Vantablack: Act 1

“Dad!” 

“I warned you, detective. Stop sniffing around. That note from last week was the ultimatum~.” 

“Now let me make an example out of you.” 

“You will be my most amusing subject.” 

“I can make it. I can make it. I can—” 

“WESLEY!” I shoot up from my night terror, drenched in cold sweat. It’s been a week since Wesley was abducted—right in front of me. I glance at the alarm clock, the red numbers glaring at me in the dark. 

1:24 am 

It’s been a week. 

I wipe the dripping sweat off my forehead with the base of my shirt. 

I lie back on my bed, heart still pounding. 

“Venice… What should I do?” I clench my fists to my forehead. “Why is this happening?” 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” 

“I couldn’t protect Wesley.” 

Tears come and go, muffled cries filling the room’s silence. I press my face on the throw pillow. Who am I even hiding from? Minutes pass, hours pass with silence as my only company. I’m powerless to do anything. 

I toss and turn, trying to catch up to what little sleep I’ve had the entire week. How can I? I can’t even file a missing person report. 

The glint on the nightstand catches my attention—the sealing wax of the Leviathan. That’s what Mylen called it. I can’t show this to the department. They’ll hand it over to forensics. 

After all, this envelope would start the gears turning again after the past three years of this charade. Look into this, look into that, don't look way too much into this. It's walking on charcoals. 

4:39 am 

Has it really been that long?

I get up and sit by my bedside; 

I give up trying. I need to get my head in the game. I glance momentarily at the opposite side of the bed. Empty, just as it has always been. 

I light the lamp up and stare at the Invitation. Their invitation. 

I fiddle with it, intricately analyzing the features just as I had a thousand times with the case evidence I’ve handled. I run my thumb through the thick matte envelope: handcrafted with great attention to detail. Faint golden patterns etched into the paper, ethereally glowing in red. Its center, a deep crimson sealing wax, stamped with the brand of a plague doctor mask. 

I’ve tried prying it open; it wouldn’t budge—not by hand, not by scissors, not by a letter opener. Hell, not even by garden shears. Alright, it was a rusty one. Mylen told me not to tell anyone about it. She didn't say I shouldn't open it at all costs. I lose myself in thought, thinking of a way to break the seal. 

“Mr. Mendez” 

“Mr. Mendez” 

“MR. MENDEZ” 

I scream as I jolt awake. 

I look up, it’s Jeff. His temple is bleeding, but he seems to be okay. He’s asking question after question. I can barely make anything of it. Everything’s a blur. Tinnitus fills my ears. 

I look around, “Why are we in the middle of nowhere?” 

“They got away. They got away. WESLEY!” I blurt out. Everything’s sinking in. 

“Who got away? Where’s Wes? Are you okay? We should get you to a hospital!” 

I cusp my body all over. I’m alive! How did I even survive? 

I look at my palm, and it’s an envelope. 

“What’s this?” I flip it back and forth. 

I look over the distance, it’s Mylen leaning against the railroad crossing pole. She walks over, her footing unperturbed by the uneven pile of track ballast she treads on in her worn Mary Janes. “We have to get out of here,” Mylen commands sharply as she walks up. She's never this firm, cold. She’s unruly at times, yes, but otherwise, she’s always been shy, soft spoken. “We can’t let the authorities find out about that,” pointing at my envelope. I couldn't object. It's like talking to Jules when she's on a crunch. 

“But, Wesley— We can’t…” I protest as the adrenaline wears off and a wave of pain surges through my body. 

Jeff pleads, “Just listen to us, please. It’s Wesley’s life in your hands…” 

What are they even talking about? We need to get to the 78th to report this ASAP. 

Too weak to resist, I comply. They know something. The two teenagers propped me up and helped me into Jeff’s SUV. I get into the backseat, and he steps on it hard. I look back at the rear window and see my car totalled, crumpled beyond recognition. 

How did I even survive the crash? Unscathed. 

“We can't let anyone find out about this, okay?” 

“Mr. Mendez!” 

What are these two talking about? Why are they pulling this when Wesley's been abducted? 

“Mr Mendez.” 

I sit there stunned, staring at my car. 

The adrenaline's worn off. 

Thought after thought starts rushing in. 

“Mr. Mendez. Listen, we need you to cooperate with us.” 

“I know this is all a lot to take in.” 

Mr. Mendez!”

“Mr. Mendez!” 

“MR. MENDEZ!” 

I snap out of it. It’s Mylen’s voice. The knocks on the window grow louder, more impatient. She notices me staring at her. 

She cracks the window open and lets herself in. She starts going off, pacing back and forth, oblivious to the dirty laundry I haven't done in a week, piling up on the floor. I can’t keep up with what she’s saying. 

“Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Wait. Slow down…,” I tell her.