lostvincentdiaries - Tumblr blog

lostvincentdiaries · 8 years

Text

Sept 23rd, 2010/2

And I know it’s Valentine’s Day and all but, to be honest, out of all the holidays of the year it’s definitely the most cruel. And the most unfair ridiculous. What a better way to highlight the reasons why a person is alone then to paint everything in Red and Pink? After all, what better way to be romantic then to have it on a calendar versus any other day of the year via chocolates re-wrapped from Halloween right?

All right, cynical maybe, but true. It’s almost worse than Christmas without gifts when you don’t have anyone to share it with. Yet there I was, blushing over a scarf like a thirteen year old who just had his first kiss. Because for the first time in almost a decade I felt...I don’t know, like I had someone to maybe share it with. Or at the very least, someone to talk to. At least as far as I could as a “regular person”.

But that’s also what it came down to in the end; the question of what we were. Angela came, day after day, simply to walk circles around the park until one of us had to go (her to a job and me to...a warehouse) while bracing the cold city days. She even *made* me something in her spare time. And regardless of the purpose of it, what did I have to offer her in return?

Jack squat. Naturally. Deceased kind of negates the possibility of collecting unemployment, and I mooch off of JT enough. There was no way for me to walk up to him directly on this, and I’m not so low as to steal from him either. I could have gone the can route again, but that may have taken me months when I had mere hours if I was going to pull anything off. Plus, being the hardhead I am the concept of reciprocating her gift with one of my own never even occurred to me until JT said anything about the day of.

I blame lack of practice in the field.

And so Angela had made me that scarf--it didn’t mean that any actual feelings came with it. It didn’t mean she liked me. None of our conversations had even gone in that direction, so realistically I could have played it aloof like every other regular guy. Saved myself the pressure and the stress as I stayed up nearly all night brainstorming.

Except...well, I didn’t want to.

Yes, we never said anything, but I knew by the way she her heart jumped up a little when either of us showed up that her feelings weren’t just platonic. The way her cheeks lit up a bit more than from just the cold underneath her freckles, and how contagious her smile could be.

And I liked her. Angie was funny and...different I guess. Whenever I spewed one of my many tales of Chuck Wallace, or when I was just mixing it in with myself, I never felt ignored or boring. Then whenever she’s look at me it was almost never at my scar, she never even asked about it.

But there was still the possibility that a scarf made was just that--a scarf--and suddenly my palms began to sweat, because rather than just a present I was playing a game of risk. Risk misreading the signs and tip my hand, or risk ignoring them and be an ass. Never mind the fact that I was already President of the Guild For Pathological Liars, New York region. Or that I didn’t have more than twenty bucks to kick around, the majority of it being in spare change.

I wanted to avoid showing up empty handed, if only to avoid seeing the disappointment in her eyes...but, what was there? Because short of a used can of men’s shaving cream and a bag of cotton balls, my best option was one of those half stuffed clearance hug me bears from the drug store at 5am. --At least the shaving cream and cottons swabs would have been useful and only slightly less desperate, but no. It had to be something different. However other than Angela’s one hobby, I knew next to nothing about her actual interests. I knew next to nothing about her at all, which was only fair in trade for what she thought she knew about me.

Ironically the best consultant for potentially benign gifts in moments like these sat two feet across from me fighting over the duck sauce, but while I was forcing down spring rolls and fried rice he had no clue as to my onrushing tsunami of relationship anxieties. Which, thanks to him, had been nothing more than a simple scarf a mere few hours before.

I couldn’t help but feel like it had suddenly become some type of knitted noose, snaking its way and choking me as I struggled to swallow my fried rice.

And some say Christmas Eve shopping is brutal.

Because, after all, what did Angela and I have in common to find some sort of temporary middle ground to walk on? Besides actually walking? Teasing her car horn style sneezing didn’t count. Especially when her hats would jump up over her ears when she did.

Whatever it was, I hadn’t quite figured it out yet even as I found myself touring the projects near dawn for any Mom and Pop shops that didn’t carry security cameras.

The second half was a bust, but what can you expect from seasoned New Yorkers? Not taking the precautions against the desperate streetwalkers of the city was like asking for trouble. Like me.

Because even when I found one that caught my eye, I also caught the little red light blinking beneath the lense pointed to the cashier.

Which is why I may or may not also have caused the paperboy passing me to wet his pants when I nearly unseated him mid-route.

“Hey kid, wanna make an extra ten bucks?”

Not that I blame him, but the first words out of his mouth would have gotten me bar of soap in mine for breakfast. But the wave of a Hamilton and a Lincoln had his attention.

Another reminder of my ties as Vincent Keller? Having to stand outside, waiting for a solid half hour while the boy paroused the shop for what he deemed to be the right choice. Personally I think it was to spite me. And not just because there was no easy back exit to disappear out of. At least not while I silently held his bike for collateral.

But then finally, after all that, he finally came out with a crinkling bulb of bagged water in his fist. I had to practically snatch it away and give him the last of my money before anything else could make the exchange any more conspicuous. Fortunately the worst I got after that was a weirdo shout out from a block away as he sped off.

Sure I kind of felt had by the bully in the lunchroom--kids today are bigger cons than we were growing up. But hey, desperate times call for desperate measures. And by then time was of the essence because thanks to his dawdling I was the one who was cutting it close.

I could have made it there faster if I’d blurred--crawled up the alley walls and hopped from roof to roof as close as I could until blending in with the crowd. But not that day, not with the frantic beating against my chest as I tucked Angela’s new friend underneath my jacket for warmth.

After all I don’t think fish have a fear of heights, but alive or dead I don’t think they really travel well to begin with.

#the lost diaries of vincent keller #Vincent Keller #Jay Ryan #JT Forbes #Austin Basis #September 23rd 2010 #September 2010 #part two #still going though #thought that was a good place to stop #don't set me on fire this one took me since May to nail down #MAY!#MAY MAY MAY!#BatB #thank you for reading lovelies #:D #fanfic

5 notes · View notes

lostvincentdiaries · 9 years

Text

Sept 23rd, 2010/1

God, it's fall already. Again. And man do I feel pathetic. But oddly, a good pathetic? Because while on the one hand the changing of the seasons from summer to fall is a small agony in itself (and i'm not just referring to JT's seasonal allergies), on the other it's a small freedom for me. Shorter days equals more time for me at night, more opportunities for some fresh air outside versus being stuck suffocating in the loft until dark.

If not for the fact that I crave sunlight most of the time, I really might think that I'm some sort of vampire…

Plus now I can sit out and enjoy the new rooftop that JT insist we re-shingle ourselves…or at least the first half of it before we realized that we knew almost next to nothing about roofs to finish it. That--and the fact that JT waited to call the city clerk until after he fractured his wrist trying to carry shingles through the window and tripped.

Yeah, the one thing I won't miss now that the summer's over? JT's never ending list of daily chores that ranged from the foundation up. Obviously codes are an issue, especially in the case of other property sharks potentially sniffing around, but everyday there was a new list. A new project that would take even me a few hours to complete, and that was before JT came home and wanted to hit the ground running. Or in his case for the most part, supervising…

Believe me I had my fair share of flashbacks to when we were kids and doing odd grueling jobs around the neighborhood to earn a bit of cash to go out on the weekends--but this was worse. Four times as much the work, with literally no pay off. It made working at the ice arena seem like a breeze even when I had to lug around winter clothes during July.

But pipe removal here, hoist there--at least as far as the city knows the majority of the building is condemned and unusable with the promise of a sole occupant.

Still though, every time JT and I sit out for a beer together, I always need to make sure that the patio set up is left as we found it--with one chair.

JT has been busting out those lists since what, June? It's like my labor became penance for lying to him the last few months.

Not that he was much better. The cologne he had started wearing wasn't enough to cover up the scent of a girl. And based on the latest round of nicotine patch wrappers I've found buried in the trash I know she wasn't the only wagon he'd fallen off of.

As for Angela

So, about Angela

….Seriously. what is so hard about this? Nothing ever really happened between us, intimately anyway, so why is it that I choke over bringing her up?

It's not like she's Catherine or

She was just a girl, and I was just--in the end, a liar. With all that said though, I should be able to talk about it right? Go back to what, February and just write it out? In the end, like everything else, it would be more for my own benefit, and since I don't need JT pitying me for how it ended by re-hashing it to him again.

Besides, he already knows the story. But maybe re-listing some things might help me out.

Plus it's not like I have a lot on my schedule here.

So…I'm going to try.

Six months ago. On Valentine's Day.

Or really, the day after.

#the lost diaries of vincent keller #Jay Ryan #Vincent Keller #Austin Basis #JT Forbes #BatB #fanfic #story #Sept 2010 #part one #of flashbacks

5 notes · View notes

lostvincentdiaries · 9 years

Photo

#the lost diaries of vincent keller #Jay Ryan #Vincent Keller #upcoming chapter #press page from Vincent #yep #no worries next chapter already drafted #this is totally part of the plan #no two month wait on this puppy #enjoy #BatB #fanfic

2 notes · View notes

lostvincentdiaries · 9 years

Text

September 13th, 2010

I can do this right? Write about all of this like no one's paying attention…because, well, no one is.

So maybe it was a bit of pride that kept me from saying it yesterday, or the fact that anytime I moved it was like a anvil anchored through my skull, but-- the other night actually worked. Granted when I woke up I was still writhing in pain, but at least it wasn't the pain that comes with this time of year.

It was the first time I didn't wake up in a sweat, choking on the taste of ash and rust burning in my lungs.--From the nightmares mixed in with memories. The sight of my brothers dying, buried beneath rubble, incinerated in the wreckage.

Sometimes I'm beside them, sometimes I am them, seeing life through their eyes as the floor gives out, or the roof gives in--either way I'm never the one who dies instantly, but weighs beneath the sensation of being crushed as I hold out my hand to reach my brothers whom I can never make it to.

No, my dreams were much different…because, aside from the block of too much tequila, when I did sleep I felt…safe. Calm. I couldn't really make out anything, other than blurs, but it was…it was beautiful. Which made it quite the shock to wake up from let me say.

But I just--

Where do I start? Can I even--

I've never been…I've never even tried writing about that day. Never even shared any of it with anyone, beyond the general details of loss, because that in some way would make it more real I guess. It's one vigil I prefer to keep to myself, although I'm not the only one who suffered loss that day.

More than that though, it's worse than simply re-playing a memory--it's like I'm there, re-living every heartbeat of it. And it's then that I can really believe that nothing ever dies--that somewhere in time and space that day is on some kind of constant loop--over and over again the day plays, and by even thinking abut it I'm sucked back in.

It's what I imagine hell must be like. A vacuums of forward time, forced to relive every painful moment of your own making.

The blur of those days--the hospital, the streets, everything, caked in and and smeared through with blood and sweat.

For all the violence and death we wreaked for Muirfield overseas, even in the thick of the desert madness it still doesn't compare. I almost lost it as a normal human, I wouldn't have survived as I am now…

That grime built up and sank through into my skin, in my hair and beneath my fingernails. It was weeks before I felt I had scrubbed it all away. But the raw grief of the city was palpable, even more so than the remains clinging in the air, and it took even longer to wash clean of. The shame and anger at my own helplessness never has…

But one thing that stands out was that morning, brushing my teeth in a fury while Alex got to sleep in--it was her day off. At that point we were on rotating schedules and had to mark time to spend together that didn't one or the other falling asleep.

What a simple concept--time. And yet one that even we still had no concept of, despite being on constant call for it. Because in less then two hours, everything had changed.

I was with a patient, nothing critical, as the monitors played the local news station on in the background. It was common practice; keep the guests entertained, keep the volume low to allow patients rest, and keep it neutral as to avoid distracting the staff. So I thought it was odd when groups of people were sidetracked to the screens.

The first thing I could make out was smoke.

Clicking my pen back into my pocket I walked up beside Stan. "What's going on?" At the time, I had a second to spare for current events.

"A plane flew into the Towers."

"What?" It wasn't just ludicrous, it was impossible.

That when we both looked up to the screen, and the second plane hit. 9:03am.--It was as if we all felt it, and the shock of whatever stupor we had been in jolted us into action, because whatever was happening, regardless of the cause, we were about to see the worst of it first hand. And it was no secret that trauma was in no way prepared for this kind of situation. By then causalities were a guarantee, but it was up to official rescue teams to reduce those numbers.

But just like that, a little timer had been set off, counting down to some unimaginable end that I couldn't even see then. And while the seconds moved neither faster nor slower, I felt the panic rise because suddenly I knew I'd never catch up.

If ever there was a reason to pull out my cellphone on the job for an emergency, that was it. But that timer kept tripping me up and my fingers fumbled over the keys as I called William.

No answer.

Then Daniel--straight to voicemail.

I don't know why I called them first, because I knew where there was fire there were the Keller boys. That's just how it was with us, even if I was the lone one to deviate from the family career.

I called Dad--he and Mom were watching, but far enough away that they were safe. JT was in school, otherwise ok. Alex was still asleep.

So I called William again. Because if anyone would answer in a crisis it would be him.

I dialed his number, over and over and over, even resorting to the redial button--hoping he'd answer yelling at me from waking him up with the persistent ringing. But the only response was what I was hearing from the announcers on screen. And it only got worse.

All I could do was wait.

"Any word from your brothers?" Stan came up to me.

I may have been repeating what everyone had already heard, but it was all I had left.

"They're still trying to get everyone out."

9:59am. The clock ran out.

And I knew…

We watched as the second tower collapsed. By then the shock made little difference…it was too much.

My phone vibrated with unanswered calls from Alex as I turned with the others to watch the windows black out with clouds of debris that swallowed the city.

It was like a bad horror movie come to life, and we were all in it. Silent.

Then came the sirens, the screams, and from then on they never seemed to stop. For days upon days, that's all there was.

The hospital flooded with people. Desperate, scared, panicked masses of people. EIther injured, traumatized, or in search of their loved ones last heard from in the Towers. The phones never stopped ringing, and the switchboards would be backed up for weeks afterwards.

They came, and came, and came, but none of them were my brothers.

I did what I could, for as long as I could until I couldn't stand it anymore, and ran out to the streets carrying nothing more than a bag of basic supplies and water. Nothing less then cheap in comparison to the gaping would of the city.

But I had to leave, I had to find them. No Keller left behind--they would have done the same for me.

Alex and I had made dinner plans that night--they were the last ones.

I knew where I was going, but even then I was already lost. The only thing that separated me from civilians already running in the streets were my scrubs and a medical mask that quickly turned black. I was able to find the pair of workman's goggles in my car from helping Dad install drywall the week before--and although they didn't do much to spare my eyes the violation of the airborne pollutants at least they kept me from being completely blinded.

--I never got close to the wreckage. Even if I had tried, had made it past the swarming alleys filled with the second responders, stood atop the piles of twisted metal,concrete, and glass to dig for William and Daniel with my own two hands, it was still too hot. Scrubs are nothing compared to the heavy flame retardants worn by actual fireman, and the smoke inhalation would have killed me alone. Not that I cared about myself, but I had to stop and help those wondering around even more helpless than I.

And that's when I saw all the faces…so many faces. All different and yet the same, and after so many days of not eating or sleeping they all merged together in some grotesque painting of terror.

Eventually, empty handed and broken, I made it home. Alex was there, and the first thing she did was march up and slap me before throwing her arms around me and sobbing. She kept saying how scared she was when I didn't answer my phone, how she looked for me in the hospital and heard I'd left without telling anybody. After taking off, my phone must have fallen out of my pocket.

But once back home, I still couldn't sleep. Alex tried to sooth me, but the minute I closed my eyes I saw it all over again. Finally she had to call my Mother over, who was already on the way after hearing I'd shown up, to find me staring blankly at the wall…

At one point I must have showered, because my hair soaked her shoulder before my tears did.

And those faces--none of them the Kellers I sought--became flat as paper, fluttering over one another plastered against any visible surface. Buildings, poles, plywood walls littered with addresses, prayers, descriptions, and desperate messages for help.

They became families, neighbors, shop owners and their children searching amongst leaflets, anxious or already in mourning. Others kept their blatant hope alive to receive the one call in a million.

Yes, I saw them. I was one of them. But already I wasn't. It was as if the explosion of sounds had numbed my senses into a void. My soul became a pinpoint of presence in the void that seemed to recede further the louder the sounds of grief became.

By then I heard nothing, I physically felt nothing, and every day that went by, each hour my new phone went untouched of news, the more candles I saw line the alleys and sidewalks in memory of the fallen, only made it worse. Because while the flames for my brothers were burning out, the rage inside me only seemed to build and grow more acute, and all there was left to set me off was that one little spark.

And maybe that's what they saw in me when I enlisted…maybe that anger brewing behind my eyes was why Muirfield picked me. Because it was through them that the atom split, and the nuclear reaction that followed turned the red I saw everywhere into a reality.

So he was always there--the Beast that is--buried beneath the rubble of Vincent Keller just waiting, hoping, to finally be freed.

And all it took was a few injections, accepted on the belief that we were actually doing the right thing, our patriotic duty.

However what they failed to see was that monsters don't know the difference between justice and revenge--and they don't care. Stalk, prey, kill…no wonder they couldn't control us. By that point we were a different species. And there's nothing more dangerous to man then what they cannot control--even if it's other men.

But what Muirfield didn't know then they sure know now. All too well.

My only advantage is keeping one step ahead of them by making them believe I'm dead, that there are no remains to be found.

Sad thing is, for me it's not that much of a reach.

#the lost diaries of vincent keller #Jay Ryan #Vincent Keller #BatB #a long overdue piece #I know #don't worry the Angela arc continues #fanfic #Septermber 2010 #September 11th #flashback

10 notes · View notes

lostvincentdiaries · 9 years

Text

Dear Readers

I have just written, in my humble opinion, probably the most intense Vincent chapter yet. A personal favorite that rivals even my acclaimed top slot of January 2008--because like January 2008 the following entry came out of no where, and once in my head, it would not leave.

But I write this, like the entry I am about to post, with a heavy heart due to its content. Therefore I want to forewarn anyone reading this story of the subject matter pertaining to the 9/11 tragedy. I know spoilers, but truly as I know I am sensitive to details of that dark day, I know there are others out there more connected than I, because I knew no one directly effected by that tragedy.

Thank you all for staying with the story, and no I haven’t forgotten any of the current arcs that have been pending, however I felt that as the creator of this tale it was my responsibility to protect my readers from content extending beyond the scope of Beauty and the Beast that may upset them.

As always,

~1988-fiend

#the lost diaries of vincent keller #Jay Ryan #Vincent Keller #BatB #fanfic #just a forewarning #without further ado #here we go

7 notes · View notes

lostvincentdiaries · 9 years

Text

Sept 12th, 2010/2

I'm gonna be sick-- God, I never thought I'd say this, but I'm going to kill JT. The only reason I'm not is because it hurts my head too much. And then seeing him worse off than I am kind of helps too…

He meant well yesterday but…damn. For once I don't think getting drunk in honor of the dead is really the best move for the living. But then again, maybe for a fraction of a second I believed--I believed all that might help me forget, well, everything. And in a way it did, until the hammer hit that is.

--Good thing JT had me re-black out most of the windows…otherwise this would have been a whole lot worse.

I tried to take some of the hair off the dog that bit me, but I nearly convulsed into dry heaves in the process. Maybe it works with beer rather than tequila…never had to really suffer those kinds of hangovers anyway. Now I know why Will and Daniel usually backed off around Cinco de Mayo.

But that was the whole point right? To distract from that red date that hurts worse in my head…replace one potentially stupid act with another. Whatever that first act may have been originally wiped clean by shots.

Ugh, shots. Too many shots. And tacos. Lots and lots of tacos.

JT and I can't even look at the wrappers right now. Maybe tomorrow. But I'm popping more Tums than JT-- for all we know it's worse despite the quick healing element. Why can't any of this healing work on alcohol too? Oh, right, because Muirfield wasn't exactly anticipating hanging out at the local watering hole with their experiments after a day of having us assassinate innocents.

Damn it.

Yeah, and I didn't even realized I'd written anything last night--that was until the memory of knocking over my chaser onto the desk reminded me. Too late to deal with the stain now, because even with a hair dryer that would just be ungodly loud right now. Not worth it.

Thank God for coffee. Sweet, strong, bitter coffee.

And good thing I caught the pot after JT knocked it over amidst trying to make said coffee--bad because I nearly busted it myself when moving so fast shattered my brain.

Coffee is one thing, the couch is another. I think I'm in love with our couch. We must have looked pretty pathetic sitting there most of the day--changing shifts for who got up next for fetching more coffee or aspirin, and yeah, antacids.

At one point I gave up and chucked the stain from my notebook at him for revenge. He didn't even flinch.

"I hate you." I groaned.

JT couldn't even manage a response, but I did get the bird. It's the closest thing he'll get for a "love you" from me, or a thanks for keeping us from wallowing yesterday.

But he knows. We both know.

Still…

I am never drinking again…

#BatB #Jay Ryan #Vincent Keller #JT Forbes #Austin Basis #the lost diaries of vincent keller #September 2010 #part two #fanfic #no worries #still writing

10 notes · View notes