Jack of My Heart

Everything Begins in Blood

Vincent's soothing voice is shaky, his words incomprehensible, but warm, drawing me out of whatever state I was just in.
"There we go. Scared me for a minute there, Jack." Vincent smiles at me, but I can see an undertone of fear in his deep brown eyes. Without thinking, I reach up and cup his cheek, spreading as much reassuring energy as I can through my palm. His eyes widen at first, then he relaxes, his smile becoming more natural.
"I'm fine, Vince. I told you," I sit up, recognizing my surroundings after they stop spinning.
"Well, you woke up before I could take your temperature, but I'm going to say that passing out in a hallway isn't a good sign." Vincent crosses his arms with a raised eyebrow. I can see a thermometer, an ice pack, a heating pack, a heating and ice pack, and at least twenty jars of medicine spread out on the coffee table.
"Since when was I dying?" I joke, looking back up at him.
"You never know," He shrugs, pulling the thermometer off the table.
"Really, Vincent, I don't think this is necessary-" Before I can get the rest of my sentence out, he sticks the temperature gauge in my mouth. I frown, trying to spit it back out, but Vincent gives me a look of warning, so I sit there with my arms crossed and a pout on my lips.
"There, that wasn't so hard, was it? Now, let's... see..." Vincent's voice trails off as he looks at the red line, as bright as the fake movie blood they used in the 50s. "Oh, Jack..."
"What?" I sit up further, trying to get a good look at what he's seeing. He presses on my left shoulder, guiding me back to a reclined position, never taking his eyes from the red line.
"It's 102," He tells me, then, absentmindedly cradles his head with his hand, right where I had put mine.
"Well, that's alright. That's a low fever. You should probably, I don't know, take a shower or something. I've heard that steam helps to clear out sinuses. I don't want you to get sick because of me," I mumble the last part, casting my eyes bashfully to the floor.
"That's probably a good idea..." He rests his chin on his fist, then flashes me a smile, "I'll do that. Just stay right here. Unless, you know... you think the steam would be good for your sinuses, too?"
He looks slightly hopeful, his dark eyes gleaming with playful, mischievous light.
"Probably at separate times. Don't want my steam to mix with yours. I-I also heard steam rises, and since you're so tall, you would inhale all the sick steam," I argue, trying not to stutter and appear cool and relaxed.
"Suit yourself," Vincent shrugs. Huffing as he pulls his large frame up from his knees, he looks down at me once, shakes his head with an enchanting smile, and turns away from me, entering his washroom. Once he leaves the room I peer down after him, then sit up. I take my own temperature and realize that he wasn't lying. Eh, no big deal. I've had worse than this. I glance around, fully taking in the beautiful apartment. There are two open doors, one across from the bathroom where I can hear the water turning on, and one behind the couch. I look between them a few times and finally decide to check out the room near where I'm sitting, turning my back on the hallway to the bathroom. This has got to be the biggest apartment I've ever seen. I think in amazement, trailing a hand over the intricately carved trim around the door.
Once I step inside I realize that he uses this space as a home office, with a large computer monitor and legal books neatly organized on a bookshelf. The room is dark, but I'm able to pick out a name on the files. Jacquelline Brown, Madison's sister. I sneak over, casting several nervous looks over my shoulder, but the water is still running. Taking out my phone, I open the file and snap pictures of the images I was looking for. My entire system freezes up when I see the thing I knew I'd see on Jacquelline's back. A heart and the letter A. Now there's a Blackjack for two suits which leaves two more. Diamonds and Clubs. I shudder and close the files, putting everything back in its place.
The water turns off suddenly and I dash from the room, vaulting over the couch and pulling a blanket over myself. Vincent exits the washroom in a bathrobe, toweling off his hair. He enters the other room and I give a silent sigh of relief. He didn't seem to suspect a thing. After a few minutes he comes out in a black turtleneck and ripped jeans, a whole different style than I've ever seen him in before. He looks more comfortable, hands tucked into his pockets and a swoop of wet hair falling into his face. I can't help but gulp as he smiles at me, my heartrate picking up speed.
"How are you feeling? Any better?" He asks, taking his hands out of his pockets and sitting down in the armchair across from me.
"Uh, a little, y-yeah," I stammer, biting my lip.
"Well, the shower's ready for you. Don't know how much hot water is left though," Vincent stands back up and gives a small—almost nervous—chuckle. I thank him and raise myself up as well, avoiding touching him in fear of counteracting the magic of steam. I close the door to the bathroom behind me and start undressing. After I've taken off my shirt, Vincent barges in, before I can react or pull the shirt back on.
"Oh, Jack, I forgot to tell... you..." His voice dies in his throat once he sees the huge scar spreading across my whole back like a lightning strike, wrapping around my shoulders and hips to the front of my torso. I whirl around, eyes wide in panic and grab my shirt from the floor, wrapping it around my chest, the sleeves hanging loosely by my sides.
"Y-yes?" I swallow hard, putting on a polite smile. His eyes flick over the long gash-like scar on my collarbone, and the tiny bumps on my arms. Please let it be covering- I plead, but soon I realize that the shirt didn't come down far enough when Vincent's eyes grow three times in size. They've landed on the huge indent in my stomach, a dark scar from where the cross rail embedded itself in my stomach after it—and I—was thrown from the car.
"What happened?" He whispers, hand reaching out towards the deep groove near the bottom of my torso. I let the shirt drop slightly, covering it up.
"Some shrapnel from the crash. What was it you needed to tell me?" I lean forward, drawing his eyes up to my face now that the scar isn't visible.
"Right, yeah. All my towels are in this cabinet." He gets down on one knee, opening the door to where the towels are stored, but letting his eyes trail up to my face. Even though I'm not looking at him, I can feel his look of pity washing over me.
"Thank you,"
"Are... are all those scars from the accident?" He stands up again, holding a couple towels in his arms. Thinking on my feet I decide to tell a small fraction of the truth.
"I got in a lot of fights as a kid," I say in a sarcastic voice, but it's the truth. Apparently when young children find out that you don't have any parents they think, 'you know what this guy needs? To be beaten up behind the playground.' As a result of learning to take a punch, I have a few scratched up knuckles, and other scrapes but nothing too serious. The look of pity on Vincent's face turns to a look of rage, and I laugh, unable to stop myself.
     "Don't worry about it. We were kids, and I don't even remember their names," Okay, that was a lie. Dylan Thomas, Henry Gerwick, and Ethan Morey. "But it's not like there's anything you could do about it now, anyway."
     Vincent tries to defuse the bomb that seems to be ticking down in his head, taking a deep breath and nodding.
     "Right, you're right. Here, take these, and, uh, I'll see you when you're out." He hands me the towels and leaves, shaking his head while closing the door. I let out a breath I didn't realize I had been holding and set the towels on the counter top while I finish getting undressed.
     The shower is nice, the warm water lasting a lot longer than I thought it would, and definitely helping to clear out my head in more ways than one. While I wash my hair I can't help but think about the symbols and their meanings. Why them? How am I supposed to stop the other four deaths? And will they be together or seperate? I know there's only one person that I can ask, but I already know Vincent's answer. I guess I'll just have to do it without him.
     When I get out and fluff my hair back up Vincent is on his couch, one armed draped over the back, the other flipping channels on the television with the remote. When he notices me he turns off the TV and drops the remote beside him.
     "So, is all the sick steam gone?" He mocks my reasoning with a sly smile. I sit down on the couch, pulling my legs up in front of me.
     "I hope so,"
     "That was rather sudden. Do you know what caused it?" He leans closer to me, one elbow resting on his knee. Now that I think about it, I haven't really been feeling too great since the first victim. I tell him this and he nods in recognition.
     "I see. I shouldn't have let you run out in the rain like that, I should've known you'd catch a cold." Vincent shakes his head, seemingly at himself.
     "Oh," I hold out the word for a while before meeting Vincent's confused stare, "that makes a lot more sense than what I thought had happened."
     He doesn't even need to ask me a question, only give me a look.
     "I thought that... maybe... one of the victims had died of a fever?" I sound unsure, shoulders raising higher and higher with my voice. He laughs and shakes his head.
     "It's sad that that's a higher possibility in your mind than catching a cold from running full speed in the freezing rain without a jacket." He sets his temple on his fist with a smile.
     "I don't typically," My sentence gets broken up by a sneeze, "get sick. But anyway, I need to talk to you about something I found."
     "About the case?" He raises an eyebrow and lets it drop once I nod. "Good news or bad news?"
     "Well, fantastic news if our client wasn't running around killing people in a diaper," I quip, a grin dancing across my face, but slowly dropping when I see Vincent's eyebrows furrowed in dubiety. "He's back. He's really back."
     Vincent immediately catches my meaning and sits back, taking a deep breath, a slight look of fear and... regret? No. I don't know what to make of his expression, but I know his thoughts must be as tangled as mine.
     "How do you know? I'm not doubting you, I just..." Vincent looks worried, eyes running over my features, as though afraid it's the last time he'll see them.
     "The hanahaki victims were the King of Spades and the Queen of Hearts. Jacquelline Brown was the Ace of Hearts, and this victim is the Ace of Spades." I catch him up.
     "So that's what you found at the morgue, and that's why you were at the police station. You had a busy day today, didn't you?" Vincent tries to keep things light, but I can hear the strain in his voice.
     "Vincent, are you okay?" I pull his hand into mine. He raises his head with surprise, eyes locking onto mine, then darting away with a deep pain inside them. With a heavy sigh he looks to the floor, remorse dripping from his face.
     "I just don't want to see you get hurt. And what if I'm not there for you? What if you need me and I-" He begins, but cuts himself off with a shake of his head. I can tell that there's more that he wants to say, but something's stopping him.
     "I told you, I'll be careful. I guess we'll just have to be there for each other, huh?" I give a reassuring smile and squeeze his hand. He releases his hand and pulls me close, resting his chin on the top of my head.
     "I'm so sorry," He breathes in a low tone, obviously not meaning to have been heard. I decide not to press it, and grin at him when he lets me go.
     "You know, you're nothing like people say you are," I say without thinking, almost clapping my hand over my mouth in regret.
     "Oh? And what do people say?" He asks, obviously amused by my embarrassment, leaning one arm on the couch and looking down at me.
     "O-Oh, well, y'know, just that... well, you know," I stutter, backpedaling like I always do.
     "No, I'm afraid I don't know." He raises an eyebrow, then gives a hearty laugh, "Come on, it can't be that bad can it?"
Well...
     "They, uh... they say that you're more frightening than Hannibal Lector, John Wayne Gacy, and Norman Bates combined, because if you killed someone you could probably get away with it. They also say that you'd be a vampire if you didn't love Italy so much," I mumble, avoiding his gaze. Why did I have to be the one to tell him this? But to my surprise he barks with laughter, wiping a tear from his eye.
     "Why if I didn't like Italy so much?"
     "Y'know... sunlight, lots of garlic... also the home base of the Roman Catholic Church. Probably not too good for a vampire," I mutter, eyes squeezing shut. He just laughs again and sweeps a hand under my chin.
     "You're too cute," He grins, sliding his hand over my jaw and down to the nape of my neck. "Is it okay if I...?"
     I nod and he pulls me close, letting our lips just brush before giving me a quick kiss, not overpowering, but still knocking my senses out of me. I blink a few times when he pulls away, not fully processing what just happened.
     "You alright, Jack? Look like you've seen a ghost," He teases, chuckling as I shove his chest.
     "Haha, very funny. How long have you been waiting to use that one?" I cross my arms, suppressing the smirk that wants to break into a grin.
     "You have no idea," He replies, leaning close again, eyelids fluttering. He pulls himself away at the last minute, clearing his throat and ignoring his slowly reddening cheeks. "Uh, but that's great news! I'll tell him right away."
     "And, I'll tell Captain Singer. Warn him about the killer." I nod, standing up and moving to the island. Vincent's eyes follow me, but he stays on the couch, fingers resting lightly on his lips. He whispers something under his breath, but I can't make it out. I pull out my phone and call Captain Singer, popping my knuckles as I wait.
     "What do you need, Langdon?" Singer groans.
     "When have I ever asked you for anything? Oh, right. Today... today I asked you for something. Anyway, I just thought you should know, I—well, Vincent and I— kind of solved four of your six murders," I say, giving a thumbs up to Vincent who winks back while telling our client that he's going to be okay.
     "Excuse me?"
     "Yep. Other than the Shrink's victim, and Madison Brown, all your other recent vics are connected," I tell him, feeling pretty proud that I figured it out.
     "Including the one we just found?" His question sends a shiver down my spine.
     "S-Sir?" I hold the end of the phone closer to my mouth. Vincent hears the spike of terror in my voice and looks over at me. I mouth the words 'Another one'. He looks at me in horror and mouths back 'Three more'. The words from my nightmare float back to me:
There will be more. Three, maybe four.
I shudder, but quickly regain my bearings.
     "Where?"