Through The Fractured Lens

Dante Vitali

11 years ago

I walk down the empty hallway, inspecting the two freshly cleaned bedrooms we had just prepared. We we're fostering two children, one boy, one girl, exactly as planned. Everything was coming along perfectly, and our plans would be underway shortly.

The girl, Veyra, is set to arrive today. Lucian, tomorrow. I continue walking down the hallway, thinking about everything that's lead up to this moment—ensuring that there's nothing we missed.

I pause at the sight of the room at the end of the hallway, what was soon to be Veyra's room. I ran my fingers along the freshly painted doorframe. The soft lavender walls seem to glow in the afternoon light, a stark contrast to the utilitarian nature of our true purpose.

I've arranged a small desk by the window, imagining her sitting there, unaware of the role she's destined to play.

***

I head back over to the dining room, where my wife, Isabella, sat. I walked up and promptly took a seat next to her. I rested my hand on her back, softly rubbing it, as it was quite clear she was stressed about the upcoming events.

I sat up for just a second to pour us some drinks. While I wasn't really in the mood for one, I could tell she needed it, and I totally understood.

I felt the tension building, so I was quick to break it. "It will all go as planned, don't worry."

She took a second to look at me. "Are you sure?" she replied.

"Of course, and in a year from now, we will be drowning in riches." I said, trying to hide the clear fact that I was anxious myself. This was a big moment, it had to go perfectly.

Isabella's face began glowing with joy. "These brats will finally be of use—for our future."

I nodded, a thin smile spreading across my face. "For our future," I echoed, raising my glass in a mock toast.

As we clinked glasses, the doorbell chimed. Isabella and I exchanged glances, a mix of anticipation and apprehension flickering between us. This was it—the moment we'd been meticulously planning for months.

I stood, smoothing down my shirt and plastering on my most welcoming smile. "Showtime," I murmured, heading towards the front door.

Opening it, I was greeted by a social worker, her hand on the shoulder of a small, dark-haired girl. Veyra. Her gray-green eyes darted around, taking in every detail of her new surroundings with a wariness that belied her young age.

"Welcome, welcome!" I exclaimed, ushering them inside. "We're so excited to meet you, Veyra, truly."

I stepped aside, allowing the social worker and Veyra to enter. The girl's eyes continued to scan the entryway, her small frame tense as if ready to bolt at any moment. Her worn backpack hung from one shoulder, clutched tightly against her side like a shield.

Isabella appeared behind me, her face a mask of motherly concern. "Oh, sweetheart," she cooed, crouching down to Veyra's level. "We're so happy you're here. Would you like to see your new room?"

Veyra nodded silently, her gaze now fixed on Isabella with an intensity that was almost unnerving. I suppressed a shiver, reminding myself that this was all part of the plan.

As Isabella led Veyra upstairs, I turned to the social worker with a practiced smile. "She seems like a wonderful child," I said warmly to the social worker. "We're so grateful for this opportunity to provide her a loving home."

The social worker nodded, her expression a mix of hope and weary skepticism. I'd seen that look before—the face of someone who wanted to believe in happy endings but had been disappointed too many times.

"Veyra's had a difficulty journey," she said quietly. "She'll need patience and understanding."

I nodded solemnly. "Of course. We're prepared for any challenges that may arise."

The lies flowed easily from my lips, each word carefully chosen to paint the picture of devoted foster parents. As I continued to reassure the social worker, I could hear Isabella's voice drifting down from the hallway, showing Veyra around her new room.

***

As the social worker's car pulled away, I closed the front door and leaned against it, letting out a long breath. I could still hear Isabella's voice, still talking to Veyra in that sickly-sweet tone she reserved for outsiders.

I made my way to the kitchen, pouring myself another drink. The weight of what we were about to do settled over me like a shroud.

It wasn't guilt—no, we'd moved far beyond that—but the gravity of the task ahead.

Footsteps on the stairs made me look up. Isabella entered, her face flushed with exertion or excitement, I couldn't tell which.

"She's unpacking," Isabella said, her voice low. "Barely said a word."

I nodded, unsurprised. "Good. The quieter, the better."

Isabella's eyes gleamed with a mixture of anticipation and something darker. "She's perfect," she whispered, moving closer to me.

"So vulnerable, so desperate for affection. It will be almost too easy."

I felt a flicker of unease at her words, but quickly pushed it aside. We had come too far to second-guess ourselves now.

"And Lucian arrives tomorrow," I reminded her. "Then the real work begins."

Isabella nodded, her fingers drumming restlessly on the kitchen counter. "Do you think they'll bond quickly? That's crucial for this to work."

I took another sip of my drink, considering. "Hard to say. Lucian's file suggests he's not one to form attachments easily. But Veyra… there's something about her," I paused for a moment.

"I think she might be able to get through to him." I finally finished, finding the right words.

Isabella's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "We'll have to encourage their connection subtly—create situations where they rely on each other."

I nodded, already formulating plans. "Getting them to spend as much time together is key."

"And once they form that bond…" Isabella's voice trailed off, a cruel smile playing at the corners of her mouth, knowing what she was thinking.

I finished her thought. "Once they're attached, we can use that against them."

A soft creak from down the hall made us both freeze. We waited, listening intently, but no further sounds followed. Still, it was a reminder of the delicate game we were playing.

"We need to be careful," I whispered. "These kids have been through the system."

"Actually," Isabella began. "It will Lucian's first foster home. We can use that to our advantage."

"You're right. Veyra has been through many though, so being cautious around her will still be quite important in the end." I replied.

I drained the last of my drink, feeling the burn of alcohol in my throat. "It's a delicate balance. Push too hard, and they'll shut down. Not hard enough, and we risk losing control."

We lapsed into silence, each lost in our own thoughts. The weight hung heavy in the air between us.

Suddenly, a soft sob echoed from the hallway. Isabella and I exchanged glances, a flicker of something—perhaps remnants of conscience—passing between us.

"I'll go," Isabella said after a moment's hesitation. She smoothed her hair and adjusted her expression into one of maternal concern before heading down the hall.

***

As the peak of the night approached, I prepared to go to sleep. It had been a long day, but after Veyra began to adjust a bit, we had dinner with her. We played everything normally, for now at least.

We needed to hold our relationship with Veyra well until Lucian gets here—then we can actually start putting everything in motion.

I slump into the bed, pulling the blankets over me, ready to begin tomorrow. I lay awake for hours, my mind racing with thoughts of tomorrow's arrival. Lucian. The final piece of our intricate puzzle. As I stared at the ceiling, I could hear Isabella's steady breathing beside me, but sleep eluded me.

In the quiet of the night, doubt began to creep in. We had planned for every contingency, anticipated every possible complication, but these were children we were dealing with. Unpredictable.

I thought of Veyra, her watchful eyes taking in every detail of her new surroundings. There was an intelligence there, a wariness that spoke of past betrayals—would she prove to be more of a challenge than we anticipated?

Drifting asleep, my mind continued to race between all possibilities. Even if everything goes well, and they are out of our lives in a matter of a few years, would it eventually backfire?

Oh well, after were done, they'll be broken beyond repair—that is, if they've managed to live through it all. I guess only time will tell.

[ End Of Flashback ]

***

I kept my pace on the sidewalk, eager to see how Silas performs. He was quite the interesting one, however his reputation speaks volumes.

The rain starts suddenly, a torrential downpour that transforms the quiet street into a shimmering, watery landscape. I pull my coat tighter around me, quickening my steps as thin streams of water trickle down my face.

The rhythmic sound of my footsteps is muffled by the relentless patter of raindrops. It was almost calming, which helped cut out the thoughts pestering my mind. Mostly.

As I walk, puddles form rapidly, reflecting the stormy sky above like dark mirrors. Each splash beneath my feet sends up a spray of water, some even getting on my clothes—which was no worry to me at this moment, despite how much I tend to pride myself in appearance. 

After a long walk, I spot a shadow in the distance. There was no mistaking it—a man, about as tall as I was, with a cloak pulled over his head—looking downwards to the floor, but also aware of my presence it seems.

The man's head slowly lifts as I begin to approach him, revealing a face that was quite obscured by the shadows of his hood. His eyes, however—gleaming with intensity.

"Silas," I greet him, my voice barely a whisper in the loud rain.

Instead of replying, he stared at me intently, with those scarlet eyes beaming into my soul. That's when I had a slight realization—Silas reminded me of someone long ago, or, is this even Silas?

After taking a moment to think, I speak up. "Who are you, really?"

Once again, he doesn't speak. Instead, I hear a rattling coming from one of his sleeves. After a moment, a pendant leaks out of the end of the sleeve, just barely dangling out of his arm. The pendant shines in the moonlight—Lucian's pendant. I recognize it instantly.

"Lucian… surprised to see you still kicking—would've thought the malnourishment would send you to deaths door not long after you got the boot," I began, making sure to scan him intently.

"However, seems like you were able to put on a few pounds." I finally finished.

Finally, Silas—no, Lucian, spoke up. "You try to stay composed, but you thought you'd seem the last of me, didn't you, Dante?"

"I'll admit, I'm surprised," I said, forcing a sort of calm I didn't feel into my voice. "But I don't understand the purpose of you being here—seeking out an apology, maybe?"

Lucian took a step closer, and I could see his face more clearly now. The vulnerable boy I'd known years ago was gone. In his place stood a heartless man, one who's mind is already set. I stared deep into those scarlet eyes of his, that faintly glowed in the peak of the night, and it instantly took me back to that day. The day where Lucian was at my front door.

***

11 years ago

It was finally the big day—Lucian was arriving. His arrival had been delayed by a few days, but it was not much of a big deal. A few days meant nothing in the years to come.

'The boy should be here any moment, I am quite excited myself.' Isabella mumbled, clearly tired.

I was also tired, so I couldn't exactly blame her. I gave her an understanding nod as I leaned back on the couch, resting my eyes as I try to pass the time.

The doorbell chimed, jolting me upwards from my state of drowsiness. Isabella and I exchanged a quick glance, and she got up to answer it. As she opened the door, I was greeted by the sight of a police officer—his hand on the back of a young boy with scarlet eyes.

Lucian stood before Isabella, his posture shaky with downcast eyes. Even at first glance, there was something quite unsettling about him. His gaze, when he finally looked up, held such a depth that was years beyond him.

I got up myself, walking over to the door—more curious about getting a better look at Lucian. Isabella finally spoke. "So sorry to keep you waiting, I hadn't expected your arrival so early!"

I kept my distance, too tired to engage in much conversation. I was preparing to return back to the couch, but I noticed Lucian's eyes. He hadn't noticed me—more likely I wouldn't introduce myself for a bit. However, I noticed him, and I noticed those eyes of his. I stared deep into them, and for some reason—felt fear.

[ End Of Flashback ]

***

I flashed back to the present, intently staring at Lucian's scarlet eyes glistening in the night, as he stood in front of me, pendant still dripping out from his sleeve. His face was expressionless, but spoke volumes.

He took another step closer, and I instinctively stepped back, my heart racing. The boy I had manipulated and broken was gone, replaced by something far more dangerous.

"Why are you here, Lucian?" I asked.

"To kill the person that ruined everything I had." Lucian replied, after a long snap of silence.

As he spoke, the air around us seemed to grow colder, as the rain kept pouring down hard. The pendant swinging from his sleeve began to glow faintly, before he pulled it back up.

I knew there wasn't time to converse, and I wasn't going to be stupid enough to let this brat try to kill me—or even get away with it. I quickly took another step back and pulled out two twin daggers. I spun them around my hand until finding the perfect grip, and clenched down on the handle.

"You brat—seems like you gained an attitude. I should've killed you back then, after Veyra killed herself. No loose ends, y'know?" I retorted, attempting to hide the anxiety inside of me.

Lucian face still remained as expressionless as before, but it was obvious anger boiled up inside of him. "Don't speak to me like you know anything about me—you never did, and you never will."

After a moment, Lucian vanished. I stood aware, taking in all my surroundings. He won't be dumb enough to instantly strike me, would he?

***

Lucian

I dash away into the surrounding shadows, masking my presence the best I could. I had to play my cards right. Despite my anger, if I was too greedy, I would be the one dying tonight.

I quickly rush into a close alley, jumping on to the dumpster and onto the ledge of a window, using it to boost myself up on the roof. I began sprinting back towards Dante, fully aware that he has not moved an inch. He wouldn't make the first move, which was smart of him. He had no insight to my location or fighting style, but I did—which left him disadvantaged.

I jumped from following rooftops, gaining back the distance I had quickly passed. I had to take my time, ensure that he couldn't see me coming, and strike when I had the right chance.

As I passed over many buildings, I finally regained sight of him. He hadn't noticed me, for now. As predicted, he was just standing there completely still.

I came to a grinding halt, taking a deep breath along with it. After a moment, I pull my blade out of its sheathe—it's nonexistent conscious yearning for blood. Tonight was the night I'd painfully waited for—for years, over a decade, actually.

I've sacrificed what little I had left to put myself in this position. I gripped the handle tightly, and sprinted towards the edge of building, making no effort to keep myself hidden any longer.

As I reach the edge, Dante's gaze shifted to me. He had noticed me, but it was too late. I had already put myself in the position I had planned for, and it was all about execution now.

After increasing my pace to a bolting sprint, I leap out and into the air, spinning slightly to face him—the moonlight burning into my back as I leap forward at Dante, focusing all my energy into a devastating initial strike.

I made impact just before the tip of one of Dante's twin daggers, slashing my blade through the air towards the side of his chest. He had saw the attack coming, and dodged with minimal effort.

While his reaction speeds had surprised me, I had prepared for it, and a lot more. Dante drifts back over to me, before twirling around and hurling one of his daggers at my face as the sound of lightning struck.

I twisted my body, narrowly avoiding the dagger as it whistled past my ear. I regained my footing in a matter of moments, and before he could react to my movement, I was already behind him. I dragged my blade through the wind, slashing into his side. While he was quick to react, I managed to draw blood.

"You've learned a few tricks," Dante sneered, his remaining dagger being gripped firmly in his right hand. "But you're still that same weak, pathetic child inside. You just had enough strength to last longer than that scrawny girl."

His words fueled the already boiled up anger inside of me, but with a bit of effort, I was able to force it down. Emotions clouding my judgement was something I simply couldn't afford to fall victim to.

I lunged forward once again, this time feinting to the left before pivoting myself to the right. Dante brought his dagger up to parry my strike, and the clash of metal rang out amongst the quiet city in the night.

We exchanged blows, each resulting in minimal effect. I leaped backwards, attempting to regain my posture. Dante pulled the dagger he initially threw out of the wall it carved itself into before sprinting directly at me.

While experience, it was obvious Dante lacked the movement to keep up with me. While he did make up for it with his excellent swordsmanship, honed through the decades of his years, it was a disadvantage that I could exploit.

I continued to provide him with a series of predictable strikes, attempting to better gauge the way he reacts to everything. After a few minutes of a constant equal exchange, I finally figured out how to come out victorious here. 

Dante understood his movement was simply lacking in comparison. He attempted to compensate this by constantly repositioning himself to the side, attempting to trip me up for an easy blow.

He did manage to get a few hits, causing me to bleed. However it was all very minor, and it would pay off very soon.

While effective, when facing someone who could actually keep up for this long, it soon became an easy flaw to exploit. I took advantage of the surroundings—swiftly climbing up onto a lamp post before boosting myself off of it to strike.

Dante parried the incoming strike, before shifting to his left, as predicted. Instead of attempting to counter with another parry, I slid forward, creeping up on his blind spot as he was in the midst of swinging one of his daggers.

A worried expression plunged Dante's dripping wet face as he understood his fatal mistake. But it was too late.

My blade found its mark, plunging deep into his side. Dante let out a choked gasp, his dagger clattering to the wet pavement. He started to lose his balance as he clamped his hand against the wound—blood seeping between the cracks of his fingers.

Dante coughed up blood uncontrollably. "You…" he wheezed, his eyes meeting mine. "How…?"

His legs finally gave out as he fell down to the floor, splashing in the puddles on the street. The endless pour of blood began washing around on the street as its pierced with the pouring rain.

I stood just before him, staring down at his body as it slowly loses its life.

"I found a reason to live. That reason was you."

It was the truth, it was the reason. That was probably quite obvious to him now, but it felt good actually getting to speak about it.

After all, nobody would really understand my situation, would they.

I watched as Dante breathed his last breath, his lifeless body laying on the street, blood still running down with the flowing water.

After a moment of silence—most needed, after all, I've done what I've wanted to do this entire time. My only motivation to keep going in this hellish existence.

However, even after all this, it felt… underwhelming. I would've thought I'd felt some sort of joy, fulfillment, but I didn't feel any of that, I didn't feel anything at all.

There was no more meaning to my already dull life, and my thoughts scrambled.

I was never blessed with this life, no—I was cursed with it.