White Flag

Antonio, Part 2

"Oh, Feliciano..." Antonio rubbed his friend's back, tears welling up inside his own eyes. "You're probably coming to me because you think I killed him, sí...?"
Feliciano's head whirled around to face his comforter, his face contorted with rage. Spit was dripping out of his bared teeth, and his red face was stained with tears. When he looked at Antonio's crying eyes, Feli's face softened a bit. Ashamed, he lowered his head again. "Yes." He still was firm in his accusation.
"Feli. I know this must be hard on you. It is hard for me too. But you have to understand. I did not kill him."
Something inside Feliciano spoke to him.
Liar.
No, no, no, leave me alone! Listen to what he has to say--
Liarliarliarliarliarliar
SHUT UP!
"How could I have gotten there that quickly? You would have seen me running from his body. Plus, I don't carry knives. If I were to kill someone, Feli, I'd use chloroform to knock them out, then--"
Antonio noticed Feliciano's silence.
"Something wrong, amigo?"
"I never told you he was killed with a knife."
Antonio froze. His palms became sweaty. "I just assumed, you see, because most murders are done with a knife, right? At least in my place. Actually, I think France was at your place at the time he was killed. Like, September, right?"
"I never told you when he was killed, Antonio."
            "Ah, again, just assuming! I was watching the news that night when I was on vacation in Greece. Seriously! It was there! On the news! It said that the killer ran away without a trace! There was not enough evidence, so they didn't carry on with the case--"
              "Quit your rambling."
           Antonio gulped. Whoever he was talking to was not Feliciano. No, this was a being much darker. Antonio saw Feliciano slowly reach for something in his pant pocket. As he pulled it out, he saw it was a knife.
           "Feliciano--"
          Feliciano whirled into a standing position and raised the knife above his head, bringing it down onto Antonio with seemingly lightning speed. So when Antonio slid away, Feliciano--no, not Feliciano. Feliciano was not present in this body.
           This body was now controlled by Luciano.
            Luciano was actually surprised at Antonio's speed. "You can't run away from me, bastard!" He spat, infuriated at himself for not hitting Antonio. Now he had to kill him for sure. Not that he wasn't going to in the first place, but now Antonio knew too much. He had seen too much. Heard too much.
            "This isn't like you, Feli! What are you doing?!" Luciano ran up to Antonio. Antonio was ready to counter, to throw a punch, but in a fraction of a second Luciano smiled slyly and ran around to Antonio's back and stabbed him directly between two vertebrae of his spine.
           Luciano pulled the knife out of the buff Spaniard's back and watched him crumple to the ground. The Italian rolled him over onto his back, raised his knife high above his head--
          "I am not Feliciano."
          Luciano threw the knife down with immense force into Antonio's heart. Antonio's eyes looked at Luciano for a moment and locked with his eyes. He searched for Feliciano anywhere in those warm amber eyes. But no matter how hard he tried, all that stared back at him were the cold, lifeless eyes of Luciano Vargas.