A Light in the Dark (Post Ten)

[B][COLOR="DarkRed"][JUSTIFY][FONT="Book Antiqua"]“Vincent! What brings you here?” Gertler asked, a voice high that held some hesitation. Dull brown eyes swept past him to glance at the ill surrounding them.

“I’m looking for someone.” Vincent replied simply, studying the people around. They were all dark-haired, dim-eyed, gray-skinned. Carter was nowhere in sight.
“I would be happy to help.” Gertler said. “Might you tell me what he looks like, perhaps a name?”

“His name… Carter Hall.”

Gertler considered for a moment. He had an astounding memory, and could recall anyone who lived at or visited the shelter. “Hm, no. I’ve never heard the name before.”

“Well, what about someone with pale yellow hair, and blue eyes?”

Gertler raised a hand, running it through his coarse brown-gray hair. “Yes. I’ve seen someone like that. A strange boy, he is. He never gave me a name; all he wanted was to talk to the people.”

“Where did he go?”

“Upstairs. I told him those with not long to live stayed there, where it’s quiet.”

Vincent felt his eyes go wide. “You allowed someone you don’t know to be alone with the dying?”

“Now, Vincent.” Gertler put a hand on his shoulder. “I would never do something like that if I didn’t trust him. Certainly I only just met the boy, but he radiated a very good energy, something I could trust. It makes me believe he would never harm those who could not defend themselves.”

“Is he still up there?”

“I never saw him come down, so I assume he is.”

Vincent looked at the ceiling, as though he could see right through the old wood and peeling paint to Carter. Gertler tilted his head, but said nothing, and left the room through the archway behind him. Vincent could feel the traces of positive energy that Carter left in his wake, and as he wandered around the room, considering what to do quickly as he observed the items at his disposal. The ones who lived on the first floor were rather sickly, but could still walk and hold a conversation without becoming breathless or fatigued. Shrugging out of his jacket, Vincent stowed it away under one of the sagging couches, stuffing his vest and tie underneath as well. Stepping close to the fireplace, he rubbed some of the soot off the wall and floor beside it while no one paid him any attention.

He dusted the soot on his beige shirt, wrinkling the fabric, sweeping his hands over his face and leaving traces of the ashen color on his skin and darker circles under his eyes. Pulling an old blanket from the back of a chair in the corner, he wrapped it around his shoulders like several of the others, who were shivering in front of the window or sitting in front of the fireplace with their eyes closed tightly. Taking a brown cap from the window sill beside him, he swept the back of his hair up and slid the hat over his head, sitting in the chair he was in front of. Turning his gaze toward the door that led to the stairwell, he lifted his feet, tucking them under him and moving the blanket to hide most of him.

Gertler came back in through the archway, glancing around the room. Vincent bowed his head, allowing his hair to fall limply out from under the hat and hide most of his face. Gertler stared around for a moment, obviously searching for Vincent. As he swept the room with his pale gaze, the door at the left of the fireplace opened and Carter entered. He stepped toward Gertler with a stony face.

“He hasn’t got long.” Carter said solemnly. “I would bring his daughter in for a final good-bye, if you can find her.”

Gertler nodded, but moved close to Carter, speaking very quietly, so that Vincent couldn’t hear. Carter’s brows lifted with what seemed like surprise, but it vanished when Gertler met his gaze. With a brief handshake, Carter stepped away and left the house. Gertler stood quietly for a moment, staring at the floor as though saddened, or lost in thought. Vincent could not tell which from his position. With a deep breath, Gertler ran his hand over his hair, and started across the room. In silence, he went upstairs.

Vincent unfolded his legs and retrieved his vest and jacket, and ripped the hat off his head. Tying his tie, Vincent made for the door Gertler had just gone through while buttoning his vest and pulling his jacket back on. Gertler had gone to the second floor, he could tell from his soft voice coming from the door that had been left ajar on the first landing above the stairs to his right. Stepping slowly, evening his weight to avoid letting the stairs creak any more than they would have, he looked around the door and found Gertler standing over the bed of an invalid.

Leaping up the rest of the stairs, Vincent pushed through the door and walked swiftly toward Gertler, whose gaze was wide and fearful. Grabbing the older man’s collar, Vincent yanked him away from the bed of the man who already seemed to be dead and shoved him back. “You know him, don’t you?” Vincent demanded. “You know Carter.”

“Vincent, I don’t want any part of this---”

Vincent shook him. “Damn you, Bailey, I don’t want to hurt you right now! All I want is to know where he went.”

“I… I can’t say.”

“You can. You can tell me. The life of that man is worth it, is it not?” He nodded to the motionless man not far away, whose chest was rising and falling with strained breath. “Tell me where Carter went, Bailey, and perhaps the man will live a little longer.”

Gertler gasped raggedly. “All right!” He backed away and straightened his wrinkled shirt. “He said he would be going to Tillman’s Inn for the night. He has a few issues to take care of, and he will be unable to come back here tonight for the final goodbye between this man and his daughter, should I find her.”

“The Inn? Then he is staying in the city for the night?”

“Yes, obviously. He said nothing about leaving, but I doubt he will stay much longer.”

Vincent’s gaze softened. “I see. How well do you know this man, Bailey?”

“Not well. He came here a few days ago, and asked if he could talk with the people here. They were so uplifted after his visits, I couldn’t make him stay away, and he came around as he pleased, with new words of hope for those with no hope at all.”

Vincent cringed. “I see. Thank you, Bailey, and keep your head low from now on.” With that, he turned and stormed out of the room, his feet clunking noisily on the stairs as he left.

Once more outside, Vincent looked around. Carter was nowhere to be seen; not a lock of pale yellow hair, not a flutter of his brown duster. His pressing gaze was lacking. Vincent leapt off the stairs and started right, pushing through the overcrowded streets and stumbling sometimes over crates or hay bales. Tillman’s Inn was rather small, just across the bridge that offered safe passage across a smaller branch of the river that was fed from the River of the Dead. The water itself seemed to have a mind of its own, but was not deadly if one were to stick their fingers into its flow. Vincent crossed the bridge, its boards creaking threateningly under his feet, a lonely moaning coming from below, gurgling their tuneless noise.

The street on the other side of the bridge was very narrow; two horses could only just get their carriages past one another, should they arrive at the same place at the same time. Vincent took to the sidewalk, tripping sometimes on uneven cobblestones, focusing a bit easier since the sun had started to go down behind the clouds. Glancing to the sky, he could see its pale gray shadow sinking just above the taller buildings of Portman Boulevard, where he was. The tiny shops had slowly become houses, whose windows were coming aglow with pale yellow light. The inn was at the end of the street, where the road split into two going opposite ways. Some lights were on in the windows, and the front door was open to let the outside air flow in.

Before Vincent could get to the door, Carter came out. His expression was blank, as though lost in another world, as he went down the five steps outside the door and turned right. Vincent took chase, following at a distance, using others as shields as he walked in step with them. Carter seemed slow, quickly passed up by others. Halfway down the road, he turned into an alley, vanishing before Vincent could catch up. Rushing past his human barricade, earning a disgruntled mutter from him, keeping pressed against the building and sparing a glance into the mouth of the tunnel. The darkness was strong, but not enough to black out the movement of Carter.

He had gone halfway down the alley already, but had paused. Slowly, as quietly as he could, Vincent stepped inside the alley and started toward him. Unclipping the syringe from the belt under his jacket, he sped up, holding the syringe much like a knife, bringing it back. He swung forward, over his head, aiming for Carter’s neck, almost feeling the impact before Carter swung around with a hand up, grabbing his wrist and spinning Vincent around, running him into the nearest wall. Shocked, but not completely thrown off guard, Vincent pushed himself forward and swung his empty hand for Carter’s hair.[/FONT][/JUSTIFY][/COLOR][/B]