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Strolling down a busy street in central Chicago, the night life is buzzing even for a weekday. Skyscrapers all around stretch towards the full moon, their office lights switching off for the night as if there is a power cut sweeping from building to building. A sea of people bustles around me, half scraping their heels on the concrete, trying to delay the journey home whilst the other half shove past them eagerly in search for a good time. For once, I enjoy blending into the masses and take pleasure in simply being outside and carefree. No rushing to make a reservation, no deadlines to ignore, no family ties holding me back.
A pair of Lamborghinis races by on the highway, their passengers hollering as they dodge traffic to best the other. The traffic lights at the far end turn red and the sounds of their wheels shredding across the tarmac fill the air, stopping just in time to allow masses of people to scurry over the crossing. I continue wandering along this side of the street, surveying the unique range of nightclubs before selecting which one I’m most in the mood for.
Country music floods through the open doorway of a club on the smaller side, a jukebox sitting proudly beside a fully stocked bar and an indoor waterfall visible at the rear of the space. Next door is an establishment illuminated by red lighting, the dance floor already filled with headbangers as rock spills onto the street. Excited roars drag me a few bars down to halt in front of an enormous gaming bar, displays covering every free space of wall with a different console from several eras stationed at each. A crowd has gathered around a particular screen by the bar, two minimally dressed female fighters against a Japanese-style dojo background leaping towards each other with their front legs raised. Excited mutters escalate into cheers as the fighter on the left gains the upper hand.
I’m about to step inside for a closer look when a group of guys burst through the doors to my left. Laughing hysterically and huddled arm in arm, something about them has me pausing to watch. They are all dressed in shirts and jeans, the overpowering scent of their aftershave hitting me like a slap to the face but that’s not what catches my attention. Their smiles are wider than their cheeks can accommodate, clearly drunk and having the time of their lives. It’s when the blonde with glasses reaches over to pluck a hot dog from his comrades’ hand and stuffs it into his own mouth that realization dawns on me. It’s like seeing a memory float before my eyes, the resulting sidewalk scuffle of his actions exactly like my Shadowed Souls have done so many times.
My relaxed attitude sours immediately, an ache I’ve been able to avoid up to now taking root in my chest and expanding until I can’t breathe. A visceral desire consumes me as I remain rooted to the pavement, my eyes tracking their every movement. I’ve been able to prevent the thoughts of my former friends filtering through my mind whilst immersing myself in Ray’s orders, but now they flood back into me sharply. They’ll never forgive me for the things I’ve done, not that I’d ask them to, but then my thoughts drift onto Axel. He didn’t deserve the fate he received, and I can only hope my part in it enabled him not to suffer needlessly. It’s a small reprieve, but one I need to cling onto.
No longer in the mood, I turn away and stuff my hands in my pockets. Trying to decide where to head to now, my eyes halt on a red mini parked across the road, the female behind the wheel trying to slip out of sight even though our eyes have already connected. A hand lands on my arm, spinning me back around forcefully.
“Dude! We’re sole mates!” My eyebrows raise as the skinniest of the group stands before me, his appearance contradicting the firm clutch he still has on my bicep. His dark hair is swept across his forehead, invisible braces lining his teeth which aren’t living up to their name. Shrugging out of his grip, I’m about to tell him to fuck off when I see he’s pointing to our sneakers. Sure as shit, he’s wearing a matching pair of Nikes and I now understand his declaration.
Bracing myself on his shoulder, I twist my leg into the air which he mimics until the bases of our sneakers are pressed against each other. “Sole mates,” I agree. Howls of excitement sound as the rest of the group bundle into me, a beer is placed into my hand as I’m crushed in a bear hug. Barking out a laugh, the group drags me inside the bar they recently vacated without another word. This club is the type I expected to end up in tonight, complete with a sticky dance floor and brawl taking place in the back corner. The DJ in his elevated booth ignores them as he jumps in time to his music, fist raised, and a monsoon of people crammed beneath copy him.
Forced into a bar stool, my hand is grasped in multiple sweaty ones as introductions are passed around – not that I can hear anything over the techno racket thumping through the speakers. I’ve already made up my own nicknames for each of them anyway, shouting my own name back to Glasses, Braceface, Freckle Features, Bull ring and Elf Ears.
A barman walks over to us and points to a yellow badge pinned to his polo top, ‘ID Needed’ printed across it in black. My new friends pass nervous glances between themselves and I decide to spare them the embarrassment of leaving the town’s
