𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉ℯ𝓇 6 - 𝒟𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝒱𝒶𝓃ℯ𝓈𝒸ℯ𝓃𝓉

"Sshh..." a man said, turning his neck backwards, as he brought his index finger to his lips. The woman who was tailing behind him nodded. Light should not have existed where they stood, for the windows were closed and there was no source of light, whether natural or artificial. Yet, somehow a red hue covered their surroundings, a few shades darker than a tomato. They had woken up in a room accompanied by this red light with no memories of their own, and all they knew were the names of their own—their first names. Where am I? Who are you? Such questions didn't occur in the minds of these individuals. Instead, a voice spoke in each of their heads, telling them to move or die, but then again, how they would meet their demise was a mystery. Regardless, deep inside they knew that the voice was enough. They, without a word, had nodded at each other and left the beds, walking to a door in silence. Somehow, they trusted each other as if they were friends, deep and trusting of each other as if any sort of harm from the other was impossible. And it was at this moment that the man shushed, following which he peeked outside the door, revealing a corridor with the same red hue, darker than a tomato.

Noir too peeked ahead at the screen with deep focus. A focus only to be broken by fingers locking into his on the armrest, on which his forearm rested. Now, he peeked to his right, observing the side profile of a woman that made his heart thump. She wore a mask over her face; a pair of black-colored lenses that masked her breathtaking golden eyes; and rectangular glasses, which held no power, all of which did nothing to disguise the sublime. Her hair was left loose just like he liked, with her face turned towards the screen as if she could see nothing else. But, somehow, Noir could tell that right now, under the mask, a smile colored her face. His gaze lingered on the middle portion of the mask for a second, a long second, before he looked back at the screen.

Lost in his reverie, quite a bit of progress had been made. The man and the woman had traversed the corridor. The man walked forward and looked forward, checking on the woman from time to time. While the woman looked forward and backward, trying her best to not be caught off guard.

As the man peeked around the corner of a wall, in due time, he signaled a thumbs-up and then turned towards his right. In such a way they walked ahead, with nothing but the strange lighting and the barely audible sound of their footsteps. A minute passed by, then two, in such a way that suddenly a sloshing sound was heard, the kind produced when stepping into a puddle. His footsteps paused; he gazed below at the ground as his thoughts echoed across the theater.

{Water? How?}

The man looked at the ceiling above, and so did the woman; there was nothing above, no ceiling. The man blinked, just once, and then the ceiling was back again—the color indistinguishable from the rest of the room. He felt a grip wrap tightly around his palms; he didn't even realize it, nor would he have cared.

{What? No, wait, what?}

In his confusion, he turned backwards, and there he saw an empty hallway. The man sighed and then looked forward with his heartbeat heard by all those who watched. In time, the heartbeat calmed down quite a lot; perhaps the grip around his fingers helped him calm his nerves. He leaned forward and took a step; the sloshing sound resounded again. The grip tightened further around his fingers, the same act happening outside the screen. Suddenly, the man paused again. Sweat travelled down his forehead in a slow crawl, totally unmatched by the pace of breath that had turned laborious, and then back on again was the sound of his heart. His neck shifted slowly backwards; his eyes turned dewy for some reason.

Grip. The grip still existed, but the woman did not. A natural question arose in his mind, and to answer it, his line of sight lowered. There he saw an arm, or rather a forearm. It was the woman's arm; it contained the same nail polish, red, the same color as the room. The arm was cut off from the elbow, the blood pooling to the floor. And when he looked below, he realized that he had been walking on blood.

And then on the screen everything blackened, with the sound of something dropping to the floor and footsteps rapid in speed. A title card popped up— {Days Vanescent} , following which the grip wound around Noir's fingers slackened.

Noir tried to hold it in, but he couldn't.

He chuckled, biting his lips, which produced a farting sound. The theater glared.

"Sorry, sorry," he whispered to the people around.

Some of them sighed, while the others directly looked back at the screen to observe the man now striding across a field of green with a rapid cadence. But Noir spared it only a glance; his gaze traveled to his beloved beside him, and then their eyes met.

The lenses couldn't hide the permanent haze within—it was more mesmerizing than a movie could ever be. Noir had to rein in an instinct, a dense, heavy one; instead, he decided to appease the craving somewhat. His grip slipped from her warmth, causing something in her eyes to momentarily flicker, a bereft one, one which was replaced by a look, priceless. Noir's finger gently clasped the edge of her fingers, gently, almost sacrosanct, before he raised her hand and lowered his face. His lips met her skin, leaving a memory, before he lowered her hands, placing them on the armrest just as gently, and then gripped them harder while turning back to the screen. She was rosy, just as he, and they both watched the movie with a focus elsewhere.

As interesting as the movie was, it passed through his ears and mind; the background music rang with a different purpose. Her warmth traveled to him, as his did to hers, and only during the second half did a miniscule degree of focus return.

As his right foot tapped the floor relentlessly, he observed the screen. The character's backstory had been revealed; the woman was his wife, while he himself was a successful athlete. Tragedy struck in the form of an injury and in the form of a disease, namely cancer, pancreatic cancer. He couldn't run, and he had to see the love of his life wilt; this led to a crippling depression. Doctors after doctors; money flowed like water, and soon came the news—his wife wouldn't last for more than a quarter. Noir's fingers trembled with a silent understanding, understood by her. His gaze flickered towards his left; she too seemed engrossed.

When the man was at his bottom, came a hope, one in the form of a letter. It was a game that he and his wife would have to participate in, and it claimed to alleviate all of his troubles. A week remained from her prophesied death; her cheeks were sunken, and her body was as light as a feather. Her beauty, still dazzling to him, was in truth a thing of the past. And therefore a decision was made; it was a gamble. A gamble that led to the now-fallen arm of his wife.

The red hue returned again, as the man, whose injury had recovered, ran with an absent look. Noir wondered for a second if it were just acting or something real. He ran and ran for days; he ran and ran for months. He never grew tired, as if he were burning with vitality, but in reality, he was but a body without a soul. And then the screen blackened and his footsteps echoed, with the word, [Days Evanescent]

Blinking, he whispered, "Over?"

At that moment, as he read the movie title, Noir felt a bottomless abyss and a certain melancholy. The movie was like a smile that carried hundreds of emotions. He didn't know what to think of it initially, but the more he thought about it, the more he liked it, and the more he liked it, the deeper was the melancholy. Noir's neck turned towards Claire; she was crying, with her tears soaking her mask. Her grip was firmer than ever, but Noir's self-control wavered. As he gently caressed her face, causing her neck to turn, he stared into veiled jewels of hers and leaned in. Before he could touch her mask, his lips traveled, changing their path, traveling towards her forehead.

When his lips met her warmth, he held that position for whatever time felt right, closing his eyes. Unfortunately, he couldn't reach the time that was right. Suddenly his darkened vision brightened, as if a torch or any source of light were pointed at his eyelids.

Noir's jaw clenched as his neck shot to his right. Claire and he were seated on the third-to-last row, and on the last row in the exact same column as him, a man was seated. The man had a friendly, awkward smile on his face, with his free arm raised in surrender. Then, he displayed his screen, showing a paused video, on a social media app, which the index finger of his surrendered arm tapped. It showed the post-credit scene, towards the end of which the camera lowered, capturing Noir's face in 1080p. Then the man held the phone diagonally as if wanting to both show and see. He clicked somewhere, then displayed the phone back to Noir. There was a message that looked like something one received when deleting something. And then the man clicked on delete. He even signaled with one of his fingers as if signaling a second. He stood and then, leaning forward and displaying the screen to Noir, deleted the file from the recycle bin as well. Finally, he raised his thumb, along with his eyebrows, and smiled at Noir.

Noir sighed, chuckled, and then raised back his thumb as well.

Interesting guy , Noir thought, and he was about to shift his gaze back to Claire. But then-

-An abnormality rang in his head.

Noir turned back towards the man, scanning his profile. The man had an average build, with what looked like mid-length brown or black hair, dried and frizzly, out of shape, something visible even in the darkness. His eyes were sunken; he had dark circles, large, deep, and round. It was almost as if he had been punched, a conclusion unlikely as both of his eyes had them. Deep in his eyes, now that Noir focused, he could see... he wasn't sure... but it carried something extremely burdened. A burden that was clearly depicted by his smile.

And most of all, Strange... hmm... a muffler was draped around the man's neck while he wore an oversized jacket, cheap in quality from what Noir could tell. It was the middle of summer, the temperature rising to around 32 degrees Celsius at least in the [Solistras] state.

Why would someone wear such clothing in this weather? Could be sick, possibly? And perhaps he really, really wanted to watch the movie. He did seem to be excited.

The man raised his eyebrows then with the same humble smile, breaking Noir's thought process.

Well, it is what it is. I should rather conserve my energy for the day.

And with such a conclusion, Noir smiled back, shook his head, and looked back at Claire. She cast him a puzzled and slightly nervous look. Noir rubbed her tears and said, "Just an interesting... fellow. Perhaps an avid fan of the director or something? I am not sure. Either way, he was taking a video of the post-credits, and through a stroke of luck, I believe, he landed on our act as he was most likely getting done with the video."

Noir smiled gently, rubbing her hand. "Don't worry. Well, any plans?"

Claire said with a smile, slightly forced, "Honey... let's leave for now; we can talk as we go."

Uncomfortable with cameras as usual, huh?

Noir held in a sigh, smiled brightly, and said, "Sure. Let's leave."

Claire's smile turned a bit more like usual; she glanced at his lips, then averted her gaze, and put on a cap before getting up. Noir joined her, without any decorations, and in such a way, they both briskly walked to the exit, their fingers interlocked. Claire looked straight ahead, while Noir glanced to his right. The person was still looking at him. Two men who had sat to his left had exited the cinema, and now he sat there with a smile.

Noir nodded at him and then walked forward. But, before he could cross the exit, his footsteps paused.

"Honey?"

"Just a few seconds."

Saying this, Noir released his grip and walked towards the man whose eyes widened when he noticed Noir's approach. Noir walked up to him and said, "Hey, buddy. All good? You look rather stressed."

"Uh... ummm—oh, yeah? Sorry?" the man muttered.

Then before Noir could repeat himself, he blinked once, and then as his eyes brightened slightly, he said, "What's up?"

Noir chuckled, observing his reactions. "Nothing really. To be honest, you look to be quite an interesting person. Thought we could hang out a bit, relax, and have some fun."

"Fun?"

Noir's eyebrows tensed. "Yes, fun?"

The man pursed his lips until his lower lip rose above his upper. He gulped, and then he opened his mouth and closed it. Then, an uncanny smile appeared on his face, and his eyes turned into a look that caused Noir's smile to stiffen.

He said, "Thank you, but..." The smile grew wider. "I—my sister is in the hospital. I got to pay her a visit."

"Is that so?" Noir muttered to himself as his gaze traveled to the man's torn pants. "I see... Would you be kind enough to share your contact information? We can talk later, if you desire to—"

The man cut in. "No."

Noir, without any particular look, turned towards the exit. "Well, either way, have a... good day."

"I... hope... you do as well."

And in such a way, Noir smiled at Claire; this time his was forced as he interlocked their fingers and left. It was warm.

Hopefully, that man will find some as well.

For Noir was sure he had seen a man who was at his end.