Crossed wires

Basement – That Evening

"Only if I could've torn that feeling out of my chest back then..."

David's voice trailed off.

"David."

He didn't answer.

"David."

"What?"

"I've been calling your name for five minutes. Where the hell did you drift off to?"

"Nowhere," he muttered. "What do you want?"

Victoria grinned, her wrists still bound, though one of them noticeably loose now. "You stopped at the part where David's mother gave birth. What happened after that? My curiosity is killing me."

"I'm not telling you."

"Come on, please."

He smirked. "I found a new way to torture you. Your curiosity is far more effective than fire."

She groaned. "You're insufferable."

"You're unbearable."

"No, you're the one who's unbearable."

"You are the most irritating creature in human history."

"Hey," came a third voice, tired and mildly amused. "If anyone's annoying here, it's both of you. Shut up."

Vincent strolled in, barefoot, his shirt hanging halfway off one shoulder.

"David. I'm starving. Make food."

"I'm hungry too," Victoria chimed in.

David stared at them with flat disdain. "Do I look like your damn cook? If you're so hungry, make your own poison. I'm going upstairs."

He turned toward the stairs, but Vincent called after him in a pitiful, high-pitched whine.

"Daaaavid. My dearest big brother. My only friend. My last remaining sanity on this garbage planet. Don't you feel the slightest compassion watching your poor little Vincent wither away in hunger? I've suffered so much for you, I'd do the most degrading things in the world just to make you smile. Don't I at least deserve a sandwich?"

He made the saddest puppy face imaginable.

Victoria joined in, mimicking the same exaggerated expression.

"Yeah! Make some for me too, mighty chef of our hearts."

David squinted at both of them. "Has anyone ever told you how disgusting you two look when you do that? That's not emotional manipulation, that's biohazard."

"Pleaseeee~" they whined in unison.

He sighed loudly. "Fine. Only because I'm hungry too. And because the idea of eating your food makes me genuinely fear for my life."

"Yaaaay~!"

Their triumphant cheer was so ridiculous it made something twitch on David's normally deadpan face.

A smile.

Just a small one.

Click.

The sound snapped through the air like a trap springing.

David froze and turned toward the source.

Victoria was holding her phone with one free hand, smirking devilishly. The cuff on her right wrist had clearly been undone for some time.

"Victoria," David said, voice dangerously low. "What. Are you. Doing?"

She grinned. "Capturing a national treasure. I finally got photographic evidence that David 'I-Have-No-Soul' smiles."

"Vicky, send that to me!" Vincent chirped.

"Nope," she replied smugly. "I risked my life for this shot. It has value. Make me an offer."

As they bickered, David stormed over, grabbed the phone from her hand, and smashed it against the wall with one clean motion.

"HEY!" they both yelled.

"That was my masterpiece!" Victoria screamed.

"You deserve that," David growled. "Stop pointing things at me."

Vincent pouted. "You're such a killjoy."

"I'm not your entertainment."

"You literally are."

David rolled his eyes and started up the stairs.

Behind him, Victoria leaned closer to Vincent, whispered with a sly grin:

"He's a moron. I could've just restored the image from the deleted files."

Thunk.

David didn't even turn around. He simply threw the nearest heavy object back down at her. It smacked her squarely on the hand, sending her backup phone crashing to the floor. The screen shattered on impact.

"NOOOO—MY BABY!"

"You earned that," he muttered from the staircase.

Laughter echoed through the basement.

Then Victoria called out:

"David! At least undo the other cuffs. My wrists are starting to bruise."

"You already unshackled your right hand," he called back. "You could've taken them all off hours ago if you really wanted to."

There was a beat of silence. Then she shrugged.

"Where's the fun in that?"

Vincent chuckled. "She really might be crazier than you."

"Impossible," David muttered.

....

...

..

.

Upstairs 

Eventually, David gave in.

Muttering curses under his breath and threats that no one took seriously, he stomped up the creaking stairs and headed to the wrecked kitchen — cracked stove, busted cabinets, and bloodstains that never quite washed out.

Within twenty minutes, the air was thick with the scent of seared meat, charred butter, and spices that stung the nose. A pot bubbled with something deep red. Bread crisped in the oven — soaked in bone marrow and laced with black garlic. On the counter, a small dish of clotted blood glaze cooled next to roasted ribs still twitching from residual nerve sparks.

David plated the food — thick cuts of something dark, mashed roots stained with crimson broth, and steaming mugs of blood-spiced tea, black as tar.

He slammed everything onto the table like it had insulted him.

"There. Eat. Die. I don't care."

Vincent was already reaching.

Victoria circled the plate like a shark.

"You didn't poison this, right?" she said, sniffing it.

David sat down. "I considered it. But then I figured your own personality would do the job faster."

They ate.

For a few fleeting minutes, it was strangely calm.

Just chewing. Forks. Steam.

Then—

Splack.

A spoonful of bloody mash hit David square on the cheek.

He stopped. Very slowly, he turned his head.

Vincent sat there, eyes wide with fake innocence, his spoon still raised.

"Oh no," he said. "It slipped."

Victoria choked back laughter.

David wiped his cheek with slow, deliberate precision.

"You just signed your death warrant."

Vincent barely got up before the plate hit him in the chest — hard enough to splatter everything onto the wall.

He screamed, more dramatic than hurt. "Sociopath!"

Too late — David had already grabbed two more dishes and hurled them with surgical force.

One hit Victoria in the ribs; the other ricocheted off the corner of the table and nailed Vincent square in the forehead.

Victoria screamed and flung a bloody roast across the room.

Vincent used his empty plate as a shield, charging forward and smacking David in the shoulder.

David roared and kicked over a chair, grabbing the saucepot and launching its contents like napalm.

The three of them were laughing the entire time.

Sharp, loud, real laughter.

Vincent dodged a knife, ducked under a tray, and threw mashed roots at Victoria's back.

Victoria spun and hurled her mug — the tea hit the wall with a hiss.

David tackled her, smeared red sauce into her face, and she shrieked with glee.

The kitchen turned into a blood-slick battlefield.

Plates shattered. Forks embedded in cabinets. A loaf of bone bread hit the ceiling and stuck there.

David was laughing. Gasping. Eyes gleaming.

His voice broke with it 

Vincent was on the floor, clutching his stomach, wheezing.

Victoria had sauce in her hair and a grin that stretched too wide for her face.

They collapsed in a heap — sticky, bruised, soaked in grease and blood and broth.

For a moment, it was quiet again.

Just breathless grins and the sound of dripping gravy from the ceiling.

Then Vincent raised a lazy hand toward Victoria.

"Pay up."

She blinked. "What?"

"The bet. You said he wouldn't laugh again. That he was 'emotionally fossilized.' I said you were full of shit."

"Oh come on—"

"Ten bucks. Cough it up."

Victoria groaned, fished a greasy bill from her pocket, and shoved it into his hand.

David, slumped against the wall, looked between them.

"You idiots were betting on my laugh?"

"Of course," Vincent said proudly. "Worth every cent."

Victoria grinned through bloodied teeth. "Best ten dollars I ever lost."

They laughed like children, unaware that this might be the last time they ever laughed and this kind of happiness never last long 

...

..

.

After the Chaos

They had scattered.

Victoria had climbed to the rooftop for a cigarette.

Vincent lay sprawled across the couch, laughing quietly at something on his phone.

And David… remained alone in the kitchen.

The walls were painted with sauce, blood, and sticky footprints.

David stood at the sink.

He turned the tap.

Cold water hissed out with a thin, metallic groan.

He held his hands beneath it. The red sauce slid slowly from his fingers, trailing down into the drain like opened veins.

He stared.

Then lifted his gaze to the mirror above the sink.

The glass was fogged and cracked — but through the mist, he saw a face.

Not his now.

Smaller. Younger.

A child's reflection, pale and hollow-eyed, staring back.

His eyes closed.

And the sound came first.

Laughter.

Then—

Shattering glass.

And then—

A child crying.

His eyes snapped open.

The room was the same.

The kitchen hadn't changed.

But something in him had shifted.

He reached with a trembling hand and shut off the tap.

The water stopped.

But the sound didn't.

"You're a monster! Get away!"

"Why—why did you do that?"

"I hate you—don't touch me!"

"i should have believed them , you are a monster and you can never changes"

"It hurts, David… it hurts…"

" Make them stop .... please "

"You promised you'd protect me."

" Even in my next life I will still hate you"

" I will keep cursing you forever"

His shoulders tensed.

His hands gripped the edge of the sink until his knuckles turned white.

Then—softly, brokenly:

"Caroline… I'm sorry"

Vincent was standing by the doorway 

He didn't say a word 

Just watching with something in his eyes 

..

.

Early Evening

The wind had picked up, rustling the dead branches outside the decrepit house.

A car door slammed. Footsteps approached the porch.

Then — three sharp knocks on the front door.

No answer.

The woman standing there adjusted her glasses, her coat flapping in the wind.

She knocked again, firmer this time.

"Hello?" she called out, her voice professional but tinged with irritation.

"This is Miss Holloway from the college. I'm here about Vincent… and David. They've both been absent for far too long."

She was about to knock a third time when—

Click.

The door creaked open.

Standing there was Vincent.

Hair messy, shirt half-buttoned, eyes glittering with something that didn't quite resemble politeness.

He smiled ,slow, wolfish.

"Miss Holloway," he said, voice velvet and shadow.

"What a… surprise."

She blinked, taken aback.

"Vincent. I was just—"

"Yes, yes. Concerned .Wonderful of you to care."

He stepped aside, gesturing inside with a flourish far too theatrical for comfort.

"Please. Come in. I'm sure David

will be thrilled to see you. He's… been in need of a distraction."

And as she crossed the threshold, unaware of the jaws she'd just walked into, Vincent closed the door behind her.

That dangerous smile still stretched across his lips.

Tonight, it seemed, would be interesting.

It turned out that the day from the very beginning was exciting.

.