At least he remembered to take off his shoes this time. "Boy?"
It was quiet, but Vincent pulled himself from the blanket to look at the man through the open doorway. The child didn't give a verbal response, but his uncle overlooked this for the time being, watching the boy's bare features and listless eyes.
"Did you eat anything today?"
Vincent blinked and his eyes traveled over the floor when his head dipped as he pondered the odd question. Had he eaten? He couldn't remember. Had he eaten anything yesterday? What was yesterday? Did he miss school today, or was today Saturday? Or was it Sunday? It was probably Saturday since yesterday had been a school day, a Friday… Had he eaten anything today? "No."
Walter said nothing. Vincent turned over and pulled the blanket over his head again. The lights in the room with the couch, along with the lights in the rest of the house, were turned off a few minutes later. The house with filled with silence.
If his uncle hadn't dragged him out of bed and shoved him out the door, Vincent would have stayed under his blanket, but because of his uncle, the boy was sitting on the couch in the empty hangout looking around without much interest. A lot of time had past. How much, he wasn't sure, but he didn't feel bored. He was content to sit and do nothing, something, his uncle said was worthless. That was one of the bad man's favorite words right now. Worthless.
So what wasn't worthless?
Vincent was distracted from his thoughts when voices came from the alley outside, rebounding off the solid walls of the other buildings. The boy heard the door open and a small collection of teens entered, none of them seeing the invisible Vincent. Because Vincent was an invisible boy. No one could see Vincent, but Vincent could see everyone. He saw Jake so he stared at the moving young giant as Jake moved to the carpeted area where the round table was set. Cards and bottles came to occupy the empty wooden space and smoke thickened the air from the cigarettes that were just now lit or had been brought together with branches of fleeing smoke, inside. The invisible boy watched them. The sky became orange and red like someone had spilled orange juice and cranberry juice all over the heavens and it was now raining down as light. Vincent saw this light coming through the window as he sat on the couch, thinking of juice with the space and the clouds. The clouds were soaking up the juice, draining the sky to make it dark. He brought his knees to his chest and hugged them, with his chin tucked in his arms on his knees.
"Oh, wow! Max's here. Didn't even notice ya, kid." Faces were turned to Vincent, most still showing surprise, others with a hint of annoyance. Vincent strained his neck to see them without releasing his knees. The teens looked at him and some of them frowned and diverted their attention to their cards. "Hey." Vincent's eyes lost some of the haze that had been clouding them for the past week when he heard the familiar deep voice and his gaze settled on Jake who was turned around in his chair, watching him with a neutral expression. A large hand motioned to the boy. "C'mon over here. Don't sit over there by yourself like some loner. Sit with us."
Without a reason not to sit with Jake, Vincent quietly released his legs and went to the table, sitting in a chair that was pulled to occupy an empty spot near Jake. Vincent sat down and watched the game, easily fading into the background with Jake when the others became louder, talking, bragging, and joking. Jake was focusing on his cards, aware of the red eyes that could see them, but permitting Vincent to peek at them.
"Not saying much today?"
Black hair swished when Vincent shook his head without taking his eyes from the cards. Jake glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and then maintained the glance for longer than he had intended. The teen participated in the card game and more time passed before he spoke again. "You look like you're sick." Vincent didn't say anything, so Jake continued. "Are you?"
"No."
They were quiet in the background until the teens tired of the game and decided on a winner so that they could disperse to stalk the night life of the city. Vincent followed them into the shadowed streets but departed when they assimilated into another crowd of teens with girls thrown into the mix. Jake called them 'loose' and he said 'sluts' were fun, but the teens didn't want Vincent hanging around like unwanted baggage, Vincent would make the girls go away since he always made people go away, as a result Vincent went home.
The bad man wasn't home, so Vincent went to sleep.
Monday was a P.E. day. They ran a few laps around the track before they stretched and played kickball. Vincent didn't get to stretch or play. When he was running, he fell down and didn't get up. Scraped hands pushed him to a sitting position so that faded scarlet eyes could peer at the running feet that were leaving him behind. Then the boy sat there in the dirt until the P.E. instructor came to him. He was sent to the nurse and then forwarded home.
To his surprise, the bad man was home and the bad man was staring at him with narrowing eyes from the table where he was reading with a newspaper unfolded in front of him. Vincent stared for a moment, then looked away and closed the door quietly. He stood by the door without venturing further into the house, unsure of what to do while his eyes were fixed to the floor. Walter frowned and a gloved hand let go of the edge of the newspaper.
"What are you doing? You're not supposed to be home for another hour, boy. What happened to going to school?" Walter spoke more than he had intended, filling empty space Vincent's silence left gaping. The man's teeth clenched, his eyes hardening when a reply did not come immediately. He faced Vincent, his arm rising to rest along the back of his chair.
"The nurse sent me home. She said I was sick."
Walter didn't even blink, watching the boy. "Look at me when I'm talking to you, child. Look at me." Red lifted to meet blue. Walter analyzed the faded color, his expression unchanging. "Did you eat today?"
All of Vincent's responses were slow to come and his voice came in only one quiet volume, never a fluctuation disturbing the constant monotone. "I ate some toast."
"What about lunch?"
"I wasn't hungry."
Walter's eyes had grown meaner, his mouth creasing with a deeper frown while his brow lowered to create a glare. The boy disgusted him to the extent that he could no longer ignore Vincent's behavior. "Vincentimir!"
The boy jolted, stepping back and staring at his uncle, startled by the sudden exclamation. He continued to stare dumbly at the man, his eyes wide and blinking. Walter watched him in silence, examining the boy's appearance with darkened eyes. A lowered, menacing voice went to the child, freezing his frame. "Snap out of this, boy. I'm not one to cater to your feelings. Stop moping and pull yourself together. You're not sick anywhere but in your head."
The vacant look had returned to the pale boy and his eyes had lowered, pupils dilating to remove the crispness of his sight. Walter's glare eased to indifference, gazing at the boy that stood as a shadow before the door, from his chair. His arm came down to his lap from the back of the chair and the man transferred his attention to his newspaper. The black leather of his glove reflected light in patches that were not as worn as others when his hand grasped the newspaper to adjust it so that he could read the print. Vincent's mat was by his feet, pushed to the side against one of the table legs. The boy noticed this and stared at his uncle and then the rug on the floor. He stood there without doing anything, stepping back to lean against the door. Walter looked up when he saw that Vincent's form had disappeared, his eyes flowing down the door to where his nephew was now sitting on the floor.
Pathetic child.
With black bangs hanging over his eyes, the boy remained slouched against the door, where he ultimately fell asleep.
When he woke during the hours of the night, his head was on a pillow, his feet were bare, and warm sheets and a blanket covered him. It was dark, but Vincent could tell that he was in his uncle's room, and that the blanket and sheets were his uncle's. Dark lashes rose and fell, fighting sleep before giving in when they closed and Vincent turned over to find a more comfortable position, curling up
in the empty bed.
How could his uncle be a bad man? His uncle was his uncle. He was rough, cold, but took responsibility for raising him. When he had belted him, it had only stung. It had been scary but it hadn't hurt that much. His father's beltings had left his backside red and raw, the consequence for drawing on the wall for the millionth time. What were the consequences for disobeying his uncle? Abandonment. His uncle didn't need to keep him, but he was. Vincent was stupid, ugly, diseased, and worthless, but his uncle still gave him money to buy groceries and told him what clothes he should go out and buy.
His uncle was a bad man, but he was a good bad man and the two canceled each other, leaving only a man behind.
It was late morning, Vincent could somehow feel that it was late, and he was still in his uncle's bed. The child sat up, feeling the lightheadedness of hunger fly off with his thoughts, leaving him empty, his mind echoing the quiet in the room. He left the bed and the room to find the clock in the kitchen that told him it was past ten o'clock. With nothing but empty space pressing on him from every direction, Vincent gathered his things while toast browned in the toaster and the boy left for school, eating the buttered bread as he walked.
Butter left some remnants of grease on his fingers, which he rubbed off on his jeans before touching the door to the office. He checked in and received a late pass from a woman he did not recognize. The classroom looked up with eyes of prejudice and judgment when he gave the note to his teacher. He went to his desk, pricked by the whispers of children callously complaining about his return to school. They had enjoyed the lack of germs and the absence of the freak's smell. Vincent sat down without a word, aware that he did not smell. He didn't smell clean, but he didn't smell bad…or maybe he did. He wasn't sure, but he still didn't say a word in response. Vincent followed the class and left the school at the end of the day, returning home to deposit his school things and to grab a frozen strawberry that he rolled around in his mouth when he trudged through the grass and strolled down the sidewalk.
The hangout was empty so he wandered aimlessly with the thought of coming across Jake. He wanted to follow the teen around like he usually did, accompanying the young giant when he was allowed to. But Jake's whereabouts eluded the child. Walter, however, was detected a block down the line of pavement, getting into a car with Jake's father, a few strangers joining them.
Were they bad people? They were with his uncle, and his uncle wasn't bad, not really bad.
There are just people, like his uncle had said, so Vincent climbed a fire escape and part of a wall to reach the rooftops, following the car from above, following his uncle like he had on that one night. His sharp eyesight allowed him to track the car, leaping over breaks between buildings, scaling the short distance that lifted one roof above another, or jumping down when necessary. Vincent didn't stop until the car did, in a part of the city he'd never been in. Steam rose to build clouds from the stacks on the roof from which he spied. Walter was with the men that went down some steps to enter a door that seemed to lead into a building where the first floor was beneath the pavement that turned off of the street. It was a secluded location with a lack of human presence, becoming lifeless with the exception of the billowing steam from the roof stacks, when the group of men disappeared into the building. Vincent waited a moment and then picked his way down, clinging to the wall when he found a small, rectangular window that was cracked open. A black sneaker pushed it wider without emitting sound, allowing the dark shadow of the boy to slip inside and dive down the wall to hide in the gathered assortment of furniture and objects. Vincent dropped to a crouch on a cabinet, wary of the voices he could hear, unable to pick out distinctive words. But he was not hiding from voices; he was hiding from the bodies he could see standing outside the yawning frame that lacked a door.
He was almost entirely exposed. If one of the men turned their head he would be discovered. Excitement fluttered in his chest as his muscles creaked, slowly bringing him to the edge of the cabinet so that he could get off of it to find a better hiding spot.
…Then his whole world fell away in a moment that stole his heartbeat.
The cabinet suddenly toppled when the single leg of the table it had been sitting on made the structure rock with the displacement of weight, Vincent moving the table, tipping the cabinet when he put his shoe on the edge of it. The explosion of sound drowned out the murmur of voices as objects fell to bury the boy beneath them. Vincent remained frozen, stunned and lying on his back, able to see the ceiling where nothing had come to cover his face. Foot steps. Many, hurried footsteps. He heard them, and his gut twisted, his heart pounded, his instincts screamed at him to hide…so he did. Vincent scrambled away before quiet had returned to the room, displacing more things that seemed to be settling after falling from their perches. The thin child was able to slip under something that was low and provided darkness and cover. He felt like he was hiding beneath a part of the floor, and for a moment he was convinced that he had somehow found a way to get beneath the floor boards. Heavy steps landed on top of him. Someone was searching through the jumbled ruin.
I hope I didn't break anything. It was a petty thought, but Vincent still experienced his anxious guilt along with his anxiety in his fear of being discovered. His uncle would be so mad. Please don't find me. God, please don't let them find me. I won't ever do it again. I wasn't being bad. I just wanted to see. I didn't want to break anything. I promise, God, so please- Oh God. Red eyes snapped shut and Vincent's arms crossed in front of his head to hide himself when a hand swiped at the opening into his hiding place. The hand never touched him, but its proximity injected a hardy dose of alarm into the boy's blood stream. Don't breathe! Don't swallow! Don't move! Don't make a sound! Be a mouse, a mouse, quiet as a mouse…
The footsteps stopped sounding over his head. As Vincent listened with his eyes shut tight, it seemed like they had given up on him.
"Just something fell. I think it was that cabinet over there. I told 'em not to put that damn thing on that goddamn table. It wobbles." "Of all the times for your stupid screw ups-! Enough. We apologize for this. We'll get back to busi-" "Oh. You think-? Alright. You, get him."
Vincent's chest heaved with quiet, deep breaths, ignoring the dust that tickled his throat unpleasantly and the dirt that was surrounding him. Don't think of spiders. Don't move yet. It'll be okay. I'll just leave when its quiet and they're gone. Yeah, when they're gone-
The footsteps suddenly returned, hitting the wood above his head, hard. Alien scraping sounds were present as well, along with sniffing sounds, clacking sounds, an animal sound.
Sniff, sneeze, sniff. Vincent's body drained of warmth, tingling with rising goosebumps. The way into his hiding place was blocked by the sniffing animal with the claws that scraped over the hard floor when its body jolted with a savage bark. The barking rose and came with a furious torrent of movement and voices. The dog was allowed to shove its snout into the boy's hiding space, sharp teeth snapping at Vincent so that he had to scoot away and press into the back of his hiding spot. Rank breath assaulted his senses and made his eyes water, unable to close for the terrible fangs that held them. The dog whined when hands dragged it away, and Vincent was tempted to make the same sound when different hands touched the floor and a face came level with his own.
There was a gun pointed at his face. That was Vincentimir's first experience with a gun. It terrified him.
"NO! DON'T SHOOT! DON'T SHOOT! I DIDN'T MEAN TOO! DON'T SHOOT!"
Emotion altered the hard face that Vincent could see and the gun was jerked away in surprise. Then the man cursed at the dark space he was looking into, slowly registering a small outline. "Shit! It's a kid!" Without warning or a scarce trace of gentleness, the man grabbed at what he deemed to be the child's shirt or jacket and pulled on Vincent, dragging him out of his haven. Once he was out and held to the ground, too horrified to speak, the man stared at him for a moment, shock and revulsion overwhelming him so that he forgot the men that were waiting
for him to bring out the trespasser. "Holy fuck! What the hell is this kid? Fuck!" Vincent was lifted to his feet and pushed over a pile of things so that he stumbled before the collected group of cold eyes that judged him with a gaze much crueler than those of his classmates. Too much chaos throwing his thoughts into disarray, Vincent could not pick out his uncle or the large form of Jake's father as the two stood in the midst of the group, watching him. The dog barked and lunged against its chain, the end of which strained in a solid grasp. "Look at this! What the hell is he anyway? Goddamn ugly sucker. How'd he get in?" The hand of the man who still held onto his gun clamped down on Vincent's shoulder, holding him captive, unable to move away from the snapping jaws of the outraged Doberman pincher. The boy whimpered and tugged at the grip to get farther away from the animal, but the man held him in place and cursed at him for trying to get away.
"Oh fuckin' Hell." Savage sucked in a breath, staring at the frightened pale child, seeing the darting red eyes. Vincent's hands clasped one another over his chest and his feet tripped, sending him back closer to the man that gripped his arm when the dog managed to gain another couple of inches in his direction. The muscles, claws, teeth, and size of the beastly creature intimidated the boy into giving a low keen which continued when his eyes swept over the men. They were talking low, full of anger and disgust, not a drop of pity to be found but in the silent giant.
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