Black Lily

By Princess Angelita

SUMMARY: Bo and Vincent are up to their old tricks when Bo decides to keep one of their victims. Begins about one year before Carly and Co. reach Ambrose. VINCENT/OC

RATING: M for gory violence, language, drug use, and sexual scenes. You know, all the good stuff.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own House of Wax or its characters. I only own this story and all original characters. I'm not making money off this, so please don't sue! 

Chapter 1

It was a cold, rainy night in Ambrose. In the House of Wax, Vincent Sinclair was putting the finishing touches on a new wax figurine . . . a young white woman who had strayed into Ambrose the night before, along with her husband. Her glazed eyes watched him fearfully as he touched up the pink paint on her cheeks.

"Is she done yet?" his brother Bo asked as he strode into the room.

Vincent surveyed his work one last time before nodding.

"Good. I'm starved. Want some dinner? We've got canned chili beans and canned noodle soup."

Vincent shrugged. "None."

Bo rolled his eyes. "You are such a freak, Vince. I take it you're going swimming?"

His brother nodded. "Water feels good."

"Feels good on your deformed ass face, you mean. I can't believe you actually have the balls to take the God damned mask off." Bo smirked and lifted his shoulders. "I'll be at the house."

Vincent took another look at the woman before heading down to his workshop to put away the paint. He took off his shirt before carefully peeling the wax mask off his face and lying it down on the workbench. He stared at it for just a moment before blowing out the candles that lit up the workshop and leaving.

The frigid air went unnoticed by Vincent, as scantily clad as he was. After years of bathing in the cold, he hardly felt it. He walked slowly down the mile long path to a small river that he had loved even as a child. To him, the river was peace and solitude and even a small measure of happiness. In the night, bathing in the cold water, he could forget he was deformed, he could forget he was lonely, he could forget the hurt and pain he felt when his own flesh and blood made fun of him.

He paused for a moment at the edge of the river, listening to its humming roar before pulling off his boots, pants, and underwear. Vincent walked slowly into the water, reveling in its freezing depths. When he was in up to his chest, he turned to walk up the middle of the river, fighting the current as he did every night. He had walked about half a mile when he noticed there was something wrong.

The water was red.

The color of blood.

He stood still, wondering what was going on, when suddenly the dead body of a much younger man floated by him. Vincent stared hard at the lifeless corpse, its unseeing brown eyes staring up at the sky. The teenager's throat had been sliced open, revealing the reason why the water was red. But that meant he had been killed only moments before. It also meant whoever had killed him was more than likely still there, and had a weapon.

And Vincent's knife was half a mile down river, hanging from his belt.

He turned, hoping to get back before whoever was out there noticed him.

But he was too late.

A girl raised her head from the water just in front of him. For a moment, Vincent thought of a story his mother used to read him, about water nymphs in a shady glade. The girl certainly looked like one. Her black hair streamed down the sides of her face, covering her naked breasts. Her porcelain skin glowed grey in the moonlight. She stared at him with huge dark blue eyes.

Vincent's gaze ran over her body, settling at her full, pink lips. There was a large hunting knife between her white teeth.

They stared at each other for several minutes before the girl dipped back under the water and disappeared.

Vincent turned around and around, watching and waiting for her to come up out of the water. But she didn't. It was like she had disappeared. He heard none of the sounds he expected to hear . . . someone pulling on clothes, a car starting up. After listening for another half hour, he turned and swam back to the place he had left his clothes. He hurriedly pulled them on and jogged back to the house he and Bo shared, keeping his ears and eyes open for any sign of the girl.

Slamming the door of the house, Vincent hurried inside. The smell of burning chili beans invaded his nostrils and he snorted with disgust. Bo leaned out of the kitchen door.

"What in God's name are you slamming the door that hard for? Tryin' to make me think the cops are here, you fucking freak?"

Vincent shook his head. "People," he rasped.

Bo nodded. "Lester came by just a few minutes ago. He's keepin' an eye on them. There's two boys and three girls."

"One is dead," Vincent said.

Bo glared at him. "You've already started? Why the hell didn't you wait for me?"

"No. The girl killed him. I saw her."

Bo's brown eyebrows rose sharply. "You're tellin' me that one of those girls killed someone?"

Vincent nodded and described what he had seen.

"Are you fucking with me?"

"No."

Bo began to laugh. "Ain't that a bitch. Anyway, food's on the stove." He began pulling on his boots. "I'll go check them out, and we'll get them tomorrow. Lester's already shot out one of the tires on their car, so they ain't going anywhere."