When Vincent awoke, early in the morning since he never slept more than a few hours a night, he realised he was still alone in bed. He sat up, blinked a few times in mild confusion, and came to the conclusion that Tara probably had been too restless to find sleep, no surprise after a celebratory night spend drinking, eating and dancing; and all that being done and happening in her honour.
With a faint smile, Vincent remembered how she had opened the celebration. She had looked so grand, her long dark hair flowing down her back, wearing those official garments that made her look nothing short of royal. Yet as much a queen as she looked, Vincent thought a queen should not mingle that much, even if the celebration was solely in her honour. She should preside over the celebration, acknowledge the peoples’ happiness and accept their cheers and hails. A queen should not dance revelry and definitely not be in the middle of a knees-up with her subjects. Yet he knew that this was one thing he and Tara would never be able to agree upon.
He got up, dressed, and then discovered that everything in the kitchen was still exactly as the cleaners had left it the morning before. She hadn’t brewed herself a coffee, and that made Vincent frown. It wasn’t like Tara at all to start the day without at least two cups of the bitter brew. She wasn’t anywhere in the suite, and as it turned out, she was nowhere else in the Lucky38, not in the cocktail lounge nor in the penthouse suite. He even checked the maintenance levels, to no avail.
He went down to the casino level, and when he couldn’t find her there, back up into the suite, by now with a feeling of irritation bordering on mild anger. Why would she leave him asleep like that? How could she go without him, leaving him in bed like an invalid? He needed to be at her side, for her sake as much as his own. Already he could feel the burning of shame, that he had been peacefully asleep while she had been up and about and had left the casino with him being completely oblivious.
With an angry frown he re-entered the suite and the bedroom, only to finally realize that her pillow was showing no dent, no sign that she had ever been to bed, and her garments were neatly draped across a chair. Vincent slowly crossed his arms and realised that during the last months, he had grown far too soft, comfortable and careless if he allowed himself to sleep like that, remaining completely oblivious of Tara changing her wardrobe and leaving the suite. He should have noticed. The shame began to burn as hot as the anger at himself by now.
But why had she gone in the first place, and without him? With a sigh Vincent ran a hand down his face, adjusted his eye patch, and then went into the kitchen where he had a glass of water and a handful of pinyon nuts. Then he armed himself and made his way downstairs again to look for her. If she was somewhere in Vegas then his failure as her protector and guard would already be apparent, so him running around the streets looking for her couldn’t make it any worse. Still, he did not want to cause a stir, so he kept his search as inconspicuous as he could, keeping a calm face and a busy appearance as to give the impression he was running some errands.
She wasn’t in any of the casinos, and enquiring discreetly in the Fort revealed that the Followers had neither seen nor heard of her coming to Freeside. It was just as Vincent was about to leave the Fort when outside the gates he heard the sounds of people gathering and shouting; then a woman screamed. Arcade shoved himself past Vincent to see what it all was about, but at that moment two men carried a body through the gate. Vincent stood aside, and felt a strange, cold sense of foreboding when he recognised the dead man: Cobra, the leader of the former Powder Gangers. And with that sensation came another one: What if Cobra’s sudden, violent death was somehow connected to Tara’s disappearance?
Turn Wounds into Wisdom 2b/?
With a faint smile, Vincent remembered how she had opened the celebration. She had looked so grand, her long dark hair flowing down her back, wearing those official garments that made her look nothing short of royal. Yet as much a queen as she looked, Vincent thought a queen should not mingle that much, even if the celebration was solely in her honour. She should preside over the celebration, acknowledge the peoples’ happiness and accept their cheers and hails. A queen should not dance revelry and definitely not be in the middle of a knees-up with her subjects. Yet he knew that this was one thing he and Tara would never be able to agree upon.
He got up, dressed, and then discovered that everything in the kitchen was still exactly as the cleaners had left it the morning before. She hadn’t brewed herself a coffee, and that made Vincent frown. It wasn’t like Tara at all to start the day without at least two cups of the bitter brew.
She wasn’t anywhere in the suite, and as it turned out, she was nowhere else in the Lucky38, not in the cocktail lounge nor in the penthouse suite. He even checked the maintenance levels, to no avail.
He went down to the casino level, and when he couldn’t find her there, back up into the suite, by now with a feeling of irritation bordering on mild anger. Why would she leave him asleep like that? How could she go without him, leaving him in bed like an invalid? He needed to be at her side, for her sake as much as his own. Already he could feel the burning of shame, that he had been peacefully asleep while she had been up and about and had left the casino with him being completely oblivious.
With an angry frown he re-entered the suite and the bedroom, only to finally realize that her pillow was showing no dent, no sign that she had ever been to bed, and her garments were neatly draped across a chair. Vincent slowly crossed his arms and realised that during the last months, he had grown far too soft, comfortable and careless if he allowed himself to sleep like that, remaining completely oblivious of Tara changing her wardrobe and leaving the suite. He should have noticed. The shame began to burn as hot as the anger at himself by now.
But why had she gone in the first place, and without him? With a sigh Vincent ran a hand down his face, adjusted his eye patch, and then went into the kitchen where he had a glass of water and a handful of pinyon nuts. Then he armed himself and made his way downstairs again to look for her. If she was somewhere in Vegas then his failure as her protector and guard would already be apparent, so him running around the streets looking for her couldn’t make it any worse. Still, he did not want to cause a stir, so he kept his search as inconspicuous as he could, keeping a calm face and a busy appearance as to give the impression he was running some errands.
She wasn’t in any of the casinos, and enquiring discreetly in the Fort revealed that the Followers had neither seen nor heard of her coming to Freeside. It was just as Vincent was about to leave the Fort when outside the gates he heard the sounds of people gathering and shouting; then a woman screamed. Arcade shoved himself past Vincent to see what it all was about, but at that moment two men carried a body through the gate. Vincent stood aside, and felt a strange, cold sense of foreboding when he recognised the dead man: Cobra, the leader of the former Powder Gangers. And with that sensation came another one: What if Cobra’s sudden, violent death was somehow connected to Tara’s disappearance?