For No Miser's Sake

by Kuliundheft

Part IX

Vincent’s resolve to remain silent and invisible drained away, and he tapped warning directly on the glass of the window with one pointed nail.

“What was that?” Brian demanded, his voice coming closer. “That tapping—”

“It’s a friend. He must have seen something. We don’t have any time to argue. Come on, girls. That’s right, Andy, get your mittens back on. Mel, keep hold of your dad and your sister. Everyone’s going to be just fine.”

A moment later, the bedroom window slid open, and Jacqueline poked her head out.

“I think there are four of them,” Vincent told her. “They’ll leave at least one in the alley to watch the back. It’s not safe.”

“Waiting for them to come in here isn’t exactly safe, either,” she answered.

He stood up, and she got out of the way so he could duck in through the window. Brian swore at the sight of him. Andrea began to cry.

“Him, Jackie?” Brian demanded. “How could you bring him?”

“There’s no one else,” she said. “He’ll keep us safe, Brian. Trust me, if you won’t trust him.”

“If you’d just let me keep my gun—”

“There are no guns Below. Anyway, what are you going to do against three or four trained killers?”

“Defend my family! I can’t—”

Vincent held up a hand. He heard heavy footsteps and low voices coming from the corridor, too quiet for the others to hear. “Someone’s coming.”

“Oh, God,” Jackie whispered.

“Keep everyone together,” Vincent said as he pushed past the others and made his way out into the dark living room.

After half a moment’s thought, he slipped across the room into the doorway opposite the hall, and found himself in the kitchen. If his adversaries were thorough, one of them would check here, and he could pick that one off first. If his adversaries were sloppy and they all turned their attention to the bedrooms immediately, he could catch them all by surprise from behind. The disadvantage was in leaving the hallway undefended, but experience told him that his hulking, growling form descending out of the darkness would be enough to distract them from their intended targets.

They kicked the door in then; it sprang open easily, having already been kicked in once and now closed only by its chain.

“Oh, Mister Kessler,” a man called tauntingly. From his vantage point, Vincent could see he was a tall and narrow-faced, in a tailored coat and black, shiny shoes. The leader, then; the other two who entered with him wore jeans and puffy, quilted coats. “We know you’re in here; let’s do this like civilized men, yes?”

One of the men in jeans left the other two in the middle of the room, his gun raised, and moved carefully toward the kitchen. Vincent waited, using those seconds to concentrate on leashing his most savage instincts; he would release the predator in himself only so far as absolutely necessary tonight and have no new memories of blood and death to haunt him. His control would hold.

The man stepped through the doorway inches from where Vincent waited, and it was the work of three breaths to break his dominant arm, backhand him across the face, and throw him back into the living room, directly into his partner, with a fierce snarl.

He had hoped for more shock from the one left standing, the leader, that he could use that moment to get out into the living room and finish the job, but the narrow-faced man swung around immediately and trained his gun on the kitchen doorway.

“Get up,” the leader hissed to the thug pinned under his partner’s prone form.

The man struggling on the floor swore. “I dropped my gun.”

“And then you announced it to the asshole in the kitchen. Well done.”

Throwing something was going to be his best option, Vincent decided, to take out the one that was still armed. He cast about for something suitable, and he had stooped to pick up the knife block when he heard a shout and the thump of someone falling to the floor. He risked putting his head through the doorway to find Brian and the leader struggling each to gain the upper hand against the other.

The third man, the thug that was still conscious, had extricated himself and threw himself at Brian, bowling him over. Vincent darted out of the kitchen, but the leader was quick, grabbing his gun up off the floor and aiming.

“Now what do we have here?” the man asked, his eyes narrowing through the darkness.

Vincent growled.

“Some science experiment gone wrong, perhaps?” He moved to his knees, then stood, the gun’s aim unwavering in his hand. “Tell me, are you a man turned dog, or a dog made man-shaped?”

Movement from the mouth of the hallway caught Vincent’s attention a moment before Jacqueline tried to take the narrow-faced man from behind, much as Brian must have done, except that she had had the foresight to strip the shade from a bedside lamp and upend it as a one-handed club.

Their adversary, however, was not so easily caught off guard a second time; he stepped away and turned quickly, pulling back across the room, toward the open front door, until he could safely cover both of them with the gun.

In the tense silence that followed, Vincent became aware that the scuffle between Brian and the third thug must have come to an end. Even as he thought this, Brian rose up slightly from behind the far end of the couch, aiming a gun at the leader.

“Found your man’s gun, Sharpe,” Brian said. He adjusted his grip on the weapon, squinting through the dimness of the room. “You killed my Maddie.”

With the barest flick of his wrist toward the couch, Sharpe fired; the shot went wide, hitting nothing but the wall, but Brian flinched. That heartbeat was all the time Sharpe needed to duck out the front door and disappear into the corridor.

Brian leapt up to go after him, but Jacqueline dropped her makeshift club to grab him by the arm. “We have to get the girls out of here,” she said.

He stared at the open doorway for a long moment before he turned to look at her, his face clouding with confusion as if he didn’t know who she was. But the confusion cleared away as quickly as it had come, and he nodded.

They retreated back to the bedroom, where Brian coaxed his daughters out from under the bed.

“We have to go Below,” Jacqueline informed him, leaving no room for argument. “It’s the safest place.”

Still, he hesitated, staring at Vincent, who said, “The offer of sanctuary remains.”

“We’re not exactly welcomed guests Below,” Brian answered.

“Well, you did almost kill Mouse,” Jacqueline shot back. “You’re going to have to suck it up and deal with a few cold shoulders to keep Andy and Mel safe.”

“I can’t trust those people. There’s no telling what they might do.” Again, his gaze shifted to Vincent, making his meaning more than perfectly clear.

With lethal speed, Jacqueline reached out and slapped Brian across the face. “He just risked his neck for the three of you. Now you listen to me, Brian Kessler. I am going to take care of Maddie’s girls. You can disappear out into the night here and now if you have a death wish, but you are not taking them with you. They are going where they will be safe and looked after, no matter what suicidal risks their father decides to take.”

“Daddy, just come with us,” Melody whispered. She took his hand and squeezed it comfortingly. “It’ll be okay. We’ll all be okay. I promise.”

Jacqueline’s eyes became bright with unshed tears, and she laid her hands on her goddaughter’s shoulders. “Oh, Mel…”

Vincent saw acquiescence forming in Brian’s face and couldn’t wait any longer. “We can’t go back the way we came without going past Sharpe,” he told Jacqueline. “I’ll take care of the driver of the car and Sharpe. There’s another entrance, about four blocks south of here, where there used to be a furniture store.”

“The one that had the fire a couple years ago?” Brian asked.

Vincent nodded. “Yes. The entrance is in the basement, through the workshop. The bars on the second window in from the street on the north side are not locked; Jacqueline, you’ll recognize the type of latch we’ve used. I won’t be far behind.”

She nodded. “Be careful.”

With a nod of his own, Vincent pushed past them and back out to the fire escape. He used it to get up to the roof, where he could get a good vantage point on the car in the alley below. There were two men in the alley, not just the one that he had hoped for. The man keeping watch at the back of the building was of normal height and stockier than average build; Vincent surmised that he might be stronger than he looked at first glance. Of course, the gun that he held in the hand that wasn’t occupied by his cigarette made physical strength something of a footnote to the situation. At the other end of the alley, looking out into the street, stood a taller, thinner man; Sharpe had clearly made the stairs in good time.

There were two fire escapes on this side of the building; Vincent used the furthest one back to descend the same way he had climbed up. He landed in silence and circled around to approach the man from directly behind. He was nearly in striking distance when the man looked back over his shoulder; Vincent rushed the last pair of steps to bring the back of his hand down over the man’s head. It didn’t fell him, but a strike to his gut and another blow to his head did.

Vincent looked up and found Jacqueline watching from the window. She nodded at him and crawled out, then started helping the children through. Satisfied, he turned his attention to Sharpe, still stood oblivious at the other end of the alley. Catching him unawares him turned out to be easy enough, but Vincent took it slowly, carefully, to avoid any further mishaps. One solid, quick blow with his great strength sent the man to the ground, and it was only when Vincent’s attention could shift from the careful task at hand that he realized it wasn’t Sharpe at all. This man was tall and lanky, but with a rounded, young face and a shock of dark blond hair.

Vincent spun around, half expecting to see Sharpe in the alley behind him, but all was quiet. He heard police sirens then; of course the neighbors would have noticed the break-in and ensuing scuffle. But where was Sharpe? He had been so sure there were four of them. One driver, three passengers.

And someone to watch the apartment and tell them when Brian returned, his mind supplied. He snarled at the realization. Then where was Sharpe?

A slow, seeping terror of suspicion began to spread through him, even before any specific ideas could take form.

A police car arrived then, lights flashing, and Vincent fled down the alley. A second set of red and blue lights reflecting off brick walls alerted him to the other car and forced him to take a circuitous route to avoid detection before he could get back on course. For all that his legs could pump with inhuman strength once he settled into a solid sprint, his need to go unseen slowed him down, and he reached his destination without seeing the others.

He tripped the latch and slid in through the window; everything was still, old tools and machinery lingering in idle shadow, but there was a light on in the next room, frightened voices, a whimper.

Vincent stalked the doorway and peered in, but it was clear his appearance was expected. Brian, Jacqueline, and Andrea huddled together on the other side of the room, which was little more than an antechamber between the workshop and the store rooms, now void of whatever it had held before the business closed. The gun Brian had liberated from their attackers lay useless a couple yards from his feet. Sharpe swung around enough for Vincent to see Melody held tight to his chest, the cold metal of his gun pressed to her temple. She didn’t make a sound, but there was no ignoring the bright trails of tears streaking her face.

Vincent growled, low and long, his teeth bared.

“Call your dog off,” Sharpe said.

His growl escalated into a snarl, but Brian cried out, “Vincent, please!”

Sharpe bore his own teeth in a cruel grin. “Vincent. It has a name. How charming. Do you pay him, or does he go to whoever feeds him the tastiest treats? I can do both, you know, Vincent. Give you all the lovely, little morsels you could want. Maybe starting with this one’s little sister?”

Melody whimpered as Sharpe caressed her head with the tip of the gun.

A roar rose up out of his chest, but Vincent choked it back, fought back the darkness threatening to overcome sense and compassion. He willed himself to total silence, down even to the low rumble deep in his chest.

Sharpe mistook this sudden silence for interest in his offer. His grin widened. “Likes the kiddies, does he? We have something in common. Maybe I’ve made a new friend. What do you say, new friend?”

Vincent moved a step forward, his mind working in every direction to see what advantage he could gain from Sharpe’s misunderstanding.

But Sharpe jerked back and leveled the gun at Vincent’s head. “No, no, no, my vicious friend. You have to prove your loyalty first. Take care of the dame for me, and I’ll not only let you live, but I’ll let you choose your prize, too. Leave me Kessler, though, I need him alive a bit longer, I’m afraid.”

Disgust and rage threatened to engulf him, but Vincent forced order into his thoughts. He looked at Jacqueline and Brian and Andrea. At least the gun was no longer on Melody; that was an improvement. If he played along and got himself between Sharpe and the other three, he could try to draw fire long enough for them to get away, but that did nothing for Melody. Unless he could get close enough to surprise Sharpe with a lunge, giving Brian and Jacqueline time to act, time to get to the gun on the floor? It was beyond risky, but refusing the offer outright had only one certain ending.

So he edged toward the other three, and subtly toward Sharpe, as well, his mind examining and reexamining the situation with every breath he drew, searching for anything he could use. Perhaps in “attacking” Jacqueline he could throw her down close to the gun on the floor.

“What’s he doing?” Brian asked. “Jackie, what’s he doing?”

Sharpe looked absolutely delighted at the uncertainty in Brian’s voice, and Vincent had to look away from that sickening glee. He looked at Melody instead. He looked her in the eye, willing her to understand that he was still on her side. As terrified as she still appeared, some of the outright panic had dissolved as her mind came to terms with the situation, and she stared back lucidly, if not necessarily comprehendingly. Her eyes flicked to the gun and back to Vincent.

“Mm, perhaps you’ve already chosen your prize,” Sharpe said, his tone just as full of white, gleaming teeth as his self-satisfied grin. He lifted his hand off Melody’s shoulder, still pinning her with his elbow and forearm, to stroke her cheek with his fingertips.

She winced, and Vincent stopped moving, every muscle in him taut against the need to scream his fury and rush into battle. Melody met his gaze for a bare second, and it was all the warning he got before she shifted her face forward an inch and sank her teeth down into the tender flesh between Sharpe’s thumb and index finger, clenching her jaw until drops of blood left red trails over the back of his hand. He screamed, and the gun went off, but the bullet flew into the ceiling.

Vincent was already surging forward, his suppressed roar exploding out of him to fill the room with rage incarnate, when Melody grabbed Sharpe’s dominant wrist with both hands, forcing the gun upwards. The struggle between man and girl was brief, and with a couple of solid blows to her head, Melody sank to the ground, but Vincent was there by then. He grabbed Sharpe’s wrist in his much more powerful hand and swiped at his face, opening three long gashes. He tightened his fingers around Sharpe’s wrist and twisted, first until the gun fell to the ground, and then until the whole man gasped and dropped to his knees.

With his breath coming in harsh gusts, Vincent pushed back against the darkness, keeping it only just in check as he cocked his head to watch Sharpe writhe and moan at every little pressure applied to his wrist. How strange, that the flexing of Vincent’s fingers, the slight shifting of his shoulder, had this dangerous man helpless on his knees. Vincent understood what this man was; he haunted the nightmares of so many children brought Below, walked as a phantom over the shoulders of broken men and women. The way he had held Melody, stroked her head, grinned to taste such vile words—Sharpe cried out then, harsh and pitiful, and Vincent realized he must have clenched his hand tighter. What power he had, to determine the fates of men.

No. Awareness flooded back into him, and he nearly dropped Sharpe completely, stunned to realize how quickly and effortlessly he’d descended. No more blood, he had promised himself. He promised it to himself again, and after a pair of steadying breaths to ensure that he held himself firmly in line, he hammered his free hand against Sharpe’s jaw and released the limp body to the floor.

 “Mel? Here, baby, it’s Daddy. Look at me, baby. That’s right. Good girl.”

Vincent looked down to where Brian cradled his daughter’s face in his hands, his brown eyes bright with unshed tears. Melody groaned and shifted, but she had no words, and her movements looked uncoordinated. Vincent knelt at her other side as Brian helped her sit up. Jacqueline stood clutching Andrea a few feet away.  When Melody blinked and stared around, Vincent saw Sharpe’s blood smeared across her mouth, and the darkness nearly welled up in him with new life, but he swallowed it back without a sound.

“Mel?” Brian said, his face only inches from hers. “Mel, talk to me, baby. Please. Are you all right?”

She hesitated, but then nodded a little, much to everyone’s relief. She opened and closed her mouth, tasting, her eyes confused.

Brian helped her lean forward. “Spit, baby. Spit it out.”

Comprehension settled in her, and she lurched forward on hands and knees to spit and wretch. Brian’s hands moved through her hair, over her back, down to grasp her fingers, a steady stream of reassurance and love dropping from his mouth. When she started to fold in on herself, trembling, Brian tucked her in against his chest and let her sob. He used his sleeve to wipe at the dark stain on her lips before settling in to rock her back and forth.

When her sobs began to ease, Vincent spoke. “We can’t linger here.”

Brian nodded. Melody turned in his grasp to stare at Vincent, uncertainty in her gaze.

“You were very brave,” Vincent told her, and she rewarded him with a weak, watery smile. “Can you stand?”

Brian helped her up, but she was unsteady on her feet.

Vincent stood as well. “We need to get her to Father, quickly.”

“It’s a long way,” Jacqueline. “We’ll have to carry them.”

Melody’s face was pale and drawn, a painful contrast to the stubborn red stain on her lips, and Andrea seemed to have shut down completely, awake at all only because of adrenaline, and only on her feet by her white-knuckled grip on Jacqueline’s blouse.

“I can take Melody,” Vincent said. “I’ll make sure she stays awake until Father can have a look at her.”

Brian looked at Vincent with evident distrust, but the logic was inescapably simple; the bigger man would more easily carry the bigger child, and Brian himself wasn’t faring well with the strains of the day, or of the last weeks.

Vincent leaned down  closer to Melody’s height, finding her gaze to be lucid, if pained and exhausted. He regarded her with perfect solemnity. “Would you allow me to carry you Below, m’lady?”

She offered him the barest of smiles with her nod, and he treasured it as a triumph. He turned and knelt down to let her fasten her arms around his neck and her knees around his waist. But when he stood, Brian hadn’t moved. He stood in place, staring at the prone form of their tormentor on the floor.

“I could finish this,” he said. His face hardened. “I should.” He reached down for the gun, but Vincent stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“No,” Vincent said.

Brian turned on him, threw his hand off. “No? Why not? He killed my wife. He would have killed all of us. My Mel…”

“There has been enough death,” Vincent said firmly.

Brian turned back toward the gun with a belligerent set of his jaw, but Vincent grabbed his arm, this time with unyielding force. “No,” he said again. “It will bring you no peace.”

“Yeah? What the hell do you—?” but he cut himself off as the force of Vincent’s sorrowful gaze penetrated the haze of fear and grief and vengeance in his eyes.

“Can’t we just go?” Melody asked into her father’s long silence. “Please?”

Brian stared at his eldest daughter, then his youngest, before nodding. In silence, he gathered Andrea from Jacqueline and hoisted the girl up on his back. Without a further word, Vincent led the way Below.

For No Miser's Sake - Part X