Brothers

”I gotta feeling” Black eyed peas were playing as Paul and Nicolas danced around in the middle of the crowd. Tonight was definitely going to be a good night.

It was somewhere around 1.00 am, the dance floor was filled with warm, sweaty people moving and swaying along with the music pouring from speakers placed on every free inch of wall and Christmas day was over.

One more year of his life had gone by. This had been one of the better ones. It had beaten all the time he’d spent in Greece and most of the years in South America. The decades in Northern Europe had held a special place in his memories, but this was better. Much better.

Nicolas caught his arm and pulled him close for a kiss. Much, much better.

“I need a drink.” Nicolas nodded and hand in hand they headed for the bar.

They ordered pop. Nico wanted coke, as always, and Paul got something green and sparkly. It tasted a bit like the smell of Nicolas hair in the morning. Apples, grass and pure happiness mixed with pepper.

He looked over at Nico. He was so close. He stood completely still, his eyes closed and his head turned up, towards the ceiling. You’d have thought that he was sleeping if it hadn’t been for the fact that he didn’t move at all. He didn’t even breathe.

Paul put down his glass carefully and stretched out his mind, searching for the reason of Nicolas watchfulness. The feeling of peace that always filled him when they were together had evaporated. The air seemed filled with hostility. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

Then he glimpsed it. A smoky, black thing. It crawled at the feet of two women. He tried to focus on it and it was gone. A chill ran down his spine. Where did it go? A shadow on the wall. There! It disappeared again. He reached out for Nico but couldn’t find him. He opened his eyes.

The world popped back to normal. The air held no hostility, only the smell of humans, sex and drinks. The shadows were attached to solid objects. Everything was normal except for one thing. Nicolas was not there.

He called out before he could think anything, his voice drowned in an ocean of noise. No answer. He turned around. No one stood behind him. The crowd seemed to swell into grotesque proportions. He was alone in a sea of meat and sweat. He screamed and the wind came from nowhere to carry him of.

The balcony was empty, the Tori Amos-CD still playing in the background. It all looked as it had when they left; soda cans on the coffee-table, his coat tossed at the floor. Nico’s scarf lay abandoned in an armchair.

Paul reached out once more. Still nothing. He picked up the scarf and hugged it. He sat there for a while. He wasn’t thinking. He had forgotten how to think. He was just sitting there, numbly waiting for something to happen. The music stopped and he looked up at nothing at all. Then he picked up his phone. He pressed the buttons slowly. It rang once, twice, three times and he lost count. Someone picked up at the other end. He started crying.