Page 58 of A Dead Man's B-Side
“I’m not–” He fell silent when Cassius’ gaze met his. “I’m… not lying.”
The last words came out as frail whispers. Slowly, tears collected in the corner of his eyes before leaking down his cheeks. Silent cries turned into sobs, and Cassius could only pull him forward into an embrace, offering just as much comfort to the boy as he was to himself. Blurriness filled his vision as he rubbed his back in a soothing rhythm. “It’s okay. You’ll be okay.”
Cassius believed that he was beyond articulate, but sitting there, at that moment, he couldn’t find the proper words.
Later that evening, when Alexei had refused to spend the night in Cassius’ guest bedroom, too prideful, or perhaps reluctant to allow himself being granted anything more than emotional support, Cassius found that it was a quiet night. The spring breeze blew through the cracked balcony doors, and despite the soothing scene, Cassius couldn’t find sleep. Something was keeping him up, and he briefly contemplated calling Bow for a quick check-up. He shifted on his back and stared up at the ceiling for only a second before the foreboding feeling growing inside him found its reason.
The doorbell rang once, almost ominously. The single echo sounding throughout the empty house. By the time Cassius made it to the door, checking the clock on his way–it was a little after midnight–he forwent turning on the porch light, and swung the door open.
There, standing in the dark, like a creature of the night, was his old friend from across the world in nothing but an impeccable suit hidden under a dark trenchcoat, and a leather briefcase.
Cassius didn’t speak, didn’t believe his eyes, his breath caught in his throat at the sight in front of him. Wind, however, found the next words quite easily as his eyes lazily roamed over Cassius’ appearance. “You’ve let yourself go.”
The man in question felt a rush of emotions the longer he stared at the shocking surprise that was his friend, standing on his porch in the dead of night.
“Are you going to let me in, or shall I return home to lick my wounds?”
At the mention of his friend leaving, Cassius surged forward and pulled Wind into a bone-crushing hug.
Chapter Ten
Alexandr Miroslav
1982
The doors to the grand theatre of Castle Hill echoed shut behind me as I slipped into the closest seat; hidden far in the back and obscured from anyone’s wandering eyes within the dark room.
The only light was that of the stage shining down upon the students hard at work. I looked down towards them from the balcony, and a sense of superiority fell over me, a feeling I shook off and made myself careful not to get lost in.
Focusing on the few familiar faces I could make out from the distance, I found Ayana Savané and Cole Coldwell, with his permanently neutral features, holding what could only be scripts in their hands.
I seemed to have walked in just in time for rehearsal.
I hadn’t planned on joining the Queens Club, in fact, I wasn’t particularly interested in anything they might be engaged in.
It was an art form that never piqued my interest, but the scenes before me did.
“Why can’t we just… I don’t know, do Romeo and Juliet or something,” A boy’s voice rang clear throughout the theatre. He stood tall, his plain brown hair tied back in a perfect man-bun, the sides of his head shaved.
Callum, standing in the middle of the calm, as he could only be the storm, watched him for a moment before letting out a breathy laugh and looking around at the crowd loitering on the stage. I was sure they had been busy practicing their own lines or working on backstage chores, but all movement stopped when Callum began to speak.
He spread his arms wide and turned in a circle to look at everyone around him. “Yeah… why don’t we just…” He shook his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug before letting his arms fall and slap against his thighs. “Do Romeo and Juliet.”
He said it as though it were the most obvious thing, with furrowed brows and a smile, before he turned to face the boy again. His lips curled in disgust. “Are you an animal?”
“W-what?”
Callum didn’t spare his words any attention. “Because I don’t even know what to classify you as anymore. I thought your mediocre acting was perhaps a setback in your already lacking human talents. So, what is it? Are you an animal or are you just a failure?”
His words manipulated the boy into believing that it is better to admit that you are an animal than to be a failure. But it didn’t matter, because there was no returning from provoking Callum’s supposed love for theatre. Whether he was either or, Callum would be placated by neither. “I don’t believe you deserve to act on my stage,” Callumwas speaking to him, but it was as though it were directed at everyone on that stage. “Theatre is the most raw and truest form of art. It is entirely human. Human emotion, human thought, human intellect, human creativity. It is… It is the ability to move the heart of others and work their minds. You lack that simple ability, and it is something you clearly will never have. So, I suggest you get off my stage and piss off back to wherever you crawled out of.”
The boy, however, didn’t have time to protest, let alone turn and walk away, because Callum had already crowded his space and pushed him right off the edge.
The stage was high enough for the boy's fall to do some damage and I could only stand abruptly, startled, when he wailed in pure agony, watching the scene with my mouth slightly agape.
I hadn’t known why I pushed up from my chair. It wasn’t as if I was going to voice any protest, but my body moved of its own accord. Wanting to release any kind of movement towards the injustice.
Thankfully, Callum didn’t seem to notice me. He only watched the boy with indifference before turning to a girl with a clipboard. “Clean him off the floors. We have a show in less than four months, and we don’t need guests catching whiffs of animal blood from the wood.”
