Vincent

This is part of a project I'm currently working on.

Vincent 

by Cleve Sylcox        

 

 

           The moon’s glow reflected off the ocean waves in bright sparkles beneath a star filled sky. It was a perfect night, perhaps, for lovers to stroll aimlessly along the glittering beach in a gentle breeze.

They would hold hands while listening to their hearts - yearning for an embrace.

They would watch the surf swell then thunder against the rocks at the far end of the beach in plumes of brilliant white foam and spray.

They would see the beach shimmer in the moonlight with sand pipers and gulls competing for crab and mussels.

Their eyes might meet and their lips press together in a warm kiss, the first of many on this moon lit night.

However, no lovers strolled the beach that night, just a young man marching across the sand. He was deep in thought, unaware of the gulls, the moon or what lies ahead. His thoughts driven, pushed by something he cannot control.  

Vincent stepped onto the boardwalk of Templeton, CA. with a voice only he could hear. Ahead of him the walkway wound along the beach and up tall sand dunes. It turned sharply into the churning surf several hundred feet and forty feet above the waves. A steady hollow clunk emanated from the wooden planks as he walked steadily, uneasily. His heavy boots fit him comfortably but created more noise than he wanted. He wore rough blue jeans that fit him snug around his thin waist. A plain white t-shirt hung limp over his thin shoulders beneath a light blue jacket. Greasy shoulder length hair hung from under a dirty ball cap he wore backward. His five-foot eight frame stepped evenly and coolly. The moonshine silhouetted his figure against the bright night sky.       

Waist high wooden rails bordered the walk. Hanging from the rails were ads for local restaurants and shops. A sudden breeze rattled the ads’ metal frames, clanging them against the wooden railing, startling Vincent.

He stopped and listened.

He heard only the sounds of the beach �" the gulls, the surf and the wind. Then he turned, looking behind him. All he sees is an empty boardwalk with moon-radiated sand dunes beyond. His imagination races sending panic throughout his conscious. Could the sound he heard be a cop maybe or the FBI. The sounds of the beach fell eerily hushed, almost silent in the background of his thoughts. In his minds eye he watched as police cars rushed toward him, as angry faces yelled, and as red fluid washed over a white carpet.

His steps quickened.

            The hard rubber soles of his boots created the steady clomping once again.

            “We couldn’t be followed. I was too careful.” Vincent mumbled while looking around frantically.

            “Calm down… just a few more feet to go,” said a disembodied voice.

            Vincent looked the length of the dock, then behind him. He saw no one. The voice, the maddening voice, echoing in his head drives him forward. Where did it come from? How could he allow it to continue swirling thoughts of madness mixed with the melody of screams and bloodcurdling laughs? Tears rolled down his cheeks from eyes wide with the fever of lunacy. 

            He slowed his pace as he nears the end of the walk. Stepping to the railing he looked through bloodshot eyes forty feet below to the surf of ink black water swirling around thick piers - a dark swirling mass of foam and liquid. The only sound comes from the beach where waves crashed to shore.

            “I can’t do it…I…I just can’t do it!” Vincent screamed as he rocked from side to side, his hands grasping the railing. His mind dizzy, his stomach churned in rhythm with the surf. The horizon of moon and surf blurred by watery eyes seems surreal.

            “Do it! It will be quick. You wanted fame - I gave it to you. Now you must give me what I want…. your soul.”

            Vincent, looked at the moon, and then throws his head back and yelled, “Where are you? Show yourself…. where are you?” He fell onto the walk and reached into his inner jacket pocket pulling out a 357 Magnum. “I’ll kill you! Show yourself!”

            Vincent heard a lady laugh to his right. He turned to see a woman wearing a bathing suit leaning on the rail, laughing at him. He fired three shots at her then her image fades. Behind him heard a man laughing, but as he turned to fire the image faded.  

            “There, I showed myself - now, do it!” the voice demands.

            Vincent turned toward the surf staring across the ocean at the moon. He cannot fight it, this thing in his head.

Tears swelled his eyes as he raised the pistol to his temple, then stops. His sobs hushed by the roaring surf. The maddening voices are irresistible, controlling all that used to be him. He could end it all now. No more people would die by his hand.

            His arm began to rise again, forced toward his temple by a power he cannot see. He does not fight it. He is ready to die.

            He felt the cold steel press against his temple. The smell of gunpowder enterd his nostrils. He grits his teeth as he squeezed his eyes closed, his hand shook violently. He must concentrate hard to maintain his grip. His index finger found the smoothly curved trigger as his muscles found the strength to obey.

“Just a little more, a little more…. that’s it…. Now!”

           

 

An alarm rings, waking Vincent…. he sits up gasping, wide-eyed in a cold sweat. In a panic he looks around the room cast with the new dawn. Missing are the railings, the surf and the star filled night sky. He finds only the dirty walls of his motel room. He wipes his brow, inhales deeply, uneasy, then exhales, long and slow.

He falls back in bed, staring at the brown, smoke-stained ceiling, breathing restlessly, awkwardly. A ceiling fan spins in quiet revolutions above him. The alarm clock buzzes steadily. The bed sheets are twisted in knots about the bed with his pillows somewhere on the floor. He lies, breathing heavily, staring at the ceiling, not wanting to believe the nightmare. Then he hears the voice….

“Good morning, Vincent.”

Vincent looks around the room only hearing a soft laughter growing louder penetrating into the deep recesses of his scrambled mind. His hands grasp the sides of his head, then pull at his hair until the laughter fades to a chuckle, then silence.

He sits up, then sits motionless for a few moments with his hair twisted and tangled as the bed sheets. 

“No, No…..NO,” he shouts . Sweat beads on his bare chest and forehead, his breathing labored as if he just finished a long and tedious race.

His arms sheen with sweat, as he stares at the dawn and listens quietly.

His eyes nervously pan the room.

His breathing slows to normal as he tries to swallow dry spit.

In his conscious reality an euphony rakes away any delusion of a dream. A voice as soft as a fathers whisper speaks to him, claming him, wrapping itself around his morrow.

Vincent’s breathing slows to normal, the corners of his mouth arch into a slight grin and he begins to softly laugh. The Vincent of old is once again tucked away in slumber, as the new Vincent, the bold Vincent emerges.

Crossing his legs he stares at the wall ahead of him.

A voice continues speaking to him.

A soft voice that whispers to him all the things Vincent wants to hear. The room swirls around him… he smiles.    

Author's Note

Yes there is a change of tense after he awakens.

Reviews

[TJ Graham]

Very, very good. I'd also have to say the transition of tense is VERY smooth. I've tried myself in some of my other unpublished works. The character is very well written as well. I like this.

[Dane Osborne]

As typical with what i read of your work this is very well written and detailed. Your style kind of reminds me of Tolstoy's in how you can use meticulous detail to create another reality inside the readers head. Well done.