Sweet Dreams
Hooray, you made it! Here's the nice dream that makes everything better! After putting Victor through the wringer, both with his previous nightmares and with the actual thread of fighting through his mind, I decided he deserved a happy dream that showed just how far he'd come. And what better than a version of the Moorgate confrontation scene where everything goes his way? A good mirror to the first nightmare, and a generally satisfying moment for Victor overall, I feel. Hope you do too.
It’s her eyes that do it. Those brilliant green eyes that captivated him from the moment he first saw them. Somehow, they manage to cut straight through the fog Bumby’s put into his brain, the one that tells him that he has to obey, has to forget, has to be Thirteen or otherwise he’s bad and needs to punished. Before he even really knows what’s happening, it all comes rushing back to him – every good thing and every bad – and he realizes with a sudden icy chill Bumby’s trying to get him to murder the woman he loves –
“Alice, have you been playing with my toys?”
The rage that bubbles up in him is hotter and more furious than any he’s felt before (not that he has much to compare it to, but details. . . .). He promised to help her, he promised to protect her – and Bumby tried to get him to break his promise in the worst way possible. An extremely rare urge for violence wells up in him, and he spins and slams his fist straight into the doctor’s face. He feels a rush of satisfaction at seeing Bumby stumble back with a bloodied lip. “NO!” he roars at the top of his lungs. “I WON’T HURT HER! YOU WON’T TOUCH HER!”
Bumby looks shocked for a second, then his features darken with anger. “Bad boy, Thirteen!” he thunders, storming forward. “Very bad boy!”
Something deep inside Victor tells him that he should be cowering away now, the fog rushing back in to wrap around his brain and choke him with the fear of punishment, of darkness and wicked words – but it’s not happening. His head feels clearer than ever, his rage still burning inside of him. Suddenly, he knows Bumby has no power over him anymore. He pulls back his fist and punches the doctor again as he comes near. “Being called a bad boy by you is almost a compliment,” he growls.
Bumby stumbles backward again, looking stunned. Victor can see it in his eyes – things aren’t going according to plan. He can’t help a smile – since when has anything involving Victor Van Dort gone according to plan? “Thirteen--”
“My name is Victor,” Victor snaps, advancing on him. He hasn’t felt this way in a while – confident, powerful, angry. He embraces it. “And those children you torture, you pervert, they have names too. You ought to learn them.”
“It doesn’t matter--”
“It does matter.” Victor moves closer, and is pleased to see Bumby move away, backing up to the edge of the train tracks. “I didn’t think a worse monster could exist than Barkis Bittern. I’m horrified that you managed to prove me wrong. The things you’ve done, the lives you’ve ruined. . .you took everything away from those children. And away from Alice. Her home, her family, her mind. . .people don’t count as people to you, do they? They’re just things. How you can think like that is beyond me.”
“It’s just business,” Bumby replies, though his scowl is undercut by the note of fear in his voice.
“Don’t even say it’s just business,” Victor says. “Part of it is pleasure. Part of it is the fact you love seeing someone break under your will. That’s more or less what you did to Alice’s sister, isn’t it? Broke her?” He ignores Bumby starting in on Lizzie being a tease. “You are the worst human being I have ever met. And it comforts me to know that, when you die, your victims will be waiting in the afterlife for you, ready to take revenge.”
Bumby glares at him. “When I die? And when do you think that will be, Master Van Dort?”
Victor looks at him, teetering on the very edge of the platform. “Right now,” he whispers, and before Bumby can react, he gives the doctor a good, hard push.
Bumby hangs suspended in the air a moment as he falls – and then the train comes thundering by, smashing into him and whisking his body far from sight. Victor watches it pass. Part of him is horrified by what he’s done. But a much larger part of him cannot bring itself to feel much remorse. That monster could not be allowed to remain in this world. And he’s certain the Land of the Dead will not treat him well.
A tap on his shoulder makes him turn around. Alice stands there, long hair drifting around her shoulders, green eyes bright and clear. “Kill stealer,” she says, but she’s smiling at she says it.
Victor smiles back. “My apologies. May I make up for it by escorting you back to our residence?”
“It’s a start,” Alice says, offering him her arm. He takes it, and together, they leave Moorgate Station and head back into the sunlight.
And in his sleep, Victor smiles and hugs Alice a little tighter.
“Alice, have you been playing with my toys?”
The rage that bubbles up in him is hotter and more furious than any he’s felt before (not that he has much to compare it to, but details. . . .). He promised to help her, he promised to protect her – and Bumby tried to get him to break his promise in the worst way possible. An extremely rare urge for violence wells up in him, and he spins and slams his fist straight into the doctor’s face. He feels a rush of satisfaction at seeing Bumby stumble back with a bloodied lip. “NO!” he roars at the top of his lungs. “I WON’T HURT HER! YOU WON’T TOUCH HER!”
Bumby looks shocked for a second, then his features darken with anger. “Bad boy, Thirteen!” he thunders, storming forward. “Very bad boy!”
Something deep inside Victor tells him that he should be cowering away now, the fog rushing back in to wrap around his brain and choke him with the fear of punishment, of darkness and wicked words – but it’s not happening. His head feels clearer than ever, his rage still burning inside of him. Suddenly, he knows Bumby has no power over him anymore. He pulls back his fist and punches the doctor again as he comes near. “Being called a bad boy by you is almost a compliment,” he growls.
Bumby stumbles backward again, looking stunned. Victor can see it in his eyes – things aren’t going according to plan. He can’t help a smile – since when has anything involving Victor Van Dort gone according to plan? “Thirteen--”
“My name is Victor,” Victor snaps, advancing on him. He hasn’t felt this way in a while – confident, powerful, angry. He embraces it. “And those children you torture, you pervert, they have names too. You ought to learn them.”
“It doesn’t matter--”
“It does matter.” Victor moves closer, and is pleased to see Bumby move away, backing up to the edge of the train tracks. “I didn’t think a worse monster could exist than Barkis Bittern. I’m horrified that you managed to prove me wrong. The things you’ve done, the lives you’ve ruined. . .you took everything away from those children. And away from Alice. Her home, her family, her mind. . .people don’t count as people to you, do they? They’re just things. How you can think like that is beyond me.”
“It’s just business,” Bumby replies, though his scowl is undercut by the note of fear in his voice.
“Don’t even say it’s just business,” Victor says. “Part of it is pleasure. Part of it is the fact you love seeing someone break under your will. That’s more or less what you did to Alice’s sister, isn’t it? Broke her?” He ignores Bumby starting in on Lizzie being a tease. “You are the worst human being I have ever met. And it comforts me to know that, when you die, your victims will be waiting in the afterlife for you, ready to take revenge.”
Bumby glares at him. “When I die? And when do you think that will be, Master Van Dort?”
Victor looks at him, teetering on the very edge of the platform. “Right now,” he whispers, and before Bumby can react, he gives the doctor a good, hard push.
Bumby hangs suspended in the air a moment as he falls – and then the train comes thundering by, smashing into him and whisking his body far from sight. Victor watches it pass. Part of him is horrified by what he’s done. But a much larger part of him cannot bring itself to feel much remorse. That monster could not be allowed to remain in this world. And he’s certain the Land of the Dead will not treat him well.
A tap on his shoulder makes him turn around. Alice stands there, long hair drifting around her shoulders, green eyes bright and clear. “Kill stealer,” she says, but she’s smiling at she says it.
Victor smiles back. “My apologies. May I make up for it by escorting you back to our residence?”
“It’s a start,” Alice says, offering him her arm. He takes it, and together, they leave Moorgate Station and head back into the sunlight.
And in his sleep, Victor smiles and hugs Alice a little tighter.
