliam complained. "Why doesn't Vincent end up being the one with cancer, why couldn't it have been someone else- someone who deserved it." Gilliam remarked.
Scatz sighed. "There's not much I can tell you," He began. "Life's just like that." He added. "One day it's bright and sunny, and the then the next day its dark and stormy." He tried to reason to him.
Scatz then placed his hand on the young man's shoulder. "Everyone lives their lives with the same amount of uncertainty about living as they do about dieing." He spoke. "That's something we all have to except- that death will come one day." He added.
"How is that supposed to make me feel better?" Gilliam asked incredulously.
"It's not supposed to make you feel better- words are just words in the end." Scatz explained. "It's the actions that matter, and it's the things you do with the time you have that's the important thing." He added. "And maybe Mr. Valentine will realize this, in his own time." He concluded as he walked out of the room.
Gilliam stood there, alone, for a moment, and then looked towards the front door and put his hat back on and left.
Scats ran back into the room briefly to pick up his satchel and then made his way back outside where he noticed a man in a blue coat and a gray cowboy hat on.
"Can I help you?" He asked the stranger.
"Is the man named Vincent Valentine here, right now?" He asked coolly.
Scatz thought for a moment about what he should say then finally replied. "I'm sorry, but he's indisposed at the moment and will busy for a while." He explained.
The man just smiled. "Well then, I'm sorry to have troubled you." He replied. "But could you give Mr. Valentine a message?" He asked.
"What is it?" Scatz asked.
"Just tell him that Dekker Vandros would like to have a word with him." He announced.
"Yes sir." Scatz said with a nod and then walked back off towards the stables.
Dekker looked up at the windows, spotting the broken one. "You can't hide from me for ever, Vincent." He said and then walked away.
~End of Chapter Eight~
Wow, I'm sorry that it took me so long to update this story, and I'm sorry about chapter seven. I accidentally uploaded a chapter from a different story.
Oh well, I fixed that problem just a little while ago.
Another problem is that the College Campus I'm living on can't access FF.Net for some reason. I don't know why, but this is just how it is. So, updates will be less frequent, but I'll most likely be updating several of my stories at once. (Including this one)
Also, I decided to try a different style with this chapter. Instead of rapidly switching scenes by using asterisks (***). But I decided that it would be more interesting to have the scene move along with the characters. (i.e. by showing them walking from one place to the other).
I sort of barrowed the idea from a scene in Hamlet- (Act 2, Sc 2)- where most of the cast is just simply coming in and out of the same area. Oh well.
Any way, see you guys around
-Bojack747
Vincent sat alone in the kitchen, sullenly looking across the table as he remained in complete silence. He felt vulnerable now, as he was no longer concealing a multitude of handguns and rifles inside the crimson cloak that he wore. Also missing, was the metal claw that he was worn for so many years. It was sitting atop the dresser, upstairs in his room.
The situation in itself was absurd; the events of last night had thrown everything into chaos. How strange it must have been for everyone else to wake up to the sudden, violent sounds of gunfire.
This was what he had been afraid of; the violence. It would seem that no matter where he went or where he hid, that danger and death followed him- like crows. But he had no choice; despite his best intent, the inevitable violence had sought him out and lashed out at him.
Force to defend himself- once again- the lone gunman was driven back to the familiar realm of combat. In that place, all you could think about was how you were going to be able to kill the other man- before he most assuredly would kill you!
As expected, Marian was very unhappy and had chastised him repeatedly and told him to go wait downstairs while she tried to fix all the trouble that he had brought down upon her home.
Vincent clicked to attention when he heard the sound of footsteps coming his was. He looked over to see a man looking down at him nervously.
"Are you Vincent Valentine?" He asked, barely able to keep his cool.
"Yes." The sitting man replied, showing no emotion whatsoever.
"I am Sheriff Tatum and I'm afraid that I'm going to have to arrest you." He informed him, just barely keeping the stutter out of his sentence.
Vincent looked him straight in the eyes. "I'm not going anywhere." He answered grimly.
The man practically blanched at the words, but managed to regain his composure. "I' don't want to have to use force. sir," He began. "But I will if you do not co-operate." He added.
Vincent could tell from the way his eye was twitching that he was about to try and draw that gun that hung at his side- in its holster.
So, he then did something that the Sheriff was not expecting, he pulled out singer dark pistol from his cloak and pointed it right at him. It was already locked and loaded. It was his beloved Death Penalty- more an extension of himself then a simple weapon. "Try me." Vincent told him.
"You wouldn't dare!" Tatum exclaimed, too frightened to even try to pull out his weapon. "You'd be a dead man!" He added, trying to sound tough.
"I already am!" Vincent exclaimed as he stood up and leered at the man, his eyes peering straight into the man's very soul- causing the lawman to turn pail
"W-What?!" Tatum stuttered as he stumbled back against the wall.
"I'm dieing- even now as we speak." He told him, still looking straight at him. "Cancer." Vincent added with a very dark smile.
Tatum eased up about a nervous laugh. "And here I thought that I'd be coming home in a box." He remarked. "But now," He began. "You're gonna be no problem at all." He added, suddenly feeling confident.
"Maybe you don't understand what I'm saying," Vincent began, walking towards him with his gun aimed at him. "Just because I'm sick, doesn't mean that I couldn't kill you in a secant." He added.
Tatum looked at the end of the gun- now less then a foot away from his face- and almost soiled himself as he watched Vincent turn the gun's safety off.
"You seem to fail to realize that I have nothing to loose by killing you." Vincent told him with a smile. "Now get out of here, while I'm still feeling generous!" Vincent commanded.
The man stumbled over to the side and then looked over his shoulder. "You're lucky, because I'm going to let you off this time," He shouted, failing to sound defiant. "Only because I feel sorry for you!" He added, again failing to sound defiant. He then vanished through the doorway.
Vincent sat back down and placed his gun back in his cloak, not bothering to put the safety back on.
He then looked up to see Marian looking down at him. "What just happened?" She asked him.
"Just setting the recoded straight with that tin-soldier." Vincent replied, curtly.
"Damn you, Vincent." She exclaimed. "Do you have any idea of the repercussions of your actions last night?" She demanded.
"I guess you're going to tell me." Vincent replied, rudely- as he had not yet come down off of the familiar bloodlust he had felt briefly during the moments he stood before the pathetic excuse of a Sheriff.
Marian clenched her fists. "The whole thing scared all of the renters terribly. and some of them are threatening to leave." She explained. "And I need the revenue they provide to pay off my debts." She finished.
Vincent started to feeling sick, both from the sudden realization of what he had done to her and from a strange nausea that he began forming inside him. "I'm sorry." He replied, placing his hand on the table to steady himself as tremors began to run through his body.
The woman noticed his sudden change in demeanor and her expression quickly became one of concern. "Vincent?" She began.
The gunman waved his hand in front of her. "It's nothing," He began, "It's probably just a side effect of overexerting myself earlier." He tried to reason.
She walked over to him and looked him in the eyes. "Vincent, I'm sorry for- "
But Vincent cut her off before she could finish speaking. "Don't just say that to me because you feel sorry for me." He spat. "Pity is something I don't need." He then added. He suddenly felt horribly sick to his stomach and ran past the woman before she could say a single thing.
"Vincent?!" She exclaimed as he ran out into the entry room, watching him stagger up the stairs while he leaned against the wall.
She stood there a long for a moment, in the entry room, gazing sadly up at the top of the stair.
"Mom?" A familiar voice asked.
Marian turned around to see Gilliam standing there, his red bangs hangs down on his forehead. His hat was gripped tightly in his hand.
"Where'd Vincent go?" He asked innocently.
"Just up to his room, dear." She replied. "He's not feeling well at the moment." She then added.
Gilliam watched as she walked up before him and brushed the locks of red hair out of his eyes and then smiled at him warmly. She then took hold of his hands and looked off to the side.
"Is something wrong?" the young man asked.
"No," she began, looking back into his eyes. "I'm just thinking about how much you remind me of your father." She replied simply and then walked past him and through the back door. "I need to be alone for a moment." She told him as she went go sit down on the back porch.
At that Moment, Scatz walked into the room. "I finished fixing the saddles for the chocobos." He announced. The black man then looked at Gilliam for a moment and could see that something was troubling him. "What's wrong?" He asked the young man.
"I don't know, Scatz, I just don't know." He replied.
Scatz was quiet for a moment then spoke up again. "Something bad's going on," He remarked. "Mr. Valentine must be getting worse." He then added.
"It's not fair, Scatz." Gilliam complained. "Why doesn't Vincent end up being the one with cancer, why couldn't it have been someone else- someone who deserved it." Gilliam remarked.
Scatz sighed. "There's not much I can tell you," He began. "Life's just like that." He added. "One day it's bright and sunny, and the then the next day its dark and stormy." He tried to reason to him.
Scatz then placed his hand on the young man's shoulder. "Everyone lives their lives with the same amount of uncertainty about living as they do about dieing." He spoke. "That's something we all have to except- that death will come one day." He added.
"How is that supposed to make me feel better?" Gilliam asked incredulously.
"It's not supposed to make you feel better- words are just words in the end." Scatz explained. "It's the actions that matter, and it's the things you do with the time you have that's the important thing." He added. "And maybe Mr. Valentine will realize this, in his own time." He concluded as he walked out of the room.
Gilliam stood there, alone, for a moment, and then looked towards the front door and put his hat back on and left.
Scats ran back into the room briefly to pick up his satchel and then made his way back outside where he noticed a man in a blue coat and a gray cowboy hat on.
"Can I help you?" He asked the stranger.
"Is the man named Vincent Valentine here, right now?" He asked coolly.
Scatz thought for a moment about what he should say then finally replied. "I'm sorry, but he's indisposed at the moment and will busy for a while." He explained.
The man just smiled. "Well then, I'm sorry to have troubled you." He replied. "But could you give Mr. Valentine a message?" He asked.
"What is it?" Scatz asked.
"Just tell him that Dekker Vandros would like to have a word with him." He announced.
"Yes sir." Scatz said with a nod and then walked back off towards the stables.
Dekker looked up at the windows, spotting the broken one. "You can't hide from me for ever, Vincent." He said and then walked away.
~End of Chapter Eight~
Wow, I'm sorry that it took me so long to update this story, and I'm sorry about chapter seven. I accidentally uploaded a chapter from a different story.
Oh well, I fixed that problem just a little while ago.
Another problem is that the College Campus I'm living on can't access FF.Net for some reason. I don't know why, but this is just how it is. So, updates will be less frequent, but I'll most likely be updating several of my stories at once. (Including this one)
Also, I decided to try a different style with this chapter. Instead of rapidly switching scenes by using asterisks (***). But I decided that it would be more interesting to have the scene move along with the characters. (i.e. by showing them walking from one place to the other).
I sort of barrowed the idea from a scene in Hamlet- (Act 2, Sc 2)- where most of the cast is just simply coming in and out of the same area. Oh well.
Any way, see you guys around
-Bojack747