Changing Sides and Heaving Sighs

12

     Neon spray paint and white shirts glowed against the nearly black walls of the decaying warehouse, the only non-purple light being a single flickering overhead bulb. Booming speakers sent over boosted bass slamming through the floor and trembling through Virgil's body. Dirt and glitter got kicked up into clouds on the floor under boots and heels. Glowsticks threw ghoulish light onto barely-there faces and dark clothing. The scent of weed and alcohol burned in Virgil's nose. Voices roared over the music; some drunken, some angry, some mindless, and all bloodthirsty.

     The crowd got far more dense around the rickety bleachers and the center of attention: the ring. Battered chain-link walls surrounded a bloodstained patch of floor just beneath the overhead light. The champion already stood in the ring, bulky and glimmering with sweat for no real reason, hyping the crowd and flexing.  A stand near the roof held the announcer, Joan, looking like they were just as thrilled as the crowd. Anton lurked near the competitor's door, caged off so the jeering crowd would be kept safe from him. Elliot, Joan's twin, stood nervously in the ring with a whistle.

     "Alright, let's get started." Virgil wheeled around to face his three lackeys. "Circe, watch for sabotage on the left-hand bleachers and pick pockets if you can. Deceit, same for you on the right-hand side. The Duke and I will stay in the splash zone and keep an eye on any foul play up close." He pointed directly at Circe, "we'll talk about what Anton said later."

     The four split, going to their respective spots. Remus and Virgil stood close together, right up next to the fence. Virgil sensed an opportunity to talk to Remus about what he had learned; even with the noisy crowd they stood close enough to discuss something quietly. Without Deceit there, maybe Remus wouldn't think fast enough to stab Virgil.

     "Hey, Duke?" he asked, courage already dying.

     "Yeah?" Remus flicked his knife around, only glancing at Virgil but looking cheerful enough.

     "Do you ever wonder if, back in fifth grade, you weren't the only one framed for something?"

     The knife made a snapping sound, blade out. "What?"

     "They planted the photos and forged your handwriting, right? Because you'd started acting out after they told you-"

     "Told me my brother kept begging them to get rid of me. They had voice recordings they showed me, dude. After what I did for Deceit, they thought it'd be a great opportunity to give him what he had asked for." Remus stopped moving around. "I wish Roman had really wanted me to stay, I do."

     "Deceit's mixed up voice recordings into different things since we were thirteen to fake phone calls. I'm just thinking-"

     "Why are you thinking about it?" Remus faced Virgil, eyes blazing. "You've talked to Patton twice now, do you want to find an excuse to hang out with Roman's crowd instead of us? Has Roman talked to you?"

     "Whoa, hold on-" Virgil held up his hands, only for Remus to grab his right wrist in a painful grip.

     "Don't talk to me about what did or didn't happen back then," Remus snarled. "You weren't there, you don't know him and you don't know my parents. I know them, I was there. The only person on the whole fucking planet who cared about me then was-"

     Remus' voice cracked, and Virgil finally saw the tears building up in his friend's eyes. Aside from a casual 'oh we hung out and I/he stabbed his/my mom because she's crazy before I/he got taken away' neither Deceit nor Remus talked about their time as elementary school friends. Sometimes they would get close to telling Virgil or each other something, only to shrug it off and forget it. Clearly, those memories hid a lot of pain.