It was a cold night. Bottles, packets and other unidentifiable filth littered the street the man in the long coat walked down, evidence of a seedier part of town. The houses overhung the street, giving off a teetering air of something that may not last very long. Still, the man was not deterred.
A wind blew through the narrow gap between the buildings, ruffling the man's black hair and setting the coat a flap around his legs. The man liked the dark, liked the silence, peace, and isolation it brought with it. In his hand, he held a single item. A figurine, dangling from a chain. The other was empty, hanging loose.
A fine mist, a sure precursor for rain, began as the man stopped at a building no more remarkable then the ones around it. The pasty white hand ruffled around quickly behind the coat, drawing out a key.
He inserted the key into the door, unlocking it and pushing it open. It swung open easily on well-oiled hinges, revealing a hallway with red walls and a single grimy light bulb casting a dirty glow around the room. An antique dresser, out of place with the less-than-elegant interior, stood on the side. There was a door at the other end, and to the other side, dominating the west wall, a large and jagged hole leading down into blackness. He slammed the door shut, the rusty bolt sliding home. He dropped the keys on the dresser, and shed the coat. Leaving it on the floor, he ducked into the hole, tramping down the makeshift stairs that he himself had fashioned out of wood.
At the bottom, there was a rather circular clearing, hollowed out of rock. Stones roughly paved the walls, and a lamp stood on a table, casting a dim glow that did not properly illuminate the room.
The back wall was more solid, having a neat, orderly tiled wall, with a set of rings sunk deep into the stone. Iron hoops trailed from the rings, ending in a coiled sort of manner on the floor. The coils trailed up to a pair of manacles, which were attached to the wrists of a black-haired, olive-toned man that lay on the floor. He wore simple black frayed clothing, and his brown eyes were closed.
The man put the figurine on the table next to the light, peering at the bound man with piercing sea-green eyes. Even filthy and manacled, the man struck an impressive figure, tall and lithe, with a dancer's body.
The other man walked over to him, prodding him gently awake. "Nico," he said in a quiet voice, sounding for all the world a concerned friend.
Nico's eyes opened and he stared blankly at the other man, with a glazed look indicating that he wasn't really with reality.
In another corner sat a boom box. The man walked to it and pressed play. Soft music oozed out of it. He then walked back over to Nico, and picked him up, supporting his weight as he pulled Nico upright.
Without a word, they began to dance, the animated blue-eyed man, and the lifeless brown-eyed. He hung limply, a sack of potatoes who would have fallen if he wasn't being dragged around the floor, chains clinking as the manacles pulled.
Finally, the music drew to a close, and there was silence.
The other man looked at Nico, before placing a soft kiss on his lips. He then set Nico back down, where he lay like a corpse.
Placing the figurine in Nico's hand, the man remarked. "As a high-profile dancer, I would have thought you would have better security. Not only was I able to take you from there, but I was able to go back." He gestured to the hand that clamped the figurine.
He moved to the door. "Goodnight, my love," he said, blowing a kiss as he tromped back up the stairs.
Once he was out of sight, the hand tightened, drawing closer so that the man could look at the figure. It was a metal figure, the only thing he had had left to remember his mother, father and sister.
He drew it close to his heart, and a single tear dripped down from his face, landing on the dusty stone floor.
Outside, it began to storm.