those forced to accommodate his almost spastic progress.
Vincent's worn nerves were frayed nearly to breaking. First with his sudden inability to play, and now something seemed to be following him. Except it wasn't - couldn't be - human. It controlled people. Controlled his own mother! It made them say what it wanted them to, do what it wanted them to.
And it wanted him, for some reason.
Or, it was just a figment of his imagination, and he was somehow going certifiably insane. Somehow, the thought made him chuckle. Better that, than a horrible monstrous presence chasing him.
"That's-"
"Not-"
"A nice-"
"Thing-"
"To say-"
"Vincent."
Six different heads of six different passersby rotated to address him. Each in turn, though their feet never stopped. Each with shark-dead black pits of eyes. Six different heads shifted back, giving no indication that their owners had any idea what had just happened.
The bottom dropped out of Vincent's stomach, while his head felt as though it was a mile up in the air. The fact that he hadn't eaten anything all day impressed itself dimply on his tenuous awareness, and a surge of atavistic terror drowned the brief moment of dark humor.
Vincent ran.
Shouted curses followed as he bumped and collided with individual members of the crowd. Vincent didn't have enough self-consciousness left to apologize. His pulse surged. Breath rasped in his throat. Faces and storefronts blurred into a homogenous mess of color and matter. It didn't matter. None of it mattered, so long as he got away.
And over it all, he heard that damned voice.
"Vincent," it called in dozens of voices, but always with that same rough, rasping, mocking tone. "I know what you lost, Vincent," it sang. "I know what was taken from you."
Sweat, at once both hot from exertion and cold from his fear, ran into Vincent's eyes. He didn't notice the sting of the salt, didn't notice the burn in his legs from the unaccustomed exercise. Tight fisted hands flailed on the ends of his arms as he fled. His feet flapped against the hard sidewalk as he tried desperately to escape. If only he could fly.
An ungentle quiet hushed the normal sounds of the city. Vincent still heard car horns blaring, still heard the mutter of humanity, but only distantly. Even the wild thudding of his pulse and the coughing panting of his breath were no more than a sullen background thrum, mixed and woven through the heartbeat of crowded civilization.
"Vincent!"
Soulless ebon pits and a wolfish grin out of place in the familiar mahogany face of Dr. Thomas leapt into stark focus out of the exertion-blurred background of the street. A wave of bone-deep cold swept over Vincent, and his vision darkened. The air turned oven-hot, parching his open mouth. Vincent smelled the lifeless dust, and his heart shuddered. His mentor's features took on a bestial cast, his nose snout-like and his ears long and oddly squared off.
Vincent cried out, and threw up a hand as the ghastly form of his friend reached for him with claw-like fingers. The crowd around him turned slowly, so slowly, as though they moved through molasses. The thrumming of the city crescendoed, beating on his ears in oppressive waves of inchoate noise.
Vincent's foot slipped.
The shroud that had fallen over his world unaccountably brightened, taking on a gilt appearance. It felt to Vincent as though the pavement itself had moved out from under his sneaker. His sense of balance shifted, tilted, and was gone. He reeled sideways away from the monster Dr. Thomas had become, working just to keep his feet under him.
Vincent caromed off the pedestrians around him as he staggered. He felt each jarring impact as he thudded from person to person. He had just enough awareness of his surroundings to feel a delicate layer of purely mundane apprehension over the numbing terror as he noticed himself clip a policeman on his careening path around the corner of the block.
"Vincent!"
Dr. Thomas' voice was still the abrasive
Vincent's worn nerves were frayed nearly to breaking. First with his sudden inability to play, and now something seemed to be following him. Except it wasn't - couldn't be - human. It controlled people. Controlled his own mother! It made them say what it wanted them to, do what it wanted them to.
And it wanted him, for some reason.
Or, it was just a figment of his imagination, and he was somehow going certifiably insane. Somehow, the thought made him chuckle. Better that, than a horrible monstrous presence chasing him.
"That's-"
"Not-"
"A nice-"
"Thing-"
"To say-"
"Vincent."
Six different heads of six different passersby rotated to address him. Each in turn, though their feet never stopped. Each with shark-dead black pits of eyes. Six different heads shifted back, giving no indication that their owners had any idea what had just happened.
The bottom dropped out of Vincent's stomach, while his head felt as though it was a mile up in the air. The fact that he hadn't eaten anything all day impressed itself dimply on his tenuous awareness, and a surge of atavistic terror drowned the brief moment of dark humor.
Vincent ran.
Shouted curses followed as he bumped and collided with individual members of the crowd. Vincent didn't have enough self-consciousness left to apologize. His pulse surged. Breath rasped in his throat. Faces and storefronts blurred into a homogenous mess of color and matter. It didn't matter. None of it mattered, so long as he got away.
And over it all, he heard that damned voice.
"Vincent," it called in dozens of voices, but always with that same rough, rasping, mocking tone. "I know what you lost, Vincent," it sang. "I know what was taken from you."
Sweat, at once both hot from exertion and cold from his fear, ran into Vincent's eyes. He didn't notice the sting of the salt, didn't notice the burn in his legs from the unaccustomed exercise. Tight fisted hands flailed on the ends of his arms as he fled. His feet flapped against the hard sidewalk as he tried desperately to escape. If only he could fly.
An ungentle quiet hushed the normal sounds of the city. Vincent still heard car horns blaring, still heard the mutter of humanity, but only distantly. Even the wild thudding of his pulse and the coughing panting of his breath were no more than a sullen background thrum, mixed and woven through the heartbeat of crowded civilization.
"Vincent!"
Soulless ebon pits and a wolfish grin out of place in the familiar mahogany face of Dr. Thomas leapt into stark focus out of the exertion-blurred background of the street. A wave of bone-deep cold swept over Vincent, and his vision darkened. The air turned oven-hot, parching his open mouth. Vincent smelled the lifeless dust, and his heart shuddered. His mentor's features took on a bestial cast, his nose snout-like and his ears long and oddly squared off.
Vincent cried out, and threw up a hand as the ghastly form of his friend reached for him with claw-like fingers. The crowd around him turned slowly, so slowly, as though they moved through molasses. The thrumming of the city crescendoed, beating on his ears in oppressive waves of inchoate noise.
Vincent's foot slipped.
The shroud that had fallen over his world unaccountably brightened, taking on a gilt appearance. It felt to Vincent as though the pavement itself had moved out from under his sneaker. His sense of balance shifted, tilted, and was gone. He reeled sideways away from the monster Dr. Thomas had become, working just to keep his feet under him.
Vincent caromed off the pedestrians around him as he staggered. He felt each jarring impact as he thudded from person to person. He had just enough awareness of his surroundings to feel a delicate layer of purely mundane apprehension over the numbing terror as he noticed himself clip a policeman on his careening path around the corner of the block.
"Vincent!"
Dr. Thomas' voice was still the abrasive
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