Requiem for a Mouse (16 page)

BRYCE

A jabbing pain pulsed through Bryce’s stomach. Each wave of pain was accompanied by equally strong nausea. But Bryce kept drinking what tasted like sewage.

“Did you get all that?”

Bryce lazily turned his head at the man he once admired. “No.”

“I was saying…”

Bryce ignored the rest, opting to focus the entirety of his efforts on keeping his drink down. Each drink felt like a one-two blow, the first came in a stinging bitterness, and the second a ghastly aftertaste. The more Maverick talked, the more Bryce drank.

“Hey, are you listening to me?” Maverick tapped him on the shoulder.

Each tap only served to remind Bryce of how soft this man had become. He was once a warrior, the most vicious of them all. They would laugh in the face of pain and delight in their own screams. But the man behind him was no warrior, he was a Mouse.

Bryce waved his hand. “Yeah, sure.” He reached down to finish his drink and grasped air. He looked sideways to see the drink in Maverick’s hand.

Much to the bartender’s dismay, Maverick spilled the drink out. “You better be listening because I’m saying this only one more time.” His voice changed into something resembling a growl. “There are four people in this world that you will not touch, Sasha, Bolt, Prince, and Flower. If I ever hear your name again, Hawk, I’ll tear your feathers out one by one until you beg me to end you.”

It took a moment for Bryce to realize that this was the same person. This wasn’t the Crushin’ Russian, nor was it Maverick. This person was a completely different creature, its icy disposition almost inhuman. A smile crept onto Bryce’s lips.

“You’re wrong about one thing, I’m not a Hawk.”

“I don’t give a damn what you are.”

Bryce spun off his chair, his feet landing softly on the ground. “Hawks are a dying breed.” He stood tall, looking down on Maverick. “And so are Mice. This place is about to go up in flames and only warriors will leave unscathed. I’m curious to see if you make it out alive.”

Maverick glared back, his eyes like black holes. “We were never thrown in the ring together, but everyone knew how it would’ve turned out. You don’t want to find out if they were right.”

“I wonder about that now. The old you was a monster and I know he’s still in there somewhere. But he might be buried too deep to save you in time.” Bryce took a few paces away from Maverick only to turn with his arms spread as if hugging the air. “The Crushin’ Russian versus Bryce the Brawler! Wouldn’t that be a fight to remember? Now who was it that I wasn’t supposed to touch?”

“You’re about to make a very grave mistake.” Maverick’s hands curled into fists. Bryce was sure those fists still felt like iron. Years of bruises and blood could not be cast away as easily as a name.

“Bolt, Flower, Prince, Sasha.” Bryce said each name slowly as if playing with the words. “I’ve heard some of those before. Ah yes, I met Prince the other day. Pitiful kid, he thinks he can be a hero. And I believe he also mentioned your Sasha. I’ve heard so much about this red-eyed Mouse. I should really meet her.”

The fist came fast. It was a left-handed hook straight to the stomach, just as he had seen so many times before. His wall of muscle might as well have been made of feathers.

Bryce fell on one knee and clutched his stomach. He clenched his throat shut, but too late. Sour drainage leaked out. Before he even finished puking, he yanked his head to the side, feeling a second fist just barely graze his temple. The Crushin’ Russian’s favorite combo was enough to end most fights. But Maverick was not as fast as the Crushin’ Russian.

Before Maverick could regain his balance, Bryce pulled out his knife and brought its tip to Maverick’s throat. His heart felt like a ticking time bomb about to blow. The knife trembled just centimeters away from flesh.

“Too slow.” He said.

Finally!
This was how it felt like to fight in the pits. It was a feeling he had nearly forgotten. Drugs and alcohol served as a poor replacement for his addiction.

“God, how I hate knives.” Bryce exclaimed. “In the pits, we were only given our fists and whatever rock or stick we could get our hands on. And we killed each other just fine. I bet you’re the type to use a knife now. Am I right?”

Maverick strained his neck away from Bryce’s knife. “You’re the one with the knife right now.”

In a single motion, Bryce twisted the knife away, back into his pocket. “Warriors fight with their fists. Don’t worry, if I find your friends, I’ll fight them the right way.”

“You think I’d let you just walk away?”

“You’re too weak.” Bryce stood up and walked away laughing. “What can you possibly do?”

JAKE

Jake awoke to a sharp nip in his arm. “What the fuck?” he screamed. He yanked his arm up and a syringe flew across the room. It shattered against the wall. “Did you just—”

“It’ll help with the pain.” Number One said. He slid his hand over the ground until he found another syringe, this one half full.

Jake swung his leg and kicked Number One in the stomach. His back flared with pain until tears came to his eyes. He was sure the kick hurt him more than Number One. “Get the fuck away from me. I won’t be a fucking Sticker.” He said, already out of breath.

Number One folded in two and dropped the syringe. He staggered backwards and fell.

“Bryce said—” Number Two said approaching him.

“Get away from me!” Jake screamed. His scream cut into a low gurgle as his back flared up again.

Both Number One and Number Two were in the t-shirts they had worn the previous week. The musk of dirt and sweat clung to their bodies, filling the entire house with its stench. Stickers always smelled the same.

“I’d sooner blow my brains out than become like you two.” Jake said.

The door clicked and opened. Jake squinted. The strip of sunlight from the door was like staring into headlights. Soon enough, the door closed and Bryce walked in with a brown bag in his hands. More orders from The Boss.

“Thank God,” Jake had never been happier to see Bryce. “Bryce, get these fuckers away from me. Help me out, man.”

Bryce ignored Jake’s plea and took a seat at their table. He ripped open the brown bag. “You should listen to them,” Bryce told Jake. “Those are the best painkillers in this city.”

“What?” Jake had no words. “You can’t be serious. I’m not a Sticker.”

“Why not?” Bryce asked while sifting through the bag.

“Because I don’t want to melt my god damn brain.” Jake exclaimed. “I’m not going to just sit in a corner all day with a needle in my arm while I piss myself into an early grave. It’s pathetic!”

“Well, I think getting beaten by a little girl is pathetic as well.”

Jake’s mouth dropped. He had never heard this tone out of Bryce. “Hey!” he snapped. “Watch what you’re saying! Look, just tell Number One and Two to get the fuck away from me.”

“I don’t think I will.” Bryce answered.

“What are you talking about?”

Bryce finally looked over. His eyes were cold and unfamiliar. “You’re now as useless as our Stickers. The only difference between you guys is that you’re fucking loud. It’s annoying.”

“Bryce…” Jake’s voice slipped away from him. “What are you talking about? We’re friends!”

Bryce sighed and shook his head. “Number One, Number Two, give him enough to shut him up.”

Number One gave Jake a sheepish look. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“Wait!” Jake screamed as Number One and Two set upon him. Jake fought them as best he could. He fought through his back shrieking at him to stop moving. He fought through his splitting headache, begging for him to go to sleep.

“You son of a bitch!” Jake felt the first needle go into his arm. “Fuck!” he yelled. The second needle was a mosquito bite to his leg. “Stop! Don’t!” Tears fell from his cheek. “Bryce, stop them!”

His head felt light and all at once, his back stopped hurting. Even his splitting headache died down and with it, so did his anger. Jake’s body numbed and his limbs fell. “No,” he muttered as his head drifted to the side.

As he drifted to sleep, his body was filled with the most wonderful feeling in the world.

PRINCE

Prince spent hours kicking pebbles into the river. The past few minutes didn’t seem real. He looked over his shoulder once again, hoping to see Sasha on the horizon. This time, he wouldn’t be so angry. But he knew that she had gone back, he also knew she was expecting him. But being here made the past few minutes all the more real. Leaving would turn it into just another memory.

She had to leave first, if we walked back together, people might get suspicious.

He nodded his head in agreement and stopped, realizing how stupid that was. They had walked back together multiple times before and this was never a worry for either of them. But it was different now. Prince wondered if it would always be different.

When there were no more rocks to kick, Prince started heading home. Before he knew it, he was facing the entrance of their home. He turned the corner to see four stupid grins. “What is all this?” He asked them.

Flower raised a water bottle full of red liquid. “A celebration.”

She was sitting in a circle with the rest of the Mice, platters of food between them. There was even a blanket laid out on the floor to provide relief from the scratchy dirt.

“What are we celebrating?” Prince found himself scanning his family again while deliberately looking away from Sasha.

Flower grinned. “That nobody got shot last night.”

“Okay, can we eat now?” Bolt asked with a drawn out sigh.

Even Maverick seemed impatient. He turned toward Prince with the slightest grin. “We’ve been waiting for you to get back. You sure took your time.”

“I sat through a sermon and even made it back before you.” Bolt teased. “But Sasha said we had to wait for you.”

Prince smiled at them, sneaking a glance at Sasha before sitting down. “Alright then, let’s eat.” He sat down between Bolt and Maverick and grabbed a bowl. With every spoonful of food, the horrors of the previous night faded deeper into memory.

“Prince, you’re up.” Sasha said with a smile. She tossed him one of the many plastic bottles beside her. “It’s rum.”

Prince caught the bottle and inspected the liquid curiously. With a soft breath, he threw his head back, taking a massive gulp of the liquid. It felt like his tongue was shriveling inside his mouth.

“Slow down, Prince.” Bolt joked, “that’s for all of us.”

Prince shook his head, his hand still over his mouth. He handed the bottle to Bolt, “knock yourself out.” He said.

Bolt snatched it from him and reenacted Prince’s swig. But as soon as the liquid touched his lips, he folded forward, spraying an orange mist onto Prince.

Prince recoiled away in disgust. “What the hell?”

Sasha burst out into a ringing laugh. It didn’t take much for Flower and Maverick to join her, eventually, even Prince and Bolt did too. They sat there, eating to their hearts fill as they egged each other to drink more and more. When the last drop of rum had disappeared, the sun was down, leaving only the glint of the moon to light up their home.

Prince laid his hands behind his head, staring at the starlit sky. Beside him, Maverick and Bolt had already gone to sleep. The night was cool with a gentle breeze that sent comforting chills down Prince’s spine.

“I guess they can’t handle a few drinks,” Flower joked, her words slightly slurred. She too had her back on the ground, staring at the sky.

“Flower, the only reason you’re lying on the ground like that is because you can’t get up.” Sasha responded with a musical chuckle. She had her back against the wall with a single knee bent, but her head was angled up to see the same sights as the rest of them.

When everyone had become adequately drunk, Sasha had brought up their failed drop. They had spent all day talking about their failure. It was days like these that Prince really appreciated Sasha. He doubted anyone else could’ve calmed them down like her. Though the issue was far from resolved, she had him convinced. It wasn’t the end of the world. And as long as Sasha believed it, he would too.

“I think I’m going to buy Bolt something,” Sasha said. “Something that’ll help him get over this last drop.”

“Want to borrow some money?” Prince asked.

Sasha shot him a glare before bursting into laughter.

“What are you going to buy him?” Flower slurred.

Sasha closed her eyes. “The perfect gift.” She nodded. “When you see it, you’ll know.”

For a little while, they sat still, listening to the chirping of crickets.

“It’s strange, not being a Mouse anymore,” Sasha said.

Flower nodded, “I say good riddance. It’s not like anybody ever appreciated us anyways. We’re better off like this.”

Flower spoke the truth. But Prince understood what Sasha felt. None of them liked their jobs, but they all held immense pride in it. They were Mice. Well, not anymore.

“What do you guys think you’ll do?” he asked.

“I’m sleeping all day.” Flower’s answer was immediately.

Prince smiled. “I think I’m going to be a merchant. It’s like gambling except I won’t piss Sasha off. Right Sasha?”

“You’d find a way.”

Prince laughed. Despite the cool breeze, he felt warm. “Fine, Sasha, what are you going to do?” But he already knew the answer, she had told all of them countless times. He waited for her to talk about the stars of Paris.

But no answer came. He listened to the soft drone of crickets until it lulled him to sleep.