Lightning crashed against the building, rattling the structure. The perfect cue for the ominous man to start his monologue. Men filled the room, outnumbering our crusade.
Brenda was casual about their grisly, menacing features, plopping herself down on the leather couch, sitting adjacent in the room. Then she turned her attention to the presumed Jorge, waiting for him to speak.
"You ever get the feeling the whole world's against you?" The man asked after a short exhale. A burst of laughter escaped me, Newt gave me a look that made me shut up.
"Sorry." I coughed, placing a hand over my mouth to hide my smile. "Go on, my bad." Jorge flicked my interruption aside, striding over to a desk.
"Three questions," He rifled through bottles that gave the sharp smell of alcohol as he spoke with a husky, warm, Latin accent. "Where did you come from? Where are you going? How can I profit?" Raindrops tapped against the green window panes. A quiet blanketed us in our nervousness. "Don't all answer at once." Jorge lofted sarcastically.
During the empty silence where everyone was too uncertain to answer, I took the opportunity to drink the older man in.
He had graying black hair, curling on the top of his head. He had a straight mustache hanging over his lip, circling down to his chin to form a beard. His sharp jaw suited the facial hair well.
Jorge was middle aged, maybe Brenda's dad if I had to guess. He was certainly old enough to be. They were both some sort of Latino as well, relation between the two wouldn't be crazy for me to infer.
"We came from the mountains." Thomas stepped forward hesitantly, a natural leader, the golden boy. "We're looking for the right arm."
Hyena like snickers came from the men surrounding us, mocking us with their laughter. We were their free entertainment. They could do whatever they pleased to us. My mouth went dry.
"You're looking for ghosts you mean." Jorge slid the liquor that sloshed around his glass down his throat like water. He held his fiery eye contact with us as he drank, gulping for dramatic effect.
"Too bad we didn't bring a ouija board." I murmured to Newt. He shushed me quickly, snapping my neck back towards Jorge.
Jorge let out a refreshed sigh, a plant being watered, his roots ready to sink into one of us. The question was, who?
"Question number two." He came closer, too close for Minho's liking. I could already see the boy struggling not to speak. He hated when people got in his face, Minho hated it even more when they acted arrogant, people like that were much too like himself. "Where did you come from?"
"That's our business." Minho's tone could saw an arm off from how sharp it was. Jorge looked like he had given him a bad taste, leaving it ruminating in his mouth.
The man let out a dissatisfied hum before giving a sudden twitch of the head.
Barkley and the other rag tag hooligans launched themselves onto us. Thomas and Minho were ripped to center while the rest of us had the pleasure of each being restrained by hulking men.
A man squeezed my elbows to keep me docile, holding my arms around my back. He chuckled when I spasmed forward with pain. Victor whimpered beside me, his raw burn being pressed into by his guard.
"Hey!" Chuck projected, a voice crack adding to the attention he called for. "Stop it, you're hurting them!"
The men burst out laughing, finding sadistic enjoyment in our pain. Brenda left the couch, nimbly grabbing a handheld machine that emitted a whistle like ringing. The sound's frequency pierced our ears.
"Get the hell off me!" Thomas wriggled and writhed as if he were a fish out of water. Brenda was drawing the machine closer to him. "Get the hell off me man! Get off!"
"Shut up you big baby." Brenda snagged the back of Thomas's shirt, exposing the nape of his neck. Jorge sipped on his drink with a frighteningly calm ease.
"What is that?!" Thomas panted, his shirt hanging loose on his bent over body. After the small tool met his neck it's noise died down. Brenda examined the machine's screen, although I wasn't at the right angle to read what emotion her face gave off. She only tipped her head back up and looked back towards Jorge.
"You were right."
Jorge wore an articulate expression, taking the small machinery from her palms. After slipping out a pair of glasses from his pocket and allowing them to frame his face, he peered down to see what she did.
"Right about what? What's she talking about?" Thomas spoke from above me, released from the man that held him. The other men followed cordially, freeing us one by one.
Jorge gave a breathy chuckle, his glasses came off sharply, with a graceful practice. He was enlivened by what he knew. What he saw that we hadn't.
"I'm sorry Hermano," Rolled suavely off the man's tongue. "Looks like your tagged."
"Tagged?" I jumped in, stretching my back out from the way I'd been restrained earlier. "Like a dog?"
"You came from Wicked." Jorge pointed at us, the fact sounding more like an accusation. "Which means, you are very valuable."
The room seemed to close in on us with his declaration. Instantaneously we were no longer human, we'd been transformed into plump cash cows. Barkley wasn't the only one ready to tear into us now. We were circled around by lion like men, their gaze animalistic.
"Valuable, um- well- you see- that's actually quite flattering, ha, thank you." I tried to laugh the men away with my humor, it had always worked in the past. Telling by their hungry glares, no such luck.
"Take them to the abyss." Jorge ordered, about to turn back to his alcohol when I piped in again.
"Wait! Um Jorge- Sir, my friend," Motioning towards Victor, I saw him scrunch his face up as a man roughly grabbed him. He didn't even have a proper shirt thanks to the lightning. Now all that remained was thread and tatters hanging by seams around him. "Tampon top over there is badly burned. You see he was struck by lightning and-"
"Enough." Jorge raised a hand to quiet me. It seemed that I had annoyed him into helping Victor. "As long as it will get you out of here then fine." He swiveled back to his henchmen, chrystal bottle of hard liquor hanging loosely in his hand. "Take the rest of them down to the hole but take the chiquita and the niño with the red hair to the room next to them and lock them in." Jorge looked Victor up and down with and elderly disgust. "And someone get this hijo de perra a shirt." Like he had done some saintly duty, a proud smirk played on his lips. "There, now you can fix him up."
_________________________
"Mmh fuck fuck fuck!" Victor was thrown into the bathroom after me, he landed against the shower, tipping into the bathtub. A crash followed the bruising contact. He lay tangled in the shower curtain, curling himself into a ball.
"Are you okay?" My shoes tapped on the linoleum till I kneeled next to him. "Did he manhandle you?"
"Yeah." Victor wheezed, squeezing his eyes shut. "Fuck it hurts." As worried as I was for him, I still found the situation ironic. Grasping the first aid kit that had been chucked along with us, I pulled it along with me as I stepped into the alabaster tub.
"I guess you know how it feels now."
"I guess so."
He uncrumpled his thin figure and turned his back to me for treatment. It was like a spider web had seared it's way across the upper right portion of his back. The burn most resembled the tree I mentioned earlier. A red irritated haunted tree. Twigs and wild knotted limbs arched on his fair skin.
My thumb traced the burn, guilt weighing down my stomach. I knew it was impossible that I caused the storm but I still felt responsible. Victor curved his back into my touch, his chin raising as if he were balancing something on the top of it.
"Sorry, here I'll get the stuff." My hand left his back, sifting through the first aid kit. I found a salve and bandages. Just what we needed. "I'm gonna put this balm on your back okay. It's gonna be a little cold and I'll have to rub it in."
"I'm sure I'll be fine."
Victor nodded, allowing me to continue the process. The balm's acrid smell filled the air. An artificial honey aroma wafted above our heads. I took the paste and applied it onto his skin. To keep him from squirming I soothed him with conversation.
"You know you haven't really changed since we were little."
"What's that mean?" Victor inhaled sharply when I pressed the salve into his skin. The affliction worsened and he let out a few gasps. "Ah-h-h." My fingers quickened across his freckled flesh.
"I've been getting these memories whenever I fall asleep. You were in quite a few of them." The application was over. Now it was time for the bandages. Unspooling the white ribbon like material, I began wrapping it over his wounds. "When you were little and we first met, you told me that you were going to marry me."
"I still stand by that statement."
"And when you were a little older Wicked hated how you would always sneak around to see me." A smile rose on my lips, flowering at my recollections. I tied the last bandage into place, never stopping my storytelling. "They'd always catch you. That's why you have those scars on your chest. They burned them into you."
"Really?" Victor's sprightly hair was a copper under the bathroom's light. He turned his jaw over his shoulder, checking my truthfulness. "Is that how I got these? I've always wondered..."
"Yup. I'm not bullshitting you." Hooking my arms through his and locking them onto his shoulders, he laid back into me. "After they burned you and you got caught again, I don't think I saw you for a while. Then when I finally did, Paul had gotten to you. You acted like you did when we met again for the first time in the glade. You were gone." Swallowing back the discomfort the last memory gave me, I pressed my forehead into his neck, kissing his bandage. "There, all better."
Victor unstuck himself from me. He revolved his thin figure only to go right back onto me. He was close. So very close.
"You told me you weren't going to kiss me again."
"I wasn't."
"Do you want me to kiss you?" His nose brushed against my cheek, mouth by my ear. His chest was pressed flush against mine.
"You shouldn't."
"I love you." Victor whispered, turning the encounter into an embrace. His face nuzzled into my neck.
"You shouldn't." I repeated, my eyes stinging. "Everyone who loves me dies."
He pulled back only to place a gentle kiss on the corner of my mouth, mostly my cheek. The area burned, smoldering softly. I liked it. That's what scared the hell out of me.
"Don't kiss me again." He mumbled, crawling off of me. "Don't kiss me unless you mean it. Don't kiss me and pretend it's him."
Guilt seeded it's way inside. Thick heavy guilt making my tongue unusable. Guilt buried deep inside my chest, festering and hissing and spitting.