Vincent

Chapter 4

[Right After Rollan]

Vincent had finally done it. He finally killed his brother. As soon as he got back home, threw his gun on the table, and planted himself on his bed, drenched in rainwater... he laughed. He laughed until his lungs hurt, head spinning and vision blurring, and continued to laugh until he could hardly breathe.

The source of all of his pain, his anguish and anger, and his self-hatred were finally gone. Dead, for good... so why didn't he feel happy?

"Why didn't it make it better?" He asked himself aloud. "Why am I still upset?"

Vincent stood up and made his way to the mirror in the bathroom, staring at himself. Something about his reflection still didn't seem right; he still looked too much like Rollan. He realized that no matter if Rollan was dead or not he would still be living in his shadow, only known as the younger, psychopath brother of the tragically deceased reporter Rollan King. He rummaged through the drawers in the motel, looking for something to work as a file.

Vincent spent hours on end filing his teeth, sharpening them into uneven and asymmetrical points. They were gnarled, became crude. He ended up making his lips and tongue bleed several times from accidentally biting down too hard or forgetting how sharp they were. Looking once again at himself, Vincent started to cry. He wasn't sad, or filled with a sense of joy; he was angry. Enraged at the world, at his brother, himself, anyone who had a part to play in Vincent's downfall.

"They're all to blame," his voice rasped, crashing into the wall and collapsing in front of the television, still playing the dead channel filled with static. "Every last one of them has to pay for what they did to me. They all need to know how I felt- how I feel. I need to get rid of everyone Rollan cared about."

He remained still on the floor, shivering from the cold damp jacket he was still wearing. Black tears stained the carpet, ink leaking from his damaged and blinded eye. He couldn't think of a single person that he still managed to care about who wasn't dead. But then it hit him: Wendy.