Unsung Requiem

by C. L. Stone

  “Go sit down,” she said. “I’ll get it.”

  She’d drunk a bit of the champagne, too, but no one had nagged at her to complete her first glass. He was sure his mother was up to something, but he had a hard time figuring out what. Victor went to the couch, sliding into an inelegant slump, leaning against the armrest. He rubbed his fingertips at the bridge of his nose with his eyes closed and head back.

  What had he been thinking? Should he call Silas and let him know what happened? Why wasn’t he here?

  Where were the others?

  Why would they leave him alone on a day they all knew he’d need them the most? They knew what his parents could be like, especially in any social event.

  Brie seemed to come back within seconds with two glasses of water, handing one to him. “The best thing to do is to lay low. I probably should have split the pill in half anyway.”

  “It’s not your fault,” he said, and took the water. He sipped at it a bit, clearing his throat. “I should have just not taken it. And I should have figured out how to decline the champagne.”

  Brie sat next to him, turned to face him with her glass in her left hand to drink and her other arm tucked around her own stomach. “I know why you don’t say no to her. The same reason I don’t.”

  He nodded. She didn’t need to say. It was the same reason she probably agreed to this today.

  Because that was what you were taught to do. Obey your parents or they made life more difficult. Miserable. Embarrassed you in front of other people for your behavior. You were considered spoiled if you dared to do things your own way.

  Possessions. Puppets. Meant to perform and not ask questions... or ask for anything.

  He had other reasons for keeping the peace, too. For Sang. For the others. He spent a lot of his allowance money on them. His parents never asked questions as long as he did what they wanted.

  Brie motioned with her water glass and drank from it, hinting he should finish.

  He drank half and paused, not wanting to feel too full. Or maybe he should. He considered if he could force himself to puke, if that would get rid of everything in his stomach.

  All he had was champagne and the pill. Maybe he should eat something since they didn’t really eat at the luncheon.

  Noises came from the other side of the hallway. Brie flinched and adjusting herself to sit a bit apart from Victor. Victor reacted as well, sitting up.

  George appeared at the end of the hallway. Victor’s father hadn’t changed from earlier, but why was he up here? They remained quiet as George started to turn when he spotted the two of them at the end of the hall.

  Victor hid a grimace. Not the person he wanted to be around right now.

  Victor wanted to stand up and leave, but making the connection from his brain to getting his body to move took way too long.

  George floated down the hall in their direction, a broad smile on his face, the lean cheeks wrinkling as he did. “Look at you two. Hiding away.” The way he spoke, he was a little too cheerful. It was his drunk happy stage, not to the point of being too drunk to operate, just enough to be happy... and usually a bit lewder.

  “We’re going downstairs,” Victor said, sitting up and placing the water glass on the coffee table in front of him.

  George noted the glass and scrunched his eyebrows. He went over, picked it up, and sniffed. “This won’t do. It’s your birthday. Why are you drinking just water?”

  “My throat was just dry,” Victor said. He sat on the edge of the couch, and had a short wave of spacing out for a minute. He wasn’t sure if it was from getting up and low blood pressure and mixed with everything in his system, but his whole body was finding it difficult to coordinate.

  George held on to the glass and motioned with it toward Brie. “Is this all he’s offering you?” He didn’t wait for her to answer and held the glass again toward Victor. “You should know better.”

  “I offered options,” Victor said, a lie but hoping Brie understood, she could have gotten whatever she wanted.

  Brie instantly nodded in agreement. “My throat was a bit parched as well,” she said, her tone a bit softer than it was minutes ago.

  “I know just the thing for parched throats,” he said. He moved to the small kitchen, checking the contents of the fridge. “I’m very sure I had this stocked with the right...” He drifted off, shifting through what was in the fridge.

  “You’re not normally up here,” Victor said.

  “Your mom wants me out of the way until more guests arrive. We all have our parts to play. I used to hang out in our bedroom, but she particularly likes to show that off for house tours.”

  “We should probably go,” Victor said. This time he stood up but remained still. He wasn’t drunk, it was a different feeling. A slowness, a drag on his muscles. It was probably the anti-anxiety amplified. He wasn’t used to it so the effects could likely be stronger for him as well.

  “Nonsense,” George said. “We don’t have to go downstairs for a bit. It’s your birthday, I’ll get you only the best for today.” He stood back up fully with a can of fruit punch, which he opened. He poured it into a glass, and from his pocket, he pulled a flask. He poured the clear liquid out into the glass as well and brought it around, handing it to Brie. “For you, my dear,” he said.

  Brie’s smile faltered a bit but she instantly picked back up, hiding her stunned expression. “Mr. Morgan, you don’t have to... but thank you...”

  “It’s nothing,” he said, making another one and handing it to Victor before finally one for himself, draining the flask completely.

  He came around with his own fruit juice mix blend and urged them to hold their glasses up. He clinked glasses with the two of them. “To my son. Victor. Turning seventeen is a big deal. It’s all I’ve heard about for a month.”

  How embarrassing.

  “For... Victor,” Brie said softly. She waited for Victor with wide eyes.

  Go easy, she seemed to say wordlessly.

  Victor sipped the sweetened drink made bitter with what was clearly vodka and too much of it to be masked by the fruit juice. “Thanks,” Victor said. Stay polite. Don’t say anything right now. Not while...

  George took a big drink, made a face at the taste, and then shuddered. “Remind me to find the rum,” he said. He motioned with his glass, swishing the liquid until it spilled a bit on the carpet and he corrected himself after. “Oops. Don’t tell the maid I did that.”

  Brie forced a giggle.

  George beamed at her. “You know, you’re much prettier than his other friend.” He snapped his attention back to Victor. “What’s her name? The blond that’s always hanging around?”

  “Sang,” Victor said. “And she’ll be here soon.”

  “Well, don’t let her find you in here together.” He winked and gave him a thumbs up. “Or maybe you let her find you two and she joins in? I told your mother you take after me far more than her. She never believed me.”

  Victor thought he’d smother the groan but instead it came out in a short burp.

  George laughed and clapped his hand on Victor’s shoulder far too hard, enough that Victor spilled a bit of his drink on the carpet as well. “Listen, I know you hate surprises, so I’m going to let you in on a little something. I know your mother. She’s probably got something up her sleeve tonight.”

  “Yeah, you told me,” Victor said. “The new car.”

  George shook his head and chuckled. “No, no. Something big.” He leaned in like he was going to whisper but he didn’t change the volume of his voice. “I bet you it’s that fancy school in Europe she’s been talking about. Even more prestigious than that prep school you go to.”

  No... Victor was sure that wasn’t right. He’d informed his mother that the Academy was the best school. And to prove a point, he’d gotten fake awards and accolades and the Academy had them pay a stipend, which Victor made sure went to a charity and never claimed on his favors or his money count because he felt it wasn’t rig
ht.

  Instead of answering, he murmured, and not even Victor himself understood what he was trying to say, too in shock. His brain was too busy trying to process.

  “Take a drink, Victor. You’re going to see the world. It’ll be good for you.” George took Victor’s elbow and urged him. “A good long drink to get you in the mood.”

  Victor went to sip again, just once, but George took his elbow and unless Victor spilled the drink all over himself, he was forced to swallow, more than he wanted.

  His father let go of him and slapped the back of his hand against Victor’s chest. Victor pushed the glass away from his mouth just in time so his teeth didn’t clink on the glass. “Don’t let your mother know I told you and act more surprised and happy when she tells you.” He winked at Brie. “You, too.”

  “I’ll try,” Brie said.

  “You’re a smart girl,” his father said. “Pretty. Don’t worry about your figure, though. I always tell the thin girls, your body shape is just as lovely as those thick girls. They’re all beautiful.”

  Victor was trying to think of how to stop him going down that path, and his slow brain put the drink to his face and he gulped. It was what he did at events when his father said something and Victor wanted to say something back but stopped himself.

  The gulp of vodka slid down, reminding him that he couldn’t do that now, but a bit late.

  He pulled it away from his lips, coughing as the vodka burned at his throat.

  George chuckled and brightened. “That’s my boy.” He walked away, heading to the hall, drank the rest of his drink he made for himself quickly before leaving the glass on a planter stand. He walked down the hall and down the flight of stairs.

  “I don’t know how he functions,” Brie said. “He’s got to be on his second liver.” She turned to Victor. “You okay?”

  Victor nodded and before he could say anything, Brie took the drink from his hand and shoved the water glass into it.

  “Drink this,” she said. “We’ve got time, right?”

  He shrugged and shook his head, a little too hard. He wasn’t sure what would be worse, the mixing of the pill and the alcohol to his body or not being able to control himself whenever these ‘surprises’ were presented and he’d have to sound utterly grateful.

  Not just a car, they wanted to send him to a school. Far away. He was trying to figure out why.

  But there was only one reason. Getting him away from here, from Sang. To go to a school with a name Jasmine’s famous friends would recognize. To send him to a college-level school to transition him to a university where they’d have control over him for another several years...

  What a disaster. Everything.

  Brie sighed. “I’m regretting my decisions today.”

  “My friends will know what to do,” Victor said. “Silas...”

  “He left, remember?” Brie said.

  Victor hesitated, trying to remember. “Kota and Gabriel are on the way.”

  She nodded. “Drink water until they get here. We’ll think of something.”

  This wasn’t going well. He didn’t mean for any of this to happen.

  He probably still had a lot of offered drinks to go through. Like cocktails before dinner as guests arrived.

  He drank more water, hoping it’d water down the vodka.

  He took his phone out, his thumb hovering over the apps that linked him to his friends. Just a couple of buttons and he’d have someone on the phone. Who was available? Who could come?

  The longer he took to reach out to anyone, the harder it was to think of who could come.

  Sang could, if she wasn’t working at something to help earn a favor.

  Kota and Gabriel were on the way. Maybe he just needed to hold out.

  Maybe Silas would come back.

  Maybe Luke would feel better and the others would come.

  If he could only stop the birthday drinks...

  Emporté

  (Fr. Fiery, impetuous)

  Sang

  The woman who had stopped me at the door motioned toward the rear of the house. “They should have been seated by now.”

  I blushed, the heat traveling down my neck. I was late. If I found Victor, I had to apologize to him, but he should be on stage by now, I was sure. The event was dinner and him playing the piano... an odd choice for his birthday, but I assumed it was normal for him.

  The front rooms of the Morgan estate had two elderly people lingering in the front parlor. The hall was empty. The kitchen had the most noise near it. The kitchen door was open and there was a flurry of activity inside with people wearing all black, with plates in neat rows on the counter with someone putting on final touches. Another attendant put the finished plates on carts to be rolled outside.

  There was no reason to linger in the house, as it was clear everyone must be in the tent and some possibly even had food already. I headed toward the back just to exit at the rear door, down the porch steps, and took the long way around to where I knew the tent to be.

  The large white tent stood like a small house out on the lawn, stationary and secure and glowing from the inside. A section was open on the side I approached. Tables held candles and center displays of flowers, and many people were seated inside. Their voices, low murmurs, activity, clinking of glasses, all floated to me as I approached.

  Some people lingered near the front entrance, talking to each other, although I wasn’t sure if they were guests who hadn’t seated yet or attendants looking in. I made a circle around the outside, where I knew there would be a second flap of the tent that was open near the back. From there, I’d be able to look in on the crowd and hopefully spot the others without walking in front of the stage.

  I lifted my phone, remembering it was on and that Mr. Buble was still on the line. “I’m inside and near the tent. There are plenty of people who can see me. I don’t know where the others are yet but most likely they are sitting already. I’m just going around to look for them from the back.”

  “Good,” he said. “Do find them.”

  I paused and then said, “I can’t take the point. I just don’t want it to reflect badly on Victor. That’s not his fault.”

  “I appreciate your answer. I’ll check in tomorrow. Have fun.” He hung up.

  That was it? I supposed there was more to talk about, but now wasn’t the time. I just couldn’t let it go and I didn’t want to hold on to that feeling for too long. I thought I needed the guys to tell me how to think about this, but I couldn’t let go of how I felt. I needed to do more.

  I carried the phone in my hands and circled around until I arrived at the rear section, where the open tent panel revealed a path of outdoor carpet laid out on top of the grass for tonight. There were round tables further in, all set with centerpieces of roses. Some guests already had plates of salad and bread. Elegantly dressed people were seated, looking toward the stage near the front of the tent.

  No music? Shouldn’t Victor be playing by now?

  As I drew closer, there was a voice coming from the speakers, hard to decipher exactly who, but male and he wasn’t totally talking into the microphone. That or the speakers near the back weren’t set at a good volume. What was being said was unclear.

  I scanned through the crowd, trying to determine where the guys were seated. There was a range of noise, a murmur, the sound of Victor’s voice in speakers overhead. I was only half listening as I stilled in between two rows of tables to determine a route further in.

  But with the way people didn’t even look at me as I passed, staring blankly and with such stunned expressions, I turned, unsure what was going on.

  My eyes adjusted enough to take in what was happening. Victor stood on the stage, eyes droopy, holding a microphone. The suit he wore seemed dark, making his face paler than usual. The wavy dark hair fell askew across his face.

  And he leaned, too far one way and then tried to fix and overcorrected before stabilizing.

  Why did he look so tired? Even from a di
stance in the back, I could see his shoulders slumped, his head rolled forward a little and he picked it up now and again to face the audience.

  Mr. Blackbourne was nearby, with a hand extended to Victor as if wanting to assist him, saying something that couldn’t be heard.

  Victor paused in whatever he was saying when I finally focused and it took him a couple of moments before he continued, his voice strange and slow, “I know it comes as a shock, and I appreciate you all attending, but I’ve given my final concert. I won’t be playing tonight.”

  I stilled, unsure if I should proceed. His tone was like he was trying to remain calm, but I was familiar enough with him to understand he was upset, struggling to keep some composure.

  “Please continue to enjoy the night,” he said. “My mother put a lot of effort into the evening. And please get home safe.” With that, he turned and walked off the stage, around Mr. Blackbourne, leaving an empty piano behind him.

  The voices around me started up, like a wave from the ocean, swelling in the back and drifting to the front.

  What happened?

  His last concert?

  Everyone at the tables leaned in. Talking to each other.

  It was Mr. Blackbourne that picked up the microphone. He wore a black suit, white crisp shirt, and a brighter maroon tie than normal. He spoke in a reassuring tone to the audience.

  “Victor Morgan has been a dear friend to me for a couple of years,” he said. “He’s an exceedingly kind and generous soul, having played at many charity events from a young age. His talent exceeds what many have accomplished. It would be a shame to allow him to perform on his birthday and not enjoy the event tonight, wouldn’t you agree?”

  There was some agreement from the audience, even if a little confused.

  “For once, we felt it would be fun to allow him to enjoy an event he usually works. His own birthday. Let’s let him enjoy this one.”

  This seemed to give those attending a change of tone, and they all raised their voices in agreement and clapped.

  With this, Mr. Blackbourne went to the piano, and he began to play some light and cheerful tune, akin to happy birthday but with a lot of flair.