Wise Men

Chapter 8

Is this rushed? It feels rushed. Any suggestions would be helpful.

--Napoleon ( -1812- )

“What did you think was going to happen when you stole confidential files from one of the most powerful men in the state?” I woke to screaming. No matter the circumstances, the time of day, the people shouting that is never pleasant. Shouts piercing the calming realm of sleep, I had nothing better to do but welcome to real world where someone was trying to kill me.

Oh fucking God, someone was trying to kill me.

Vi was the one shouting first. I’d recognize her screams anywhere. She was always the one causing the scenes when we were short changed on the streets. It couldn’t be anyone but Revelin shouting back. They didn’t notice that I was awake yet.

“He knew the risks—“

“Bullshit. Don’t tell me it even crossed your mind that this would end up with people dead!” she retorted. Her voice was bitter like tequila and salt. Listening to her made my throat burn already. I shifted onto my side and watched them. I could tell by the blood on Revelin’s neck that it was the same night, that none of this was a dream.

And we couldn’t go to the police over this. Revelin had already wiped our prints from the scene. I watched enough Law and Order to know that was a felony.

The blood on his throat had dried into a sickly brown that cracked when he spoke. It must have been a view hours. A pink comforter beneath me, I realized I was in Vi’s dorm. Yes, the alibi.

“You don’t have any idea what goes through my head, Vivienne—do not pretend to!” His eyes nearly black like the waves of a midnight ocean, crashing wave after wave, I could tell he was utterly and truly pissed. His skin had the pallor of an aberration, his jaw tensed as his teeth were bared like that of a territorial wolf.

Vi approached him, poking his chest with an accusatory finger. She was toe to toe with him with eyes just as fiery as his. “You’re a psychopathic bastard who doesn’t give a damn who he hurts.”

He said with calm more frightening than his anger. “You know me better than that.” He whispered to her, “If I didn’t give a damn why did I tell you to get out while you still could.”

 “If you gave a damn then why did you kiss me?” she snarled.  They stood in shocking silence for several beats of their hearts, unable to think of what to say or do next. Vi broke the silence first. She stepped away from him and looked away.

“Vi, I—“

“I’ll tell the police you were here, Revelin. You too, Chris.” Revelin’s gaze swept over to me, flabbergasted that she had noticed my awakening before he had. “Go get cleaned up before the police get here. Burn that shirt.”

I had seen Revelin on more drugs than I could count on my hand, but this was the first time I had seen him this confused, so disoriented he hardly believed that he needed to get blood off of his neck. Strange as this encounter was, Revelin was getting the brunt of the force.

“Good lord,” she exclaimed. In a flurry she unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off his shoulders. “I’ll get rid of it. Go shower or do I have to do that too?” Her sentence was punctuated, icy and cold. He cleared his throat, some composure returning to him.

“No, Vivienne. Thank you.” He left quicker than I had ever seen him.

Vi, who’s face had already been flushed from the shouting, grew even paler—a feat only possible for a ginger. She slumped into a desk chair, Revelin’s shirt about to fall from her lank fingers. “Oh… oh God, Chris did I just take off Revelin’s shirt?”