Chapter Twenty Nine

It was twilight. The time of day when horizon is held suspended in a moment of ambiguity. Hovering between day and night, light and dark, life and death, twilight gloried in its very imprecision.

The mauve glow of the sky outside tugged at Danielle's heart even as she steeled herself. For the first time in her life, she didn't raise a racket about Caine's arm around her shoulders, feeling rather small and safe in the crook of his arm. She remained expressionless, staring at the number 231. Room 231. Vinnie's room.

As Caine leaned down to press his lips against her hair in a whisper of comfort, she closed her eyes. Stepping forward, she could already feel the tears well up in her eyes. Her hand closed around the doorknob and she turned it, letting the door creak open.

Her eyes immediately fell upon the lone prostrate figure on the bed. Her breath caught in her throat before lashing out in a harsh shuddering sob. "Oh, Vinnie! Why? Why did you have to do that?" Tears spilled down her cheeks. "Vinnie!"

Caine pressed his hand against her back. "Hush, Dani. There's nothing we could have done. We'd just have to let him rest in peace."

"Vinnie! You stupid idiot! You stupid, stupid, stupid –"

"Oh, for crying out loud – I'm not dead! When are you going to stop crying already?"

From his reclining position, Vincent bent his head slightly toward his sister before slowly rolling his eyes back to blink up at the ceiling. He was too pale, as if he had somehow leeched the severe color away from his hospital sheets, and his rumpled hair was a dark shock against his features. His dried lips parted again. "Do you have a reservoir of tears saved up or something?"

"Oh, excuse me. I just can't help it. The tears just come naturally whenever I think of my brother's utter stupidity."

"Where's Sammy?"

"Any reasonable person would have just let the police do their work, but no, you had to sprinting around the house like a maniac –"

"Why weren't we put in the same room?"

"If I could have just tackled you and strangled you myself, you wouldn't have –"

"Danielle."

"What?"

"I'm fine."

"I know." And the tears started again.

"Mother already gave me the same spiel, only with no tears – thank goodness."

"I know." She scrunched up her nose and reeled around to Caine, slapping his shoulder with the back of her hand. "What's wrong with you? Can't you see I'm crying? Stop mauling me and give me a tissue. My nose is running!"

As Caine fished through his pockets for a napkin, Vincent sighed. Leaning back against his pillow, he croaked, "Shit, it's freaking embarrassing fainting like that."

Danielle snatched the tissue from Caine's hand and blew her nose. Caine watched her carefully while responding absentmindedly, "Yeah, now that you mention it, retrospectively, it was kind of funny –"

Vincent's bloodshot eyes pierced him, his teeth bared.

Caine added hastily. "- I mean, in a totally horrific, fearsome way, of course. The force of your body's impact against the floor sent a tremor throughout the house. You were really, truly scary unconscious."

"Oh, shut up." Both of the siblings retorted.

Danielle spoke, "The doctor said that while it was a deep gash, it was fortunate the knife hadn't gone clear through your stomach. If it had, you would have –" She choked on her words. "Oh, for –" She turned away.

Caine took over. "Basically, if you had gotten impaled, your innards will be bathing in digestive acids. Sizzle sizzle, there goes Vinnie's organs. You'd basically be –"

"DEAD! Dead! You idiot!" Danielle jabbed a finger at her brother, her eyes red again.

Vincent tried to smile. "Well, it's good then that my stomach only feels like it's seared by fire and not actually being liquefied inside out, isn't it?"

Danielle ignored him. "And not to mention all the blood you lost! Were you trying to kill yourself in every way possible? What kind of a stupid plan was that, huh? I mean, sure, you got lucky, but if Frank had actually just – I – you're so stupid! Did you think putting yourself in danger would have made Sammy feel any better –"

"Where's Sammy?"

Danielle sighed. "You're never going to listen to me, are you?"

"Where is she? Is she okay?" Vincent insisted.

She burst into tears again and Vincent panicked. "What? What's wrong with her?"

Danielle turned to Caine and threw up her hands helplessly. "I don't know what's wrong with me. In one day, I've cried more than I've done in all my nineteen years."

"Where's Sammy?"

Caine shuffled his feet and Danielle looked away.

Vincent's heart failed. "She's not dead, is she? Is she?"

Danielle blinked. "Oh god, no! Of course not. No!"

He calmed down a little, but his heart was still pounding hard in his chest. "Then what? Is she in a coma?"

Caine shook his head. "Doc said she had a Grade 3 concussion, what from Frank bashing her head against the wall and all."

Vincent's fingers whitened in their grip on the bed sheets.

"Said she might have a hard time awakening and when she did, she might experience some memory loss –"

"So did she –"

"She woke up this morning while your mother was in here talking to you."

"So does she –" If possible, Vincent's face turned whiter, agitated.

"Yeah. She remembers." Danielle's eyes were anguished. "She remembers everything."

Sammy watched the ceiling, her green eyes unblinking and her red hair half hidden underneath white bandages. Her lips opened and closed, murmuring silence.

"Sammy? Are you okay?"

"Sammy? Are you okay? Oh, sweetie, you got a fever again?"

She rolled over in bed, burrowing herself underneath her covers. She kept her eyes closed and mumbled something indistinct.

Her mother perched herself on the side of the bed and felt Sammy's forehead, her hand cool against the heat. "Just get some rest, alright? I'll make your favorite chicken soup and bring up some medicine later, okay?"

"Jack, She's been like this for a while. Why isn't she responding anymore? What did the doctor say? Why is she like this?"

"Calm down. She'll be fine. I'm sure she will. Please stop crying, Carrie."

"Sammy? Sammy? Come on, you sexy girl. Come back to Will. Please? I'm going to be hurt if you keep ignoring me like this. Sammy?"

"I think you need a nickname."

"Oh, I do, do I?"

"Yeah. So I hereby dub you Sammy of the Great Westlanes!"

She wrinkled her nose. "Sammy? What an awful name."

Terry rolled his eyes. "Well, so is Terry, but you don't see me complaining."

Their mother protested, "What's wrong with Terry? It's a perfectly fine name."

"It's just not very macho, Mom."

"Macho? Like what? Fabio?" James teased.

Sammy laughed. "Alright then! Terry, I hereby dub thee Fabio Westlane!"

"Oh, come on!"

"You asked for it!"

"No, I didn't! You must be crazy!"

"What's the matter, Fabio? Pouting isn't very macho."

"Don't call me that! And I'm not pouting! Sammy! Sammy!"

"Tristan! Just what in the hell is wrong with her? Did the doctors mention anything about this?"

"She's having a tough time dealing with … everything. You should have seen her when she first woke up. You could tell when she started to realize – when she started to – she started to cry and – She's tired herself out. She's very confused right now and – oh god, I just wish – Sammy, please, talk to me. Please, Sammy? I'd rather you cry and scream at me."

"That's it! Cry! Scream all you want!"

Samantha jerked back and kicked. She felt herself crash down against the floor, a heavy weight pinning her to the ground.

"You think you can simply ignore me? You think you can treat your own uncle like that?"

She struggled, her teeth snapping, trying to tear into his flesh, hurt him.

"Like you'll ever escape me. You should have known. Your life is mine."

Her head jerked slightly to the side, her eyes wide and her mouthing grew frantic. She felt numb, too weary to think about anything. She didn't care. She didn't want to care. She just wanted to fade away. Mist. Mist. Foggy mist. Take me away. Far, far away.

"Sammy?"

"Sammy!"

"Samantha."

"Sammy?"

"Sam?"

"Sweetie."

"Sammy?"

"Sammy!"

"Sammy, please."

Leave me alone. Leave me alone. Everyone just leave me alone. Leave me alone. Leave me alone. Everyone just leave me alone. Leave me alone. Leave me alone. Everyone just -

"Vincent was hurt."

- leave -

"They stitched him back up. He's too hardy to ever let himself die anyway – at least not before he sees you. But you knew that already, didn't you?"

- me -

"Don't you want to see him?"

- alone.

No.

Wait.

Don't.

She saw him across the ballroom floor. Decked out in a midnight black suit, his dark jacket clung closely to his physique and his light gray eyes emanated an aura of smoky mystery behind his mask. His hand reached up to remove the black velvet mask and he smiled then, a weary lopsided grin.

And she, in turn, slowly slipped off her own green mask and started toward him.

He met her halfway.

No facades were ever needed between them.

She should have known.

"Sammy? Do you want to see Vincent?"

She resurfaced, breathing in the cold hospital smell and feeling the warmth of Tristan's hand on her own. She relished the throbbing pain that resonated throughout her body and her head, declaring that she was alive.

She turned her head, her eyes soft, and said, "Yes, please."

"I want to see her."

"Well, you can't."

"Why the hell not?"

"Remember the nasty gash running across your abdomen, Vincent?" Katherine Grenford calmly arranged the flowers in the vase by his bedside. "You're too hurt."

"Like hell I am. I can still get up." He winced as he tried to prop himself up on his elbows. "S – see?"

"Lay back down before you hurt yourself," Katherine snapped. "Doctor's orders are that you remain in bed. You go prancing off and you'd likely tear out all your stitches."

"I'll just be careful. You can get me a wheelchair and I'll just roll myself down -"

"For the last time, Vincent, no. Don't make me have the nurses strap you down."

"What's wrong with you? Sammy's hurt and all you can think about –"

"- is you. My son. My son who got diced up by a lunatic and bled himself into a faint. Now tell me, is there a reason why I shouldn't worry?"

"I'm fine now, Mother."

"Well, you will be even better once you get ample rest and healed a bit. Samantha Westlane is not going anywhere so rest assured that you'll see her sooner or later."

The door opened then and Tristan stepped in. His blond hair was ruffled and he looked exhausted, his shirt wrinkled and his eyes straining against the light. He stuffed his hands in his pocket and cleared his throat. "Am I interrupting anything?"

Vincent responded, "No."

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine. Did you just come from Sammy?"

"Yeah."

"How is she? Danielle's too busy sobbing to tell me anything. Caine is trying to hug her. Carrie won't even look at me. Jack said Will will tell me. Will, well, he just kind of petted me. So will you please just get straight to the point and tell me if Sammy's alright?"

Tristan nodded slowly before sighing. "A few of her ribs were broken, which the doctor said should take around six weeks to heal. She just woke up from a concussion so she was still a bit woozy. She started to cry a lot at first, but then she kind of drifted off –"

"Drifted off? What the hell does that mean?" Vincent's voice was sharp.

"She wouldn't respond to anyone and just kept staring off into space."

"What? Why? What's wrong?" Vincent almost sat up, features drawn.

"I think – I think she just needed some time alone to think – or well, to stop thinking."

Vincent stared at him blankly, eyes moving around the room restlessly.

"She asked for you, you know." Tristan looked away. "You should see her."

"I am going to see her."

"Vincent . . ." Katherine warned.

"I know!" Vincent glared. He turned back to Tristan. "The only problem is the matter of getting to her room." He glanced over at his mother again. "Can't you arrange for me to transfer over to her room?"

Katherine narrowed her eyes. "I don't think that will be very proper, Vincent."

"Oh, come on! What do you think we can do? Unless I manage to roll myself off bed, across the floor, up into hers, I doubt we can do more than –"

"Alright, quiet!"

Vincent ignored her and turned back to Tristan. "Then maybe you can carry me over to Sammy's room."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm just kidding!" Vincent's smile turned serious. "You, Jack, Will and Caine can all carry me."

"What?"

"It'll work! I'm not that heavy."

Katherine threw up her hands. "Alright! Alright!" She folded her arms. "I'll get them to arrange a bed and move you over to Sammy's room as soon as possible, but I'll have you know, Vincent, that this is the absolute last time that I'll ever give in to your wish. I've really been spoiling you too much."

Vincent tried to shrug in his reclining position, but it just scrunched up his pillow. "There, there, Mother Dearest. Now please hurry."

Katherine's lips tightened, but she spun on her heels and walked out of the room.

There was an awkward silence as Tristan walked over to sit by Vincent's bed. "So you're really okay?"

"Just fine."

"Good. Good."

"So what happened to Frank Westlane?"

"The police came and locked him up. From his state when he got hauled off, it seems like he finally went off the deep end. I expect his lawyer will plead insanity or that he's mentally incompetent to stand trial. If he does use the insanity defense and they rule that he's not guilty by reason of insanity or that he's guilty but mentally ill, then he'll most likely be committed to a mental institution. Either way, I don't think he'll be getting out any time soon." Tristan folded his arms and leaned back in his chair.

The other boy's face was stony. "Whatever. He deserves to burn in hell anyway. Being locked up forever is lucky for him." He gritted his teeth. "I don't want to talk about him anymore. My stomach aches just thinking about that -" His fingers curled. "Wished I could have just ripped that moustache off his lip and kneed him a couple times more, disembowel him with my own bare hands, throttle him with – oh, ow. Ow." He pressed his fingers gingerly around his wound.

Tristan smiled wryly. "Don't we all? But you have to start thinking before you act, Vince. One of these days, your impulsive nature will get you hurt – well, actually, it's already gotten you hurt, hasn't it?"

Vincent groaned. "Not you, too. Everyone's already nagged and prodded me about this already so alright, I promise to be more reasonable and patient in the future."

The two boys stared at each before Tristan snorted. "No, you won't."

"No, I probably won't." Vincent agreed. They grinned at each other before Vincent blinked as if remembering something important. Jerking up, he immediately fell back against his bed in pain.

Tristan furrowed his eyebrows. "Whoa there! What's wrong?"

"Almost forgot, but the police just stopped by to ask some questions before. Did anybody bother Sammy?"

"Both the police and several reporters came by a few times, but Mrs. Grenford gave them the evil eye and told them to come back when Sammy is in a better shape to talk."

There was a knock on the door then and a nurse stepped in. "Mr. Grenford? Are you ready to be moved to your new room?"

Vincent grinned and he suddenly seemed much rosier than just minutes before. Tristan's lips twisted in a dry smile as he clapped Vincent against the side of his shoulder. "Well, I guess your lady awaits you."

The black haired boy reddened slightly, but he turned back to the nurse and nodded. "Yeah."

"Okay, Sammy, how many fingers am I holding up now?"

Sammy smiled wanly, but she played along. "Three, Will."

"What is our high school's name?"

"Crestan."

"Crestan what?"

"Crestan High School, Will."

"Oh, you're smart. You're very smart."

"Will."

"Wait. Wait. One more. When was our first kiss?"

She arched an eyebrow tiredly. "First kiss?"

"Yes."

"We never had a first kiss."

"Wrong!"

"Oh, come on, Will. When did we ever –"

He leaned forward and pecked her quickly on the lips before leaping backward in triumph. "Now! Hah! And Vincent will never know!"

Sammy broke out into a smile despite herself. "Will, you're such a kid."

Will's beam softened into a light grin. He wrapped his fingers around her hand, lightly tracing her skin. "It's good to have you back, Sammy. The real you and not the crazy, silent one who kept trying to wrap herself into a burrito with the covers."

Sammy whispered. "Thanks, Will."

Will darted a look over his shoulder. "Okay, Vince might pop in here anytime and he'd probably launch himself at me, bloody injuries not withstanding, if he sees me like this with you – but oh well. Can't resist. Besides, in his state, I can probably take him." He nodded. "Maybe." He shrugged. "Alright, I should go – but how about one more for the road?"

He leaned down, puckering his lips, when the door opened.

"Is Will there? I heard his voice! What's he doing to Sammy?"

In the doorway, Vincent was sprawled on his back on a wheeling bed with his feet toward the hallway. Sammy caught sight of a black tuft of hair protruding above the pillow and her heart pounded. He tried to twist his head around to catch a view of the room, but the nurse promptly pushed him back down. "Please don't overexert yourself, Mr. Grenford."

"I can't see shit! Roll me into the room and turned me around so that I can see Sammy. Tristan, is Will in there?"

Tristan stood outside the door, peering into the room. Will shook his head frantically, cutting his hands through the air in front of him while mouthing "No! Tell him I'm not here! I'm too young and sexy to die!"

Tristan chuckled. "I thought I saw Will attempting to kiss Sammy, but I guess not. He wants to inform you that no, he's not here."

A growl rifted through the room and Will backed toward the wall, inching along it as the nurse rotated the bed around. Will curled his lips at Tristan.

"And oh yeah, he believes that he's too young and sexy to die."

Will threw up his hands.

"I'm going to show him young and sexy, that little pervert – Sammy." The words melted away.

Now that his bed was turned to the proper position with the headboard against the wall, he saw that Sammy's bed was just a few feet away to his left. Sammy nestled her cheek against the pillow and smiled. She was black and blue, obviously exhausted and drained, but she was right there in front of him. Smiling. "Hey there."

"Sammy."

Will had already tiptoed out of the room and after the nurse stepped out, the door was gently closed. Neither of the room's patients noticed.

Sammy murmured, "So I heard that you rammed yourself into a knife for me and fainted from the loss of blood after running around the house like a banshee to look for me."

"Who the hell told you I was like a banshee? Freaking bunch of bad describing liars."

She smiled even as tears welled up in her eyes. "Oh, Vince."

To his horror, his eyes tingled suspiciously and his vision blurred. "Don't cry, Sammy. Too many people have already cried and – ah hell, you're going to make me –" He cleared his throat. "What's this I hear about you not speaking to anyone?"

Her eyelashes fluttered close and a tear spilled out from the corners of her eyes, trailing down toward her temples. "Too many things have happened already. Too many secrets have come out into the open – some I – everything's just too painful."

He kept silent, watching her.

"Frank went too far. Too far. He – my parents – he –" Her eyes opened in a shocking blaze of anger and regret. Vincent blanched. "I want him to die. I want him to pay. He should have died. He should have." Her chest was heaving and he saw that her hands were quivering.

"Sammy, calm down. Calm down. He's gone."

"I know. I just can't –"

"He can't hurt you anymore. He'll pay. He'll pay. Just don't torture yourself by remembering this anymore, alright?" he persisted. "How about we just put this behind us? Let's move on, Sammy –"

"Just how the hell can I move on, Vincent?" Her voice lashed out into the air. "He killed my family. He's the one who made me live in absolute terror for so long. Move on? I don't think I can. I can't. Don't you understand? It's impossible." Sammy turned her head back to the ceiling and gnashed her teeth. "It's not fair. He should die. He should have." Her hands were tightened in fists, her thumbs along the outside.

Vincent suddenly recalled their Training classes together, where she learned how to defend herself. "You could break your thumb if you tuck it under your fingers like that." Had Tristan or he taught her that? Eons ago. He no longer remembered.

He clenched his jaw and his eyes fell away from her, tracing the pattern of shadows along the wall. He whispered lowly, "Had I known you would be in so much pain, I would have prayed –" He swallowed hard. "I would have prayed that you would have forgotten everything."

Her eyes flew toward him, startled. He maintained his stolid gaze on the ceiling above him. Her eyes softened with tears and her words tumbled out in a jumbled mess, "Vincent. Vince. Oh, when I first woke up and realized – everything – it was so overwhelming. I did – I did almost wish that I had amnesia – or something - anything. I wished – wondered why it didn't happen like the movies – like the books – why I didn't slip off into a coma or – or forgotten everything – why I was cursed to remember every single detail so vividly, so – so right there – clear in my mind. Vincent. All I wanted was to just forget."

Vincent closed his eyes tightly and his voice was hoarse. "Sammy."

"But – but then I realized … that had I actually forgotten what had happened, then there might have also been a great possibility that I would have lost all memories of my escape – of you. You and your violent tendencies."

Vincent swallowed and smiled weakly even as he blinked frantically, willing himself not to bawl like his sister. "Gee, thanks."

She smiled back through her tears. "The point is – is that perhaps it was a blessing after all. Had I – had I forgotten you as well, then – I – then – well, that wouldn't have been a good thing, would it?"

His lips parted and he looked away for a minute, licking his lips and pressing his fingers against his eyes. The corner of his lips tipped up in a lopsided grin when he finally glanced back at her. "No," he murmured. "No, that wouldn't have been a good thing at all."

She laughed and cried at the same time while he cursed fluently. "Damn it! I can't even get myself up into a vertical position. Maybe – maybe if I just roll myself off the bed – and you kind of leaned down?"

She knitted her brows. "What? Why?"

He sent her a feral grin. "Eh. I just really want to kiss you right about now."

She turned pink, but she pressed her lips tight to prevent a smile. "Oh. Is that all?"

"What do you mean, is that all? It's a very important all."

"What? You're not making sense again."

"I make perfect sense. All's important in kissing you."

She blushed hotly. "Stop it."

"You know you like it."

She covered her face. "Stop making me laugh. My ribs can't handle it."

"Oh. Speaking of ribs, I'm kind of hungry."

"Excuse me?"

"What? I haven't been eating much in a while since I was too busy worrying about you."

"That's what the IV bag is for!"

"What? This little bag of fluid?" He scoffed. "At least give me the jumbo size or something. Hey, do you think I could call the nurse and ask her to maybe super-size it?"

"You must be joking. It's not McDonalds, Vincent."

"Well, I can't help it. It's not working for me. I'm still dreaming about a nice juicy cheeseburger, crispy French fries, velvety chocolate cake, pizza with everything on top, and oh! Oh! Sushi. Haven't had that in a while."

"Stop it. You're giving me cravings now."

"Cravings, eh?"

She narrowed her eyes. "You've been hanging out with Caine too much, haven't you?"

"Yeah. Sorry."

He smiled at her, then reached his hand out toward her.

She eyed him weirdly. "What?"

"Well, if I can't hold you, I'll just have to be satisfied with holding your hand instead, right?"

She turned pink again, but reached out to slip her hand into his. He entwined his fingers through hers and pressed their palms together. Their hands dangled in the space between their beds as they stared up at the ceiling.

Vincent sighed. "Okay. Not working at all. Now I'm half tempted to just yank you out of bed."

"What?" She tried to wrench her hand out of his and he snickered, tightening his grip.

"Kidding, kidding." His voice rumbled low in his chest, lilting softly. His fingers caressed her knuckles and she settled down, still eyeing him out of the corner of her eyes. Then she started with a loud gasp, pulled her hand out of his, and tried to sit up, clapping her hand to her forehead at the same time. "Oh -! Owow!" She fell back in agony.

"Wha -? Ack!" Concerned, he jerked up as well before promptly collapsing backward, clutching his stomach in anguish. "Shit, mother–"

She heaved between breaths of pain. "How could I have almost forgotten?"

"What? That your ribs will puncture your insides if you try to sit up? Yeah, same goes for me and my stupid cut." Beads of sweat dotted his forehead as he checked to make sure he hadn't completely split his stomach wide open.

"No. Terry."

Author's Note:

One more chapter left to wrap things up!

Thanks, Jestry, for catching more mistakes! I haven't been proofing these last couple of chapters at all and I really appreciate the revision pointers!

- Maeven

© Copyright 2003 Maeven (FictionPress ID:349779). Reposted 01/05/2009. All rights reserved. Distribution of any kind is prohibited without the written consent of Maeven.