How strange, when an illusion dies...

She looked so confused; staring at Vito with those perpetually concerned eyes of hers, as though she truly cared for Vito. It had become quite a habit of Jack’s to look at Vito with that expression somewhere within her irises, but it looked far different to Vito when the truth was thrown into the mix. No longer did that concern of Jack’s mean anything to Vito; not after he’d come to realize that the emotion that Jack was expressing towards him was nothing but a contradiction.

Vito tossed his head in another direction so to avert his gaze. Once upon a time, Vito had enjoyed their staring contests, as he’d seen those silent moments as an opportunity to dig through Jack’s thoughts – but the thoughts that Vito found within Jack’s mind this time around did not please him. She was a liar; a human being who was far more skilled in the art of deceit than Vito had ever been. Jack had outdone the Devil's right hand man – and to the point of turning the tables on Vito, too. That would be a tough act to follow.

With a shaky sigh, Vito rested the back of his head against the table that stood behind him; he no longer had enough control over his trembling body to hold his head upward. It was strange, how much of an effect the truth had on Vito. He’d grown so accustomed to the illusion that was his twisted relationship with Jack Dyllan, that it had been as though his world had collapsed around him when the smoke cleared, and the truth stepped forth.

He too, was an illusion. He must have been; he was every powerful emotion that Jack Dyllan had ever experienced. Betrayal, hatred, fear, anguish, frustration, sorrow; every negative emotion, personified - perhaps even more than Vito realized. He was the product of a teenager’s hormones gone wild…

Jack was to blame for everything.

“I couldn’t have helped it. You, on the other hand, could have prevented everything,” Vito replied, with his eyes fixed on the wall he’d only just connected his fist with. He’d put every ounce of his physical strength into the act of punching it, and as a result, a small patch of the dark paint had peeled from the spot that he'd hit. It was a flaw, but it was one that could easily be fixed by one of Vito’s employees – unlike the physical, and mental scars that he himself had received that evening. “You could have saved me the torment of living every, single day in fear of being pulled back down to Hell. It is the worst feeling in the world, Jack. I am not alive; my existence could not be considered a life in any way whatsoever,” Vito informed Jack, revealing a bit more of the truth that he’d mistakenly stumbled upon with each word he spoke. Apparently, Vito no longer felt it necessary to keep that truth from Jack – either that, or he was no longer capable of withholding said information, and had begun to spew the truth despite his best efforts to keep it locked within him. It didn’t matter, really; either way, Jack would leave Satan’s, knowing full well of what she’d done to Vito to make him break down in such a way.

“The closest I ever come to contentment, is on the rare occasion that it,”- Vito motioned towards his bare chest so to make it clear to Jack that he was referring to the figurative fire that burned beneath his skin – “calms down a bit. It burns. Constantly, it tortures me - and it is your fault. So what, Jack; did your parents get a little too pissy with you one day? Did mommy say something so mean to her baby girl that you began hating everyone? Or was it daddy? Did he beat you when he found out you weren't the normal, little girl that he'd thought you would be? Huh? What the f*ck was worth getting so upset over that you had to go and do this to me?!” Vito spoke. So venomous was his tone as he questioned Jack - as he begged her for the reason behind his creation - that it was a wonder he hadn’t choked on the toxins that he’d injected his words with when speaking them aloud.

Jack stared at Vito as he spoke, so utterly confused as to what she had done wrong this time- had he not been the one to stab her? If this was about him freaking out about her blood, well that really was not her fault. She had not asked him to stab her, after all. She had accepted that he might, but she had not wanted to be stabbed, to be weakened.

"Vito," she said again, moving a little closer. He looked away and she took the opportunity to move so she was sitting a few feet to his left, cross-legged, staring at him. What was going on within his skull, what skewed thoughts were chruning in there? He looked terrified of something, almost, and it reminded her of the close calls they had when he almost disappeared. She felt her heart start pounding with fear.

He began to speak and she shook her head in confusion, as though trying to make it clear to him that he was neither making sense nor being fair. Everything could not be Jack's fault, after all, she did not think she was nearly talented enough to screw up Vito's like completely. She did not even credit her own turmoil to him. But he was saying she could have saved him.

That was her real problem wasn't it? She could never save anyone; not in time anyway. She was never there quick enough to save them, to prevent them from being totally scarred- physically and mentally- never good enough to be able to be the hero that she had somehow become expected to be. She always let people down when they needed her most.

He continued on, thougjh, and her heart thudded.. What was he really saying? It was not just that she had not saved him.. She had damned him too. Oh, God. Oh, God.. She closed her eyes, her arms and legs quaking terribly, and she gulped air. No, no, no.. She was not becoming Vito, that was not the problem at all. In fact, one could say it was almost a skewed version of the opposite.

Vito was made up by how Jack felt.

She thought about it a second before opening her eyes slowly. That was not all true. Vito had become his own being. He had his thoughts. He had his club. He had his own interactions. He was still Vito and knowing this did not change any of that. It just meant his existence was her own creation. And every murder and every pain he had ever called.. was her fault.

She took a deep breath. "It wasn't even anything that bad. I was going to Hogwarts. And then, my family said we weren't. I was already crazy.. but that ruined my only chances for happiness. And mum was the hitter. Dad was the one that put distance. I just.. had no one." She dropped her head, staring at her lap. It seemed the universe had set out to create someone for her.

She raised her head. "Vito.. I'm sorry. But I can't lie and say I'm mad you exist, because Satan's belongs to you and everyone deserves the right to live and I would probably be dead without you. You might exist because of me, but I survive because of you." And that was why the score could never be settled. "You have to know, that this doesn't change anything." Besides the gult that had begun to set in like a ton of bricks. She was responsible for the death of her best friend's family..

“So you made yourself an imaginary friend?” Vito asked Jack, but he seemed to have used up his supply of screams, as his voice had returned to its usual octave. He had not yet recovered from the evening’s events; despite the fact that his visible, physical injuries had already been healed, it was quite clear that the energy that he was made up of was not as strong as it had once been. Vito had never understood those bothersome fluctuations between his poltergeist form, and his human form – or, whenever he’d discovered the truth, he’d been reborn shortly after, and had forgotten about that moment in time – but now... now he had someone other than himself to curse at as his entire being flickered in and out of view quickly.

Jack was not angry enough; she’d been overwhelmed by the guilt that had followed her realization, and guilt had not been one of Vito’s ‘terms of creation’, so to speak. She was weakening him.

Vito dropped his arms at his side once more, his every movement dizzying with the way his body continued to jitter about. He was just clinging on to existence; and this battle was something that occurred on a daily basis, and whenever Jack’s fury wavered. It was almost as though Vito was following the strict orders of one particularly power-hungry ruler – and it disgusted him. Vito had already allowed his instincts to gain control of him that evening, he was not prepared to hand that much power to Jack; not after everything that had already occurred. There simply had to be a way for him to gain the upper hand; he’d done so many times in the past, when the truth hadn’t been something to get in his way.

If I make her angry, she will feed me her anger, and I will grow stronger, Vito concluded, but where there was a pro, there was a con; It will hurt. Her anger will burn you alive.

It became quite clear to Vito then, as he thought to himself, that he never would have a proper shot at evening the score between the pair of them; not without self sacrifice. How many times had Vito murdered his creators in the past, and had died as a result? Vito simply could not remember – and would not remember during his next manifestation. It was a circle that would never end. “The poltergeists’ curse,” Vito spoke quietly, “to live in pain, to die in pain, and to be recreated out of pain.”

Jack could not have imagined the anguish that Vito experienced. That was the only explanation behind her next statement; Jack had never been a heartless creature - that much had been proven true when Vito had begun experiencing positive, human emotions because of her - and thus, there was truly no way that’s he could have said such a thing if she’d known the torment that Vito battled each day.

“Everyone deserves the right to live…” Vito echoed her words, as though to make her see exactly how much of a contradiction that sentence had been when coming from her mouth, “and yet you let me loose, and you allowed me to feed off of the pain of others. I’ve drowned children, I have torn the hearts of many straight out of their chests... and trust me, it gets a lot more creative from that point on. The things that you have watched me do, Jack, those actions could never compare to the amount of blood that I’ve spilled – and I have fun doing it, too. It is relieving to listen to bones break and to watch blood pool in my palms…”

Vito was trying to make Jack angry.

“Apparently,” Vito began once more, allowing a spiteful smirk to spread across his face. “I did it all because of you!” he stated in a sing-song voice, as though he was speaking of something far more casual than murder. Vito tilted his head to the side and shifted his position so that the side of his face was rested against the wall, “You little hypocrite, you! You would make the Devil proud. Perhaps I’ll bring you along with me for the ride. You and I could have a lot of fun in Hell together, you know." The offer was a honest one; Vito would have loved to serve Jack a bit of revenge.

At Jack’s last statement, Vito did not laugh, nor did he say something sarcastic in reply, as he usually would; no, Jack had struck a nerve with such a sentence, and Vito could not respond to something so rare with banter. He simply did not have the self control for such an action, and he had no idea where he’d last seen his mask, or where to find it now. “The connection…” he began, only managing to force these simple words out, as his voice was threatening to crack, “the understanding… I should have known better. I’m not allowed such things. It isn’t in my job description.”

Vito was calm again- or at least his voice was- and she closed her eyes against his words, because in a way, that was what it had been. Of course, she had not meant to, nor had she known her little 'imaginary friend' even existed. But her main problem had been that she had never had anyone to be there for her, even if they were not good to her. They were not steady and constant.

Well, Vito was just that, wasn't he? He could not disappear until she died or.. Or what? Until she resolved all of her hatred? The thing was, where had all that hatred come from, and who was it directed at? Jack had always been a bit of a spitfire, but she never thought herself as a person full of hate-- she could not even hate Vito. For the past seven years though, Vito had been feeding on her hatred..

How could she resolve hatred she could not identify? What was worse, was even if she knew where it was directed, she wouldn't want to cure it. She was too afraid of what would happen without Vito there to steady her. People thought Jack was so selfless for saving people and putting herself in danger- but she had the power to stop Vito, but she was too selfish to. She was too afraid things would return to before..

But he began to speak, and she thought maybe she had affected him. He continued up and she felt digust rising in her throat, shivering. She was quaking more and more. Shaking. Every murder he highlighted seemed to play out before her eyes. He knew she had made the connection, that each one was her fault, and now he was torturing her.

"Stop." When had Vito ever done anything she asked though? "Stop it," she demanded, her voice cracking with anger. But was the anger at Vito? Not really, maybe a little. Really, she was filling with anger directed at herself, because he was right. Because she threw herself a little pity party, people had died. People like Chase's family.

"STOP IT!" she said, pushing herself forward and seizing his bare shoulders with her hands, glaring down at him. "I never meant it! I just-" she felt her hands loosened and she fell backwards to sit down, sighing and dropping her elbows on her knees and then resting her head in her hands. The anger still pulsated beneath her but guilt froze her veins, prevented her from acting on her anger. "I don't know."

Though Vito had planned on receiving an angry response from Jack after placing the blame entirely on her, he was, in fact, quite surprised by Jack’s bold decision to close the distance between the pair, and to grab hold of his shoulders (Vito shed his shirt, if you remember). Jack had always been one for bold actions and stupid moves, but Vito could not remember her ever doing anything of that nature out of anger ; whenever Jack did something of the sort, it was usually in an attempt to pull Vito away from someone in order to protect them, or on that one occasion when she’d pulled him from a booth on the first floor of his club and had helped him upstairs. Never had Vito managed to get such a reaction out of her – but then again, never before had Jack managed to make Vito angry enough to put aside his fear of seeing her bloodied in order to lash out at her. On any ordinary evening, Vito would have counted them even - despite the fact that he’d attempted to kill her twice, and she had done nothing more than express her anger - but Vito had a feeling that he would never again be able to look at their scoreboard in the same way he had before.

“Watch…” Vito ordered Jack, and dragged his eyes away from her furry-filled eyes in order to watch the skin of his shoulders, the skin that she was gripping roughly, as it stop flickering. Vito’s human form had returned once more, no longer too weak to remain visible for longer than a few seconds. He’d stopped jumping from Earth to Hell, and it had all been because of an emotion that he’d caused Jack to feel. It had taken no more than a few, bitter sentences on his part, and his problem had been solved… momentarily.

Suddenly, a somewhat malicious idea struck Vito; an idea which would surely become a full-fledged scheme before long. If I give her a taste of the rage I feel, surely she will become just as bad as I am. There will be a perfect balance if I fill her with enough hate; I won’t need to fight this damn body any longer. It will remain... even as I sleep. With an unexpected turning of the tables, a morbid excitement danced about within Vito’s stomach. What Vito had once seen as the end of the world – and no, he had not yet gotten over that feeling of pain and betrayal that had overwhelmed him at first, and probably never would feel any differently towards Jack after his realization – had become an opportunity for him to gain control over his twisted existence. At last, he could gain control of the situation…

But something other than excitement swam about in the acids of Vito’s stomach; a question that Vito could not seem to answer. If this isn’t the first time that I’ve discovered my creator – and it most certainly isn’t – then why the Hell haven’t I ever used one of them to my advantage? Why have I always killed them? Why have I always used that option, if it is my ‘eject button’? Why jump to ‘plan Z’, when “A” is right there..? Surely there was a reason; something must have gone wrong during Vito’s previous attempts to use his creator as a remote control to tinker with his existence, and the thought sickened Vito, as though he was missing something terribly important.

Vito met Jack’s eyes once more after watching his skin for a moment, in order to make certain that it would not suddenly become transparent again. He said nothing more after that point; not with his lips, at least. His dark eyes were doing the talking. Every time I have had trouble returning to this form, it was because of you. Do you remember when I almost lost my hold on this world? You clung to me then, but with every moment of going without hating me, you only pushed me further away. Do you remember? His irises asked, but when he next blinked, they began another conversation that was quite different than the first. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. Deep beneath my skin; in my bones and my blood it hurts. You are boiling me alive. Again, he blinked. I am going to use you to remain forever. I am going to hurt you worse than I ever have before, and I will feed off of your pain. I will become the strongest possible form of myself, and it will because I’ve taken everything from you. I am going to tear your world down. It’ll be fair that way, you see…

Just as Vito was about to pull himself from Jack’s grasp, she fell to a sitting position once more, and replied to him with two, simple words. Did Jack not know that simple words would no longer work? She’d been quite wrong to assume that the truth would not change a thing; no longer would Vito feel contented, or comforted by simple words. Now, every word that fell from Jack’s lips was either a contradiction or a lie.

Vito watched Jack’s facial expression, and was reminded immediately of the evening when he himself had collapsed in the very spot that she was sitting, and she'd held him gently. The memory was vivid; that feeling of several, very human emotions had overwhelmed him as she'd comforted him, and he could recall every one of them, as though he was remembering the different flavors of a memorable meal. Pain, confusion, anger… safety. Was that what Jack was feeling? Were their emotions any different at all? Had Vito become too much of a human himself for the link between them to be that strong, or was he just a shadow of what Jack was, and what she was feeling? Vito’s eyes remained fixed on Jack’s.

How much had the truth really changed?

“Stop throwing yourself a pity party. This is your fault. You don’t deserve it,” Vito informed Jack.

Apparently, not much.

Jack stared back at Vito, and then oveyed his command. She found herself surprised to see his skin flick back to normal. She stared at him and realized she should have thought as much. He fed off negative feelings. Did that mean to keep him alive, she could never have apositive thought again? But she had not always been feeling angry and bitter and upset- and he was here. There was some balance. Some hatred she had underlying the feelings of temporary happiness and whatnot.. She just had to find the balance again.

Or maybe she should just let these things run their natural course. No, she shook her head and shook away those thoughts. She could not continue on like that.. knowingly destroying Vito because she wanted to be happy. She had resigned herself to the fact that her job was to bring others happiness, even if it meant her own misery.

Her eyes met his, ready to say something, but found his were locked on hers and she froze, staring right back, her anger towards him fading, leaving digust and anger only towards herself. Suddenly though, his eyes seemed to be staring more through her.. And she felt something. She suddenly felt like she was back to the day that he had almost left this world.. and she felt herself riddled with guilt.

He blinked and sadness and shame began to fill her. Her forehead scrunched up, looking absolutely sorry for everything she had done. She closed her eyes, a look of pain on her face as she chewed on her lip, her eyebrows curved upwards. She opened her eyes and opened her mouth to speak but he blinked again and something else overtook her.

Fear. He was plotting something. He wanted something out of her. He had a plan, he was going to use all of this to get what he wanted, and if she knew Vito it was not going to bode well for her. She could not let Vito destroy her.. but she could not let herself destroy him. There had to be a balance struck and she had to find it before Vito broke her.

She had to release him before he said more to frighten her. She tried to compose her thoughts and it his words, she opened her mouth to refute it, but he was right. That was what she was doing. She could curl in on herself later. She had bigger fish to fry her. She closed her mouth and jerked her head, though the emotions churned deep in her stomach.

"What do I have to do?" she said in a strained voice. "Don't bullsh!t me now, I'll be able to tell. What is your plan? Might as well tell me, I'll do what I can to make it work better," she said, feeling as though she were signing away her soul. "What are you planning on doing to me?"

Jack had received the message that his eyes had sent her way; that much was evident by the way in which she’d so easily assumed that he’d been planning something. It was rather interesting in Vito’s opinion; the fact that she’d so easily caught up with his thought process by simply looking into his eyes while he thought. It was almost as though his idea had been reflected off of his eyes, and all she’d needed to do in order to learn of said idea was face the pair of mirrors, and to read the plot backwards.

Vito and Jack were no longer separated by facades; the truth had been enough to tear each of their walls down, and had left them each with tell-tell expressions on their faces, and with too many emotions to express at once. They were being forced to face the truth. There was no more hiding.

Having decided to speak his next words aloud, Vito moved his eyes to the wall once more. “You said that you and I were the same, once,” Vito replied, his voice sounding quite heavy, as though he was struggling to keep it level, “but if that were true, I wouldn't be forced to fight in order to remain here. While I feel that any sort of balance is dull...”

He paused for a moment, rephrasing the rest of his sentence.

“I am going to make certain that you and I are the same. If I am to cause you the same torment that you’ve caused me, certainly, the scales will even out, and I will no longer face a nearing expiration date,” He answered Jack, and quite suddenly, flicked his cruel eyes upward to gaze at her through his eyelashes. The poltergeist had returned, and had rid his eyes of any humanity that had once been.

“You aren’t getting rid of this imaginary friend that easily, because I’m going to make you just as I am. You are going to take me up on that offer; to join me on the highway to Hell, but we're getting off just before the gates.”

Jack felt her heart hammer in her chest. It almost sounded like he was on the same page as her, trying to find that balance so they could coexist.. So they could not be completely miserable for the rest of their lives, so they could continue their lives without completely breaking down, without being completely dependant on each other to stay content with life.

He began to speak, and if there was a soundtrack to Jack's life, this would be the cue for that creepy music that bounced around in one's ears and seemed to resonate down to one's very soul. It rocked her and had she been standing she might have fallen down, just as the weight of his words shook her and began to settle inside her.

Vito wanted the same thing, but his ideas were more hostile. Jack had thought if she could just refocus her hatred on Ne'Os, maybe even on Felix, make some more enemies- it was not that hard for her to be honest. Refocus her hatred elsewhere, because she was almost sure that somehow, she could not hate Vito. She still had to figure out what he meant in relation to her, but she was almost sure this was the case.

She closed her eyes. "What are you gonna do? Can't kill me or mutilate me, can you? So what? Hmm? What are you going to do to me?"

The days for negotiation were over - or, rather, if there ever had been a day when negotiation had been an appropriate method of resolving issues between Vito and Jack, it most certainly was not the present. Vito no longer possessed the patients for swapping ideas or striking deals with Jack. In fact, the idea of coming to an agreement with Jack, one which would permit them both to live on without being tormented, hadn’t so much as tiptoed across Vito’s mind. He’d decided on the most chaotic, horrific, and illegal resolution - naturally.

Putting the heal of his right shoe to good use, Vito forced his weight upon the small wedge, and took hold of the bedside table that he’d previously rested his back against. He lifted himself upward and straightened his spine, before turning on the spot and starting towards the mahogany wardrobe that stood tall on the other side of his bedroom. For a moment it almost seemed as though Vito had forgotten of Jack.

On the contrary; Vito's skull had become a place for the girl to call home those days. The phrase ‘peace of mind’ no longer meant anything to him, due to the redheaded monster.

“Redheaded monster…” Vito repeated aloud, echoing himself so to make the thought audible to Jack. He tore a deep purple bundle of silk from a hanger, and then began to remove the sleepwear from said hanger. “I’m fond of that nickname, actually. Perhaps I will call you that one more often,” Vito added, his voice laced with mock-interest, as though such simpleminded thoughts could hold any meaning after the evening’s shocking realization. Vito identified the top half of his pajamas and began to slide into the long-sleeved shirt, and absently stared at the clothing that hung before him. No, he decided. Banter just doesn’t feel the way it should. Not now. Not anymore. He ran his skilled fingers over the buttons of his shirt gracefully, popping each button into its proper position.

He had not yet answered Jack’s question. This was intentional; any visible signs of him having forgotten of what he’d been asked were simply a part of the show that he was putting on. Vito had located his mask, and at once he had pulled it over his face and had gotten into character.

Vito stepped out of his slacks, which had, unfortunately been stained by both blood and grass during the evening’s events, and into the silk pair of bottoms that he’d produced form his closet. There was no telling how many charms and enchantments Vito's maids would have to attack the suit with in order to remove those stains, but Vito’s mind was elsewhere; he no longer possessed the mental capacity to think of both his beloved clothing, and of his darling creator – Vito shuddered visibly – simultaneously.

He slipped out of his shoes, and as his bare feet met with the hardwood floor beneath him, it grew colder, until visible frost outlined his toes.

Having dressed himself in something that did not smell terribly of blood, Vito turned and faced Jack once more. Despite the fact that he had averted his attention away from the female for a moment, however, it did not seem to pain him any less than it originally had when his brown eyes met with hers. The sight of her continued to feed the flame within in him, and the flame then continue to char his every – stolen – organ as he stared at her. He blinked, but the second of relief that the action had provided was not enough to make up for anything.

At last, Vito parted his lips, and from them fell the answer that Vito had withheld from Jack for so long. “No, Jack; I will never physically harm you again. You have my word,” he replied. “No. I am going to break you, but as I do so, I won’t so much as” – Vito extended an arm towards Jack and ghosted three of his fingertips near her hairline – “touch you.”

Jack stared at him for a moment, waiting for action, waiting for words, waiting for banter. Instead he stood and walked away, much more interested in his own business. She pushed herself towards the edge of the room to rest herself against the wall, her back touching it as she pulled her legs up, resting her clasped fists on her right knee. her chin falling in the crevices of her hands, her index fingers crossing over her mouth as though to be a physical filter.

They were in much more dangerous waters. She had to mind herself.

He began to speak and it was a good thing she had her filter, because while her mind knew he was looking for a rise, she knew her mouth normally would have responded on its own accord and made an even worse mess than either of them needed right now. Instead, she closed her eyes and dipped her head, as though she were agreeing with Vito.

Meanwhile, her insides were crashing down though. The little mini Jacks that ran her brain and made sure she was functioning were creating little mini nooses and throwing them over nerves and bones, ready to give up. Everything she had stood for was a sham. She had wanted to save people from Vito, but she really should have focused on saving them from herself.

She glanced up to see Vito changing out of his bloodstained clothes and she dropped her eyes back down to her own bloodstained shirt, bloody at the stomach and the shoulder. She pointed her wand at the shirt and felt the blood dry- now that it had dried into the shirt, she was sure it was ruined. Oh well. What more could be done really?

She glanced up to see Vito turn his eyes on her. She reached down and pushed herself up onto her feet, staying against the wall but watching him with her keen eyes, calculating everything, trying not to betray her feelings of hopelessness within the green pools. He began to speak and she knew what he wanted, she could feel it in her bones. She knew his aims, but his methods sent a shiver down her spine.

He reached out his hand and she blinked, before reaching up and grabbing it. She pulled it down to a lower level and shook it, as though coming to an agreement. Her eyes stayed trained on his as she responded, "Challenge accepted."

Feeling as though she had just signed her own death certificate.