It was past noon when Vince came back to the Nabootique, not knowing what else to do. He sat down and shut his eyes tight, trying hard to forget what had happened early that morning.
"What have I done?" he whispered. "How could I have done it? I would never have—"
"—And where have you been?" Vince sighed. He was still for a moment, but, realizing there was nothing else he could do, turned slowly to face Howard.
When Vince didn't reply, Howard asked, "Is there something wrong?"
Vince opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He shook his head. "N-no," he forced himself to say. "Nothing's wrong…"
His friend eyed him suspiciously. I should have known he wouldn't fall for that, Vince thought. He knows me too well.
Howard sat down next to him. Vince scooted away from him automatically, afraid of a replay of their last encounter.
But it didn't help, because then Howard moved closer. "Vince, what's wrong?" he pressed.
"It's nothing!" Vince insisted, trying not to catch the scent of Howard's blood, and trying to ignore the sound of his heart. "I don't want to talk about it."
Howard looked at him for a few seconds, but questioned no further.
There was a rattle in the storeroom. A door clicked behind them, a small shaman appeared behind them. "What's happened to you?" he said when he saw Vince.
"What do you mean? Nothing's happened," Vince said, shaking his head, hoping Naboo would accept the answer more easily than Howard had.
Naboo looked curious. Vince wondered if he might be guessing at what he was hiding, or maybe had caught sight of his fangs when he spoke. But the shaman turned, sighed, and walked away.
The quiet moment that followed dragged like an hour. Vince felt uneasy being so close to Howard, and he was grateful when the older man broke the silence.
"Did you hear about those three who were found dead earlier?" he asked, eyeing the newspaper in the corner of the room. He was only trying to make conversation, but, of course, it didn't help Vince at all. It only made him fearful.
"…What?" he said, his voice trembling a bit.
"It wasn't far from here, just a few streets away. Apparently, they were attacked by some kind of animal."
Animal. The word struck Vince like an arrow. "I didn't mean to do it… I couldn't help it… It's not my fault…" he whispered.
"What's that?" said Howard.
Vince was startled. "Nothing, it wasn't meant for you to hear."
"Vince," Howard said. "Tell me what's wrong."
Vince stood up. "Just leave me alone, okay?!"
He left the room, leaving the startled Howard behind.
Vince ran straight to the bathroom, hoping maybe he could be alone with his thoughts for a while. He felt so overcome by stress… He didn't blame himself for all the trauma caused from being so different to everyone else over the past few days. He let his mind wander slightly. He wondered about the people who caused themselves pain to fix whatever was wrong… He wondered if it really worked…
He picked up a razor.
He dragged it, gleaming, down his pale icy skin. Stroke after stroke, nothing happened. He pressed harder, dragging it across his arm. Still, nothing. He stopped and sighed as he realized, "I don't even bleed… Genius…" This was all just so wrong! People were meant to bleed when they were hurt! He couldn't stand it. He threw the razor swiftly across the room as he lifted his head up slowly. He saw his reflection, almost exactly as he remembered it, every feature familiar and perfect… Yet it was the face of a stranger.
Anger built up inside him and he punched the mirror. It shattered into a million pieces, each shard sparkling as it caught the light. He looked at his fist which was embedded in the wall. Not a broken bone nor a cut, not even a single scratch.