Author's note: This is getting close to the end now. Two chapters remain after this. Sarah has an unexpected encounter. Vincent stays – himself…

Good read. /Nic.

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Chapter 16 From Hell

"Who?" she breathed as she hesitantly approached on legs that felt like they would give in any second.

The fat man looked at her with an angry expression in his eyes, his nostrils flared and beads of sweat had formed on his upper lip and forehead. He was dressed in a black shirt with several buttons open at the top. A thick gold chain hung around his neck. When Sarah saw his hands with the many rings on chubby fingers, her own hand flew up to her mouth as if she'd been hit. Her eyes darted up to his face again. Oh, God!

"You," she croaked.

Making an attempt to get up, he quickly sat back down as Vincent shoved the gun closer to his temple. Seemingly processing something, his mouth opened and closed a couple of times. A look of furious enlightenment flew over his features and he stood once more, enraged.

"You're… you're… that BITCH! BITCH!"

Vincent slammed a fist into his face and a cracking noise was heard. He fell back into his chair with blood streaming from his nose. Holding it and moaning, he looked up at Vincent.

"Who the fuck ARE you? She's supposed to be dead!" He turned to Sarah and pointed a trembling, bloodied finger at her. "You're DEAD, bitch. DEAD!"

A close encounter with Vincent's fist a second time calmed him somewhat.

Sarah glanced at Vincent after the second blow, and the look on his face made her physically ill. He looked merciless, absolutely terrifying cruel and ruthless. She began to realize that this was Vincent working, and that maybe he was two persons, one that was capable of caring and a – fairly - normal interaction with another human, and then this – machine.

Killing machine.

"It's him, Vincent," she whispered. "It's the john who cut me. How did you know?"

"He's the one who put a contract on you," Vincent answered dispassionately.

Sarah's mind reeled. Why?

"Why?" She looked at Vincent and then straight at the man. Joe. "I haven't done anything to you."

"You should be dead you filthy little whore!" Smack. Vincent slapped him in the face.

"Watch your language, asshole."

Sarah felt a brief gratitude towards Vincent for protecting her. But as she looked up at him, she realized it was all just a power game – a way to make sure he had the man pinned in place by the mere threat. Not only from the gun, but also from attitude and superiority.

"Why do you hate me so much?" Sarah wanted to cry. What had she done to earn such a dangerous enemy?

Joe Angelo was a living picture of hate and anger at that moment. "Thirty-six months and eleven days," he spat. "That's the time I spent behind bars, thinking about what I wanted to do with you when I got out. You should have just died you fucking bitch!"

Sarah was beginning to get a little annoyed with being called bitch all the time. She really didn't deserve it, and if he hadn't tried to kill her in the first place, he wouldn't have had to spend one single day in jail. She wasn't the least sorry about having had him put away for what he did

"Well," she replied angrily. "You were fucking inefficient at that, and that's probably not the only thing you couldn't handle!" In the corner of her eye she thought she saw Vincent grin.

With a roar Joe stood once more. Poff. He stumbled backwards with a stupefied expression before he fell, screaming and holding his thigh, blood pouring between his fingers.

"Vincent," she breathed. "Please…" It didn't matter what he had done, she just couldn't bare the fact that Vincent would hurt him - kill him - because of her.

"Please what?" he asked coldly.

"Don't kill him, he's no-one. He's had his warning."

"Sarah, it was never your choice." Vincent looked at her with a slightly curled upper lip, as in disgust.

"Please," came a broken, sniveling voice from behind the desk. "I'm… she's right… I've been warned. I won't touch her. Come on, man, don't shoot."

Poff-poff-poff.

Sarah let out a long hoarse wail before she stumbled backwards and turned to run. Tears were streaming down her face. She felt like she was quickly descending to hell; the walls were leaning towards her and the ceiling seemed to fall down. Like in a dream, she couldn't get her feet to move fast enough. She wished she would pass out, but that just don't seem to happen when you need it to.

She didn't get far. A firm arm gripped around her waist and she hit the floor. She tried to get up to continue on her hands and knees and managed a couple of steps with Vincent hanging on to her. Exhausted and crying, she fell forward and was unable to get up again. I. Have. To. Go…

Sarah wailed in agony and tried to crawl forward and away from him, but Vincent's body lay heavily on her.

Getawayfrommegetawayfromme!

"You're OK, Sarah, you're OK. You're safe now. I saved you."

That made Sarah squirm once more to try to shake him off her. Safe! Hahahahahahaha!

"You killed him! You killed him!" she moaned. Then she screamed, twisting and turning under his body to try to break free.

Vincent held her down, pinning her to the floor. Sarah could see his gun, still in his hand as he held her arm.

He shook her angrily, "I off one fat guy and you throw a hissyfit!"

"Six," she whispered.

Vincent leaned closer, "What?"

"Six... you killed six!"

"So?"

"They're dead."

"Yes, they are."

A new set of sobs wrecked Sarah's body, and she hid her face, not wanting to see him.

She gasped and let out a whimper as Vincent grabbed her by the collar and pulled her up from her prone position. Still holding her shirt, he pushed her back forcefully into the wall. His face was a frightening picture of both raging heat and ice cold stone.

"I save you from an asshole that put a contract on you, and all you do is whine? What the fuck's the matter with you?" he snarled.

Sarah stifled a sob and didn't dare to look at him.

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He was about to shake her again, but something stopped him. Looking at her tear-drenched frightened eyes - staring at him in dread - and her pale face, he began to realize that she didn't feel all that well. Perhaps this had been a bit too much for her. His working mode was wearing off, and he slowly began to see things differently.

Fuck.

"Shouldn't have brought you," he mumbled and abruptly let her loose.

Sarah stood and swayed, looking like she would faint any second. Vincent took her arm in a firm grip and pulled her with him. "We need to get out of here. This is not the place to linger."

She nodded. Good. Something seemed to get through to her then.

Walking calmly through the echoing corridor, they left the mayhem behind. As they stepped over the last body at the entrance Sarah almost stumbled, but Vincent's steady hand held her. He collected his bag and they left - twenty-three minutes after they had entered.

Then they simply never stopped walking. Leaving the warehouse, they set off in the direction of the wind. Towards the harbor, where the seagulls flew high in the sky, shrieking in joy over their freedom. Ships were being loaded with goods that would see the shores of distant nations within a few weeks.

Ordinary life - so distant from theirs.

Vincent had never let go of her arm, and Sarah didn't object. She kept walking numbly next to him, stumbling on her weak legs, supported by Vincent.

He should leave. He really should get going, but Sarah's fingers clasped with white knuckles at the fabric covering his arm, and he couldn't.

Not just yet.

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"Are you with me, Sarah?"

Sarah was fighting desperately to lock it in – her inner darkness – it threatened to swallow her at this very moment. The feeling of loneliness, of not belonging to this world was eating her alive. And it hurt like hell. I don't want it to hurt. Make the hurt go away! Through her haze, she heard a distant voice. 'Are you with me?'

With whom?

I'm not here, I'm everywhere, nowhere...

I should be dead.

I'm overdue.

They stopped. Someone was shaking her mildly, gripping her chin, forcing her out of her bubble.

"Sarah!"

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Those empty eyes.

Always her eyes. He should have recognized her during his preps for this hit. He should have recognized those eyes. Twenty-three years had passed, though, and he considered it a forgiving fact that she'd been only nine the last time he'd seen her.

She wasn't coping at this very moment, she was retracting. I haven't done all of this just to leave her behind as a wreck. Fuck!

"Sarah!" He forced her to look at him. "Look at me!"

She did look, but through him, into nowhere.

Vincent slapped her. Nothing. He slapped her again. Nothing. He lifted his hand to give her yet another -smack! – Sarah slapped him. Stunned he touched his cheek.

Anger was seeping through her gaze and she said in a low, controlled voice, "Stop hitting me for fuck's sake!"

The corner of his mouth lifted in half a smile.

She's back.

"Needed you to get out of your self-induced coma before you'd stop breathing. We'd be a suspicious looking couple if I had to drag you around."

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Sarah slowly shook her head. She was beginning to get angry, and maybe that was a good thing; it took her mind off what she'd just had to witness.

"What's wrong with you, Vincent?"

"What do you mean, 'wrong'?"

"How can you kill people so cold-blooded?"

"By 'cold-blooded' you're implying there's no reason. There's always a reason. I'm not cold-blooded."

Frustrated she wanted to kick him until he got it. "People, Vincent! Humans. They have mothers and fathers and children and mortgages and dogs and friends. People care about other people; you're hurting them – us…"

Vincent jerked at that last word. His eyes narrowed marginally and his lips twitched. When he spoke, he said it slowly, as if making his point very clear. "I. Have. Never. Hurt. You. Sarah."

"Yes… and no." She licked her lips and tried to decide which way to pursue this matter. "You have – almost – not laid your hand on me… and I'm still alive. But you hurt me terribly all those times I thought you were going to kill me." She studied his face. "You don't know, do you? You just don't understand."

Sarah wanted to cry all of a sudden. Not for her, but for him. She took his tie in her hand and fiddled with it. She really wanted to caress him, to embrace this lost man and give him some warmth, but didn't dare.

"What hurt you so much, Vincent? What killed your soul?"

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