Vincent

Chapter 5

<Wendy's death from Vincent's perspective>

Vincent used to babysit a little girl named Wendy when he and Rollan were younger. He always liked seeing Wendy; she was a sweet little girl and had done nothing wrong. Unfortunately, she was still a remaining connection to Rollan, and Vincent hated pondering the thought that he would have to kill her.

Vincent was walking through town one day around lunch and spotted a middle-aged woman walking a young girl into the arcade. He recognized the girl: it was Wendy.

They got a new sitter, he thought. Without a moment of hesitation, Vincent followed the two into the arcade, sticking to the walls where the light wouldn't catch him and uncover his identity.

From a dark corner near the back door, Vincent simply watched Wendy as she stood with her sitter, waiting for what seemed to be snacks. The woman rudely dismissed the girl and told her to go do something else. Vincent scowled but quickly relaxed when Wendy started to come his way.

"Wendy?" He muttered, beckoning the girl over.

Scared at first, Wendy got excited. "Uncle Vince!"

"Look how much you've grown!" Vincent smiled. "You're what, six?"

"I'm seven now!"

"Right, right, you're growing up so fast. Who are you here with?"

"A new babysitter. I don't like her, I miss you and uncle Rollan."

"They replaced me? How rude. You know what? How would you like it if we played a little game?"

Wendy's face lit up. "A game? What are we going to play?"

"How about... hide and seek."

"Do I count first?"

"Yeah, you count first. I'll hide."

When Wendy closed her eyes Vincent's expression dropped. He knew what he had to do, but he knew it would upset him. When she reached ten, he muttered under his breath.

"I'm sorry, Wendy."

"Ready or not, here I come-"

Before she could turn around Vincent quickly grabbed Wendy and covered her mouth, pulling her close before stabbing her in the gut. And again, and again, eighteen times he stabbed her, crying as he murdered the one thing left that he truly cared about. He felt the small girl go limp in his arms and he stuffed the knife in his pocket, picking Wendy up gently and cradling her.

"Wendy?" the woman babysitting Wendy called.

"Crap," Vincent said, wiping his tears with his sleeve and rushing through the back door before the woman could see him.

Vincent sprinted toward the woods, careful not to trip or drop Wendy while also avoiding being seen with the bloodied body of a seven-year-old girl. He stopped running when he was far enough into the forest that he wouldn't be found. Gently setting Wendy down, he fell to the ground and buried his head in his arms, pulling his hood shut and trying not to weep again. He was only a kid, being fifteen years old, it didn't matter how little morals mattered to him anymore; killing Wendy was the hardest thing he had ever done and would ever do in his life.