Vlad wasn’t like Danny. He was stronger, older, wiser. He wasn’t going to lose himself to this thing, wasn’t going to sink into its depths and become a mindless puppet. No matter how seductively they swirled.
However, there was a great distance between not being a mindless puppet and not being controlled. A great gulf of separation, which Vlad could not cross.
“What do you want?” hissed Vlad, clenching the edge of his heavy, oak table. Despite being in human form, his claws were beginning to peek through. The gouges he would dig into the wood if he didn’t calm himself would be difficult to explain to the cleaning staff.
“Oh,” said the insufferable clown, “you know, the usual. Money, power,” he hopped up to sit on Vlad’s desk, crossing his ankles, “control.” He prodded Vlad’s chest with the scepter, and it took all of Vlad’s concentration to keep his ghost half down. “I think you can provide me with all that. And more.”
“Please. You couldn’t keep Daniel under control when he was an infant. What makes you think you can control me?”
“Well,” said Freakshow, “I think I’m doing a pretty good job of it right now. And,” he patted the side of Vlad’s face, “you don’t have any aggravating little friends to break you free, now do you?”
Freakshow stood up and stretched. “Oh, we’re going to have a fine time, you and me. You’ve already got the whole robber shtick down, don’t you? Answer me.”
“But I suppose we don’t need to risk that right away. It’ll take a long, long time to burn through all your cash, won’t it?”
“We’ll sample all the finer things in life! And don’t worry about your companies. They can sponsor the new and improved Circus Gothica. Tell me you love the idea.”
“I love it,” gritted out Vlad, inserting as much sarcasm into the words as (in)humanly possible.
Freakshow’s manic grin faltered for a moment, but came back full force. “You’ll enjoy it, Mr. Masters.”
“Tsk. Tell them to leave,” said Freakshow.
“The room is soundproofed. I’ll have to use the intercom,” said Vlad. One of the first things Freakshow had done upon entering was forbid Vlad from using the phone or intercom.
“Whatever. Just get rid of them. And don’t tell anyone what’s going on.”
Vlad grimaced, but hit the button. “I’m busy,” he said, speaking over whoever was on the other end. “Come back later.” He took his hand off the button. “Happy?”
“Of course. Now, where were we? Oh, yes, discussing what to do with my money.”
“I own you, Mr. Masters. It’s all mine.”
Vlad watched the door silently open behind Freakshow, but didn’t say anything. After all, Freakshow hadn’t ordered him to. He did have to wonder who could have gotten past the keypad. He couldn’t see who it was, past Freakshow. The man’s cape blocked the view, from where Vlad was seated.
The door swung shut again. Freakshow whirled at the click.
There was a bang. Freakshow dropped to the floor.
“I told you,” said Samantha Manson, carefully wiping off the handle of a small pistol, “if you ever showed your face in Amity Park again, I’d kill you.” She stepped over the body and put the gun on Vlad’s desk. “Your problem, now. You’re welcome.”
She picked up the staff on her way out.
Vlad sat frozen in his seat, watching Freakshow’s blood seep into his carpet.
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