Dependance

The soft and foreboding plods of Nike trainers echoed in the shop. The trainers that he had worn since before Lorna could remember, moth bitten shoelaces, soles becoming unhinged from the rest and about as filthy as a stuntman’s armpits.

Vincent kept a watchful eye out, shifting his gaze rapidly and silently here and there in case of a surprise attack. His hand was still on Lorna’s wrist, and she in return gripped his; her eyes were now open and staring around as if she were a cautious owl.

“Where did that bitch get to…” was the angered mutter that met the pair’s ears. Lorna quietly changed from sitting on her backside to kneeling as she peered over the ledge to see her father poking at the mechanical puppies. He raised en eyebrow.

“What the fuck is this place?”

Lorna shifted back to her original position on the floor, taking a moment to notice how her legs had abruptly been laden in dust and some old and used skins of deceased insects. The tip of her converse kicked at the counter by accident.

A sudden shuffle of her dad’s trainers met her eardrums, and Lorna opened her mouth in horror. Vincent kept where he was, tensed up. A horrible silence then engulfed them, prey to the mouth of a monster.

A sudden metallic song of a blade unsheathing made Lorna’s grip on Vincent tighten. Before both of them knew what happened, a ‘clunk’ sounded and a dagger was lodged in the wall above them. It was the same one that her dad used to play darts back home. Lorna screamed. She let go of Vincent and balled her hands into fists, holding them on either side of her head.

Vincent reached up swiftly and yanked the blade out of the wall, holding it poised before him as he crouched. Her father was chuckling in a mad way, the noise coming closer as he did so.

Then his head was visible over the top of the counter. Mud and grease gleamed wherever the light hit him, like he had not washed in who knows how long. Lorna felt she was back in that pit of rotting carcasses. He scrutinized them both, his face not giving away anything. His blackened eyes held something sinister and psychotic. Then he spoke.

“You left me, your caring father…to elope with a circus freak?” He bellowed, rotting teeth bared to the world as he snarled. Lorna did not dare answer for fear of provoking a bad reaction. Vincent stared at Lorna’s dad, not blinking; if he dared move…he would know the meaning of abuse!

“Well, I just asked you a question! Answer!” With that another dagger was revealed from his patched coat pocket. He definitely came prepared in case he caught up with his daughter. He lunged forward. Vincent dodged the blow, backing up in front of Lorna then standing up to get a better aim. Lorna’s father brought his arm down, trying to attack. Vincent’s unoccupied hand flung up to grip the man’s arm, holding the blade away from his face. He turned his head to look at Lorna.

“Go!” Came his hoarse unused voice, deep and commanding. “The house!” Lorna nodded, a ‘thank-you’ sparkling in her brown eyes. Scrambling up, and scattering dust about, the girl jumped over the counter top and raced out of the pet shop. The House? There were lots of houses in this town! Maybe he meant the one he got the food from before, the building that was unharmed by the previous catastrophe. It made sense. Sprinting for the house on the edge of the town, Lorna hoped that Vincent could hold off her father.

Vincent jolted in pain. The blade had shot to his shoulder, tearing the skin there to form a gash. Hissing, he shoved the pain away from his mind. Retaliating - Vincent jabbed at the male, but causing only a slight cut to his cheek. Taking another swing, Vincent then managed to embed the dagger in the man’s thigh. Blood first rushed down his opponents leg and pooled at his feet, then slowing to a crimson ooze. Clenching his teeth in agony, Lorna’s father let out a long mantra of curses then sent a death glare in Vincent’s direction.

“You deformed bastard!” He screeched, pulling the dagger free from his bleeding leg with a sickening squishy sound. With an unexpected shove, Vincent was sent sprawling through the shop window. The glass shattered on impact, flying to the ground in twinkling noises, while the long haired male landed with a dull thud that wrenched his already wounded back with pain. Yet he got up. He was not going to fall before a filthy excuse for a parent!

Standing calmly and readily, Vincent looked to Lorna’s father, who was panting. He was tired. Sending a weary yet hateful glance at Vincent, the male limped forwards. But instead of opposing the disfigured man, he hobbled to his Cadillac and got in. Winding down the window, he said, “I’ll be back for my daughter, One Eye.”