Everyone Dies in the End #88

Cindy

  2

The room was small with wooden paneling, soft lighting, and plush, sand-colored carpet. A roll up desk sat against a wall, papers littered the surface. A couch lined the opposite wall. Two chairs sat opposite it. All three pieces of furniture faced a dark wooden coffee table. Vader guided her to one of the chairs. “Have a seat.”

“I’ll stand.”

Vader took a seat on the couch, not saying another word until he had pulled off the black gauntlets and tossed them on the coffee table.

“Whew,” the black mask gasped. It’s hot.” Vader pointed at her. “You hot?”

Cindy remained expressionless, emotionless. “I’m fine.” The mask stared for a moment, and then Vader stood. He walked to the roll up desk. He slid a sheaf of papers to one side and pressed the button on a black intercom station. “Vinnie?”

“Yeah, boss,” came the scratchy reply.

“It’s hot in here. Have someone get us a pitcher of water and a couple of glasses.” He glanced at Cindy. “You might change your mind.”

She stared at the mask. “I doubt it.”

Vader laughed and the memory bells once again began chiming. Louder now. More incessantly.

Vader sat on the edge of the desk. “You always have been a bit of a bitch.”

Despite herself, Cindy reacted. “How the hell would you know? Who are you?”

Just then the water entered. A glass pitcher filled to the brim, ice cubes clinking (Ice cubes?) against its sides, and two glasses. Loaded on a silver tray and carried by a mousey woman Cindy hadn’t seen before.

She set them on the coffee table. Vader thanked her, and she slinked out of the room.

Vader bent to the pitcher and poured himself a glass, and then one for Cindy. He made no effort to offer her the glass. Instead he slid it to the edge of the table near one of the facing chairs. He lifted his legs and sat on the couch, swinging his legs up and onto the armrest. The picture of laissez fair relaxation. Almost boyish. The memory bells clanged. She wondered how, exactly, Vader would drink that glass of water through that black helmet. The thought almost made her laugh. Almost.

“I could use your help.”

That did make her laugh. Right out loud. “You can use,” she pointed at herself, “my help?”

The mask nodded, and one of the ungloved hands reached up to fiddle with a buckle under its chin.

“Why the hell would you think I would want to help you?” Somewhere those bells were ringing again, and inside she knew. Maybe she had known since she saw the robbed figure on the stage. Something about his stance, something about the voice, however muffled. She knew, but didn’t want to admit that she knew.

The buckle was lose now and the straps fell away.

Vader pulled off the helmet and spoke.

“Because you helped me before.”

Cindy gasped. Gasped because the voice was no longer Vader’s, because the face was no longer Vader’s. There on the couch, bringing the ice water to his lips, was her long-lost boyfriend. There, sat Eddie.

          And then the shooting started.