Page 18

It wasn’t the first time I found myself on a balcony to escape the sneers and the mind-numbingly boring conversations but it was the first time I saw a balcony so long. It spanned almost the whole side of the building, without being separated into smaller areas. An utterly ridiculous and impractical concept. What, did they try to make a catwalk? Alright, this tomcat could walk and stretch out his legs!

I strode leisurely, peeking into the windows I passed. Most people were sensible enough to draw the curtains, so I only saw shadows dancing on the drapes, but one room with an open window showed me the serving staff bustling around. They were too busy to pay attention to me so I slipped past with no problems. I walked to the end of the balcony but flinched when I looked at the last window.

It was not only open but there was a man sitting right there by the window. And by the look of his perfectly coiffed blond hair and the top-notch suit (I hated that I could tell the difference now) he wasn’t a worker but one of the rich folks.

“Sorry man, I won’t bother you,” I lifted my hands in a no harm gesture and took a hasty step back.

The blond man didn’t react. He just sat there, perfectly still, his hands laid demurely on his knees. He didn’t even track me with his eyes. Miffed, I studied his profile. Was he even breathing? Upon inspection: yes, he was. I could see the slow rise and fall of his chest.

I should have left him in peace but something bothered me about this scene. His eyes looked so empty.

Tristan once told me that my instincts were sharp and I should follow them. He probably didn’t have jumping through a window into a stranger’s room in mind, but eh, details.

My hunch that something was deeply fucked up here was confirmed as correct when the young man, who looked no more than twenty-one, didn’t look at me even when my boots hit the floor of the room. Even if he was blind he would have felt the disruption...

“Hey, are you alright?” I crouched down in front of him, to be in his line of sight.

No response.

Shit, was he drugged? Or in one of those states of shock I saw during the war?

“Wait... aren’t you the one who played the piano for the guests? Mr. Feliciano’s son...” I wrecked my brain for the name. “Theodore, right?”

That got me a twitch of an eye and a barely there curling of fingers.

“I’m going to get someone for you, alright?” I said, extremely worried. “Maybe your dad?”

“No!” the shout escaped the young man’s lips unbidden, his eyes wide with fear. He moved out of his position for only a second before his hands were placed on his knees again, his gaze aimed straight ahead. “Don’t tell him,” Theodore whispered. “I’m not supposed to move.”

Uh... what? This was some fucked up game? Or a punishment? Over the years I had seen parents beat their kids black and blue but the ‘elites’ liked to pretend everything was perfect behind closed doors and leaving physical evidence, like bruises, was seen as unseemly and rarely done. But this was on another level. A creative cruelty that made me sick.

“Hey, no one is here but me,” I said gently. “You can move. I promise I won’t tell.”

But Theodore shook his head then went back to keeping absolutely still as if he was just a thing and not a living man.

I closed the curtains to lower the chance of being caught then took a seat on the floor.

“Then how about I keep you company?”

Theodore was still and silent.

Talking someone’s ear off wasn’t one of my strengths but, for this guy, I tried. I mused about the recent media war on tobacco and how I disliked its taste and smell myself, then told Theodore how I couldn’t go through our neighborhood without petting at least three dogs. I could swear I saw him relax a bit at the mention of animals so I followed up with describing all the animals I met during my travels with Tristan, from wild zebras and lions to domesticated camels and goats, and even a pet chinchilla a very peculiar merchant carried on his shoulder everywhere.

I lost track of how long I spoke but triumph swelled in me as I saw Theodore progressively relax. He let himself slump a little first, then his eyes closed. One of his fingers slid back and forth over his hand. He still wouldn’t speak to me but he lost that terrifying rigidness.

It snapped back in place when we heard steps outside the door.

“Go, you have to go,” Theodore croaked out in a terrified whisper.

I sprang to my feet and a second later I was out through the window. I plastered myself to the wall outside and crouched down.

The door opened and a voice I recognized as Mr. Feliciano, Theodore’s father and the host of this party, filled the room.

“Theodore, my boy. Were you good today?” the man asked jovially.

“Yes, father,” the young man responded quietly.

“Ah, and here I thought I would give you a chance to come clean. I can see you have moved. The curtains are in a differentposition,” the man’s voice turned cold as ice. Fuck, that was my fault. “You will learn, boy.”