9. masks & martyrs

9

masks thankfully it’s not raining right now.

I hold the stupid invitation in my hand, desperately falling down the rabbit hole of search engines on my phone, trying to find the location of this stupid place, but unluckiness licks my fate. It’s no use.

Troian told me I’d see it, she was so sure of her directions, yet here I stand at the corner of the street with nothing but trees surrounding me. I look back at my phone and sigh, defeated that this whole thing was a bust. I feel disappointment wash over me, wondering if I should keep walking down further or turn around and go back home.

I get distracted at the sound of a bird cawing behind me, and curl into myself a little. There’s eeriness looming and standing out here by myself only adds to the feeling of danger. But as I wrap my arms around myself, and look around, trying to block the cold air from stinging my skin, my eyes get caught on something.

No.

I turn around all the way, hoping to fix my eyesight and correct this illusion, only to see the newly lit pathway paved all the way back into the forest.

A lump forms in my throat.

I know that was not there.

There’s no way I missed an entire path led by recessed ground lights, perfectly lighting the way just beyond the trees. I would have seen that the moment I walked up to the street sign. The only way this makes sense is if the ground lighting wasn’t turned on when I arrived, meaning there’s a small chance I wouldn’t have seen the stone pathway in the darkness of the night, but I still think I would have noticed it.

I wait a beat, feeling apprehensive about walking down this suddenly present path, not knowing if it will actually lead me to the private party I’ve been invited to or not. I step out onto the walkway and peer down the length of it. I can’t see much beyond the curve into the forest, where it turns off behind the dark shadows of pine trees. And I don’t hear any sounds or see any other lights to indicate a party is in the works.

But with a steady breath and one foot in front of the other, I find myself traveling down the path made up of gravel and stone. I end up walking into the forest and continuing down the trail parted between the trees, hearing only sounds of crickets and leaves blowing in the distance. I haven’t ventured into the forest yet since moving here, not really needing to know what hides in the depths of it. But I feel myself relax even in the midst of darkness, walking down an ominous walkway, feeling rather safe between these trees.

I still grip my phone tightly in my hand, praying I won’t need it to call for help or to chuck it at some kidnapper’s head. Even in the brief moment of safety I was feeling just a second ago, my heart rate feels like it's running a marathon, my eyes move rapidly from one side to the other.

Breathe.

A breeze echoes by me, creating the trees to sway and just like that, I feel tension leave my body and my chest feels lighter with the relaxing pace of beating it maintains.

I check my surroundings in an effort to stay aware of where I’m at. I look to my left for a flash of a second, then focus my eyes to the trail in front of me, and that’s when I see the building come into view.

It’s literally the only thing at the end of the pathway; no parking lot, no other buildings. Just a random brick structure that stretches so wide I can’t see the start or end of it. No signs or windows or doors are visible leading me to an unknown feeling; is this the right place?

As I get closer to the building, the lights on either side of the walkway seem to fade and my instinct tells me this is where I have a massive chance of dying a dark and miserable death. I turn around just to see if my gut pushes me toward the exit but that’s when I notice . . . there is no exit.

The path starts right where my feet stand on the stone, seeming that what I traveled on has disappeared.

“Fuck this,” I mutter to myself in absolute torment but also a hint of benightedness as I decide to forget about the punch my gut dished out, telling me that this is not normal—or safe.

I don’t actually believe that the trail that randomly appeared before me has now suddenly disappeared, do I? My mind is, again, playing tricks on me. So, I face forward and follow the rest of the stone walkway to the back of the building, if only in hopes that there really is a party where I can sneak a shot of something stronger than whatever the hell my brain is on.

As I turn the corner of the building, I reach the end of the walkway which puts me at the supposed entrance, guarded by a man of a size that seems crazier than a disappearing trail. He’s massive as fuck, standing impressively still at the entrance door, and I almost don’t want to approach him. So I stand a few feet back in fear that disturbing him will be my demise but before I have cold feet and decide to leave, he looks my way.

“Miss Claire. Do you have your ticket?” His voice is softer than he looks but I don’t miss the way it crawls uncomfortably between us. How the hell does he know my name?

I gulp down the lump in my throat and take an apprehensive step forward. I dig in my clutch for the invite I had shoved in there and hold my breath as I approach to hand it to him.

“This is the invite, Miss Claire. Do you have your ticket?” His whole demeanor is stoic and stale, robotic and .

I look down at the white paper, puzzled. It quite literally says ticket required but I didn’t think anything of it.

“I thought this was the ticket,” I say nervously, not recalling anything else being left with the invite.

“I can’t let you in without it, miss.” His tone is stern, but I refuse to let this be the reason why I can’t get into this stupid masquerade party.

“But you know my name,” I point out with more confidence this time, feeling some sort of safety radiating off this giant mountain-man standing in front of me.

“You are expected. But rules are rules. There are more when you get inside. Ticket,” he states. And despite me being absolutely on edge about the whole situation and his mention of more rules, I’m eager to get in.

I decide to check my clutch again, knowing damn well the only things left in it are my wallet, my real and fake IDs, my lipstick and…

To my surprise, I feel a little edge of paper slide across the pad of my finger. It’s thick, like cardstock, and I can tell that it's small. I pull it out and examine it. Lo and behold, it’s a literal ticket, like the ones you tear off from the roll you’d buy at the store and use for a raffle. Or what you get from a carnival booth to pay for rides.

It’s about two inches wide and says admit one on one side and there is a small barcode with numbers on the other.

“Of course,” I mumble to myself, surprised that I don't question how unbelievable it would be for this random ticket to find its way into my possession, just when I need it.

I look up at the bodyguard in front of me, feeling my insecure smile berate me for how stupid I must look, but he’s not paying me any attention. Instead, he’s looking straight ahead.

“Scan it there.” He tilts his head toward a small machine next to the door.

I give the enthusiastic man a glance before I reach out and place the ticket under the machine which radiates a small beam of red light as it catches the barcode. Suddenly, the door swings open and I jump in surprise.

“Have fun,” he tells me.

“Thanks?” I wave at him awkwardly—my conclusion comes out as a question—before taking a step forward to enter.

“Miss Claire, hang on to that ticket. It’s your only way out.” he warns me, still staring straight off into the distance.

I step fully inside the building feeling slightly perturbed as I stand in a dark hall with no lights. I turn around to ask the bodyguard where to go, but the door slams shut behind me, causing me to flinch and yelp. Just then, the hall lights up with a soft hue of neon blue lights flashing all the way down the single hallway, just like the path into the forest. I follow it down as silence accompanies me, hoping I’m not walking into a death trap.

It doesn’t take long before I reach another door and just as I reach to push it open, it automatically swings open for me immediately welcoming me with the mellow bass of the loud, moody lo-fi music and giving me a view to what looks like hundreds of people on a dance floor.

I don’t make it through the threshold before another bodyguard reveals himself from beside the door and holds his hand out to me.

I stare at him blankly, not wanting him to know that he scared the shit out of me, a literal chill travels across my skin. I awkwardly put my hand in his to shake it, assuming that’s what he’s doing.

But then he gives me a stupid look and says, “Phone, Miss Claire.”

I look around to see that everyone is hidden behind some sort of face covering; a half eye mask or full-coverage face paint. Some have full face masks, but all with beautiful and intricate details and decorations, such as flowers and lace. Some have plain half-masks that only cover one side of their face. Others rock face paint as their form of hidden identity.

My heart flutters heavily in my chest. It seems as though privacy is a well-respected priority at this party. And despite the fact that both of the bodyguards seem to know my name—without even seeing my face for that matter—this place feels like exactly what I need. A place to finally be myself and enjoy the company of others while lingering in the shadows and having the luxury of not having to tell a soul about who I am or what my past is made of.

What I am made of.

I decide to let go of all the worrisome thoughts and the idea that someone or something is playing tricks on me. I take a deep inhale of the surprisingly fresh air and I hand over my electronic device and my purse to the man next to me. He switches the phone off and places it on a conveyor belt, reminiscent of a library book return. He places my purse behind it, and I watch as they slowly disappear into the hole in the wall.

“What is this place?” I find myself asking as I look around, and the only thing he says to me is, “Enjoy your night, Miss Claire," as he nods his head and turns his attention away from me.

It seems I’m on my own. Which I don’t mind, it gives me a chance to people-watch and really create a narrative of my own.

The atmosphere resembles a high-end club. People are scattered throughout wearing fancy dresses or tailor-made suits, garnished with their form of face-covering, dancing on the floor to the classical sounds of piano music or vibing in the VIP booths which are sectioned off on the sides. Not a single person has their face showing which eases my mind a bit. I don’t want them to see me, and I don’t want to see them. I realize that this is more of a formal social gathering than an actual party, but I welcome the atmosphere, nonetheless, scoping out my surroundings and taking note of the layout.

There’s a spiral staircase that leads to a second landing, a wraparound balcony of some sort. The lights are low, only accentuated by neon signs plastered on the wall, and amber lighting mixed with a flutter of flashy disco lights illuminating from the ceiling throughout the venue. While the music isn't deafening, I know I should be able to hear it from outside, so I assume the building is soundproof.

As I walk deeper, making my way through the sea of dancers on the marbled dance floor, I see a bar at the back end. Just what I need . I approach the bar top and wait for the bartender to spot me. While I have time, I turn to look at the party once more.

Why was I invited? It seems like a secret society of some kind considering the security measures I had to comply with upon arriving. How could I have secured a spot and why does it seem so discrete? Who could have possibly wanted me here?

“What ya drinkin’, miss?” A voice from behind me asks, and I turn around to see the handsome bartender waiting on me.

“Oh, sorry. Can I get a Bloody Mary?” I ask. I feel a little awkward asking for a popular breakfast drink at ten o’clock at night, but honestly, it’s the only alcoholic beverage I really know of.

“Sorry, all out of Bloody Mary's. I've got a Bloody Susan or…" he pauses and looks down beneath him for a moment. "Or a Bloody Ted, tonight,” he says, and I stare at him blankly not knowing what the hell any of those are.

His eyes seem to get impatient with me under his white full-face mask, but then his demeanor shifts slightly. “Ah, my bad. You’re an Outsider. Got ya. I can whip ya up a Glass Slipper. You’ll love it.” He knocks twice on the table before turning around to make me the drink.

I straighten up, feeling so fucking confused by what he’d just said. He outright called me an outsider. I guess I’m more obvious than I thought I’d be, given everyone is in hiding tonight. Maybe they can tell I’m new.

The bartender comes back with my drink a few moments later, a sparkly blue liquid that smells like coconut. He sets it on the table, and I go to reach for my purse to pay him, but I realize I gave it to the bodyguard.

“Shit, I don’t have my ID or my cash. Can I go get it from the-”

“It’s fine. You must be new here. Everything is on the house. Just give me your name so I can keep track of your drinking limit.” The man with blonde hair and kind eyes hands me a pad of paper and a pen.

I write down my name and slide it over to him, grabbing my drink in the same breath.

“Lucynda?” His question of my name seems concerning, though I can’t tell what his face expresses behind his mask.

“Umm, yeah,” I say, frozen for a beat.

“Forgive me, Miss Claire. Let me know if you need anything else.” He bows his head and I have half the nerve to laugh at the ridiculous notion of his.

“Thanks,” I say to the handsome weirdo in a sarcastic tone and remove myself from the bar.

Does everyone know who I am? How come I don't know a single person here?

I walk back through the dance floor, feeling eyes on me everywhere. But it’s a feeling I’m keen to ignore because in about five minutes, I’ll have this drink finished and I know that I’m a lightweight and should be feeling the effects of whatever alcohol this drink possesses, leading me to not giving a fuck if others look at me funny or not at all.

I wander around trying to find a chair to sit at, but everything is full. I certainly don’t want to be caught standing in the corner by myself, so my only other option is to climb the staircase to see what the second floor holds. Once I’ve made it to the top, I look around to see a few private booths closed off with groups occupying the intimate spaces. I keep making my way toward the other side of the balcony when I get stopped.

“Hello there,” a strong male voice greets me from one of the booths as I pass it by.

I turn to my right, seeing a man wearing a black glitter mask covering his whole face, sitting in the center of the wrap-around seat and sipping a dark red liquid drink in a small crystal class.

“Hello,” I say back politely but eager to continue my journey onward.

“Care to sit?” he asks before I can fully walk away, and I take a sip of my own drink while attempting to examine his eyes.

They look dark behind the mask, leaving me hopeless to the idea of being able to read him—one negative side effect of the hidden identity. Though his posture is proper enough, his black suit and white tie look crisp and expensive. Not that those things would ever matter to me much, but it doesn’t seem as if he’s inviting me into his space with ill intent, rather only for company.

I don’t say anything as I slide into the booth, keeping a few feet between us. He keeps his head straight, looking down at the dance floor below us, which we can see almost clearly from here. You can see everyone dancing and talking, hips grinding and girls throwing their heads back in laughter.

“So, do you come here often?” I ask and immediately regret it. “Wait, that didn’t come out the way I thought it would.” I try to defend myself for using a corny pickup line to attempt small talk. Gosh, I need to socialize more.

“I only meant, do you go to this party often? Considering this isn’t the first time this party has been thrown I assume.” I shut my mouth and pull my glass to my lips, savoring the coconut flavor as I mentally berate myself for my forced attempt at a conversation.

I can’t even look at the man next to me as he responds. “Not the first time. And yes, I do come here often.” His tone is low and laced with what sounds like anger as he speaks in short to me. Like he’s angry with the world . . . pretty much just like me.

I turn to examine him, feeling his eyes watching me through the holes of his face mask. I can see that slight glint of dark blue radiating from one of them, the other seems to be a mix with a lighter color I can't make out.

“You wouldn’t happen to know who runs this place do you? I mean, I don’t really understand why I got invited in the first place and I’d like to perhaps meet the person who extended the honor." I'm trying to sound more eloquent than I actually hold myself, only to match his powerful presence. "Do you know where I might find him or her?” I know I sound a little too eager, but he seems like he knows people; I’m betting he can lead me in the right direction.

I don’t belong here. Or maybe I do. I can’t tell what my brain thinks at this point. All I know is that out of my own control and for whatever reason that may be, I am here, and I want to know why.

“You have a lot to learn. But I can tell that you have it in you. In fact, Lucynda, you’re perfect.” His answer is nothing but shadows of confusion chasing my questions away to surface even more questions. And though his response seems to be one of confident compliments, it sounds as if his anger is projected toward me as the last two words leave his mouth.

He slides out of the booth and stands to leave, drinking the last drop of his drink before setting the glass down on the table. I notice one of his hands is gloved in a black silk and I curiously stare at it wondering why. But I panic when I see that he’s about to leave.

“Wait, no!” I holler, trying to be heard over the blare of the music. I stand from the table in a hurry. “What the hell does any of that mean? Why are you and everyone here being so cryptic? How does everyone know my name?” I spit my questions out as if they're lava. I know I told myself I'd have a worry-free night, but I only find myself needing answers more than I need air.

I suddenly get annoyed at the masks shadowing our faces because as fun as it is to remain hidden, I can’t read his expression and he can’t see the desperation in mine.

I hear a subtle chuckle come from him and I pout like a damn child as I plant my fists on my hips.

The tall man in front of me takes a few steps to saunter over to where I stand. His gloved hand reaches for my chin and tilts it up to him.

“This party is all for you. Learn your role. He’s watching you and I know he wouldn’t be too happy with your decision to fraternize with me. Besides, this is only just the beginning, so you better learn to enjoy it." He lowers his face to cozy up next to my ear. "Now stop playing the lost puppy and start accepting your fate.” He clicks his tongue as he turns away, noticing how his power comes from more than just the way he looks, and a hauntingly familiar feeling washes over me.

He sticks his gloved hand in his pocket as he looks beyond me. I follow his movement and see that he’s staring at a dark hallway around the corner of the balcony railing. When I turn back, he’s already walking away.

“Wait!” I chase after him, not caring that other people can see me acting a little haste. When I reach him a few feet away, I grip his upper arm with my hand to stop him. “At least tell me your name,” I request, if only to be made whole on the fact that he knows mine.

“Travois,” he states without turning to look at me. "Don't ever lay your hand on me again," he adds before yanking himself free of my grip and proceeds to leave.

His anger confuses me and honestly, makes me feel kind of small. Something I don’t love reliving.

I notice the group in the booth next to us have their eyes set on me, probably curious to the interaction but I just wave at them and return to fetch my drink off the table where I left it.

I slam the rest of the contents, already feeling the effects of the alcohol. I look back down to the dance floor, hoping to see Travois escaping into the crowd, but he’s already gone, almost like he was never there.

Something pulls my attention away. My head turns to look back at the hallway Travois seemed to be leading me toward. I can make out the sound of a faint moan from the distance and I take a deep breath before heading over to see what lurks in the darkness.

Travois said he was watching me. Does that mean what I think it does? Could he be the one who invited me here? Or maybe Travois is the shadow stalker and he's only playing tricks on me to make me think it's not him, not wanting to have been caught so soon. But Travois doesn't feel familiar to me in that sense, so I shake the thought as I greet the end of the dark hallway with my heels.

I find my way down the tunnel, cautious to be too loud. The music fades out behind me as I reach a red curtain hanging from the ceiling of the threshold, so I push my way through it.

Behind the curtain is a larger hallway but this one is actually occupied by a handful of other people standing around and looking into what seems to be windows on either side of the narrow, dark hall. No one is talking, silence fills the air as they leisurely move from one window to the other, peering in as the subtle light shines out onto their masks.

Curious as to what’s in the rooms, I walk toward the first one on my left. There’s one other person watching this room beside me, and I don’t know if etiquette is to introduce myself or not, but I think better of it as I turn my attention to the room beyond the glass.

It’s dimly lit with amber-mood lighting, and I don’t see them at first, the couple making out against the dark wall toward the back of the room. But I let out a subtle gasp and step back, shocked to see the interaction. They’re fully clothed, but they are one hundred percent about to change that in a matter of seconds.

I look to the person next to me who seems to be enthralled by the couple locked away in the hidden room and I don’t tend to judge, being the victim of judgment myself. But this is not something I can say I’ve ever bore witness to before.

Despite my reaction to the couple, being thrown off guard to the idea that anyone would be okay to display themselves to strangers, I turn around to look into the room behind me. In this room, there’s three of them. This time, no clothing at all. One guy and two girls lay on a bed centered in the room, nothing else occupying the space except for them. The man lays on his back while the two girls take turns sucking his . . . cock. I see something red smeared around the edges of their mouth and without further knowledge, I assume it to be smeared lipstick.

It’s too much. I duck my head and try to steady my breathing, noticing that it’s racing to catch up with the pace of my heartbeat. I try not to bump into the people neighboring me, watching the threesome happen.

I’ve never seen anything like this and I start to wonder if it was a mistake to come back here. I'm not used to this kind of exposure. I should leave this party all together. But despite the strange feeling telling me that I’m in the wrong place, curiosity licks at my brain.

My eyes force me to look at another group of people gathering a few windows down, so I crack my neck and act like I belong here before putting one foot in front of the other and heading in that direction.

I find a small opening between two others, and I silently and carefully welcome myself to the crowd.

In this room, there is a chair. In fact, it looks way more expensive and fancier than anything I have ever seen. Kind of resembling a throne. It looks heavy, with crushed, red velvet fabric and gold lining. A spotlight shines from the ceiling above directly down on this chair where a male sits with a female in his lap, her back to his chest.

He’s not naked, but she is. Her breasts bounce a little with her breathing and she gasps while this man sucks on her neck, gripping her throat from behind to hold her in place. Her hands hold each side of the chair, and her mouth hangs open, moaning loud enough for us to hear from out here.

A few people walk away from the window, others come to watch.

I can’t help but feel so out of place as I allow myself to witness the nefarious display in front of me, but I can’t seem to pull away.

The man keeps sucking on this girl’s neck, his hands holding her down but not roaming her naked body like one would expect. I feel heat expand in my core as I watch their interaction. It doesn’t seem too personal, but it’s intimate all the same.

I watch satisfaction play in this girl's eyes, needy for more. I look at him; his eyes are closed as he works on the neck of his mistress. That’s when I realize that none of the participants partaking in these sinful activities are masked, completely exposed and open for anyone to see.

I close my eyes and feel my breathing become labored, and a feeling I’ve never felt before ignites between my thighs.

I look back at the couple in the chair and in the same exact moment, he opens his eyes and points them right at me.

I gasp. Bright green eyes force their way into my soul and an overpowering sense of familiarity breeds in my mind, feeling like I have comfort in recognizing his stare. I can't look away; his eyes hold so much danger in them as he focuses them right at me, still sucking on the girl’s neck. She’s squirming in his lap, practically begging for more than he’s giving her. He's still got one hand wrapped around her throat but his other hand skates slowly across her hip and to her center, down to the apex of her thighs. I blush, knowing exactly where he's going with his movements and the moment he makes contact, she cries so loudly that I force my eyes shut.

Her whimpers echo around me, and I'm trying my hardest to remain composed. When I feel like it's safe to open my eyes again, I open them straight to his.

I hold his stare, the darkness in his eyes takes over the green that plagues me, and it takes everything in my power not to bend to the true way his glare is making me feel.

Seen.

It's doing something to me. Forget the fact that he’s got a naked girl grinding her ass into his lap while he leeches onto her skin and plays with her roughly.

I hear whispers to my left, so I lose focus and turn my head for a split second. When I turn back, the girl is in the chair by herself, breathing hard.

I take a step closer, absentmindedly, to look further as I wonder where the mystery man went. In no time, another man enters the room. This one is naked, nothing hiding his body from anyone watching. But this interaction takes a turn for something ominous as I look back at the girl and see blood dripping from the side of her neck.

The side where the other man had his mouth.

Something sinks in my stomach. A darkness crawls over me, and I feel panic rising in my veins, calling at me to scream or run or bang on the glass.

But she doesn’t seem bothered by it. I watch as she welcomes the attention this new man promises to give her. He leans into her neck and licks the blood dripping down the side of her skin. She giggles and then pulls him down where he falls to his knees and starts his assault on her pussy.

I take a step back and turn away quickly, feeling overwhelmed by the events I’d just witnessed. But my feet stay planted, feeling like I’m not supposed to move.

And then . . . the voice.

It's okay to like it.

It tells me; a phantom of validation wisps around in my brain.

It’s okay to feel pleasure from it.

It assures me.

But I don’t know why it’s saying these things to me. I don’t like this. I don’t feel pleasure from it.

At least not from the couple in the room now, but the other man's eyes . . . Okay, so maybe I do—or did—feel slight pleasure from it.

I’ve been waiting for you.

The voice says, and I ignore it to continue feeling the warmth pool between my legs. I’ve never felt so needy for an interaction like the one I was watching, as forbidden as that seems.

“Lucynda.” This time, the whisper of my name snaps me out of my satiated daze, the voice sounding like it’s escaped the confines of my mind and manifested itself into something real.

I whip my head to the left and see no one.

To the right, not a soul.

I look around and the hall is completely empty. It’s just me, the lights from the other windows seem to be dimmed too. I look back to the room I was watching and they’re both gone as well, just the spotlight shining down on the throne in the center of the room remains and I feel anxiety from the sudden absence of people. Feeling trapped in a room full of nothing but darkness and air.

“It’s okay, you’re safe,” the voice whispers and again, it sounds tangible. That’s when I feel the feather of a touch caress my neck from behind and without a second thought, I rip the mask off my face, tossing it down behind me as I take off running through the curtain. I run as fast as I can toward the stairs, trying not to fall down the spiraled flight.

I run straight for the bodyguard, not caring who I bump into or who sees me as people still dance the night away, and before I even have to ask him, he has my phone and purse ready for me. I grab them from him and book it out the way I came, down the hall with the neon blue lights.

I reach the door to the exit and push against the metal door, but it won’t budge. I try with all my might to push it open but it’s stuck. I look behind me, frightened that whoever the fuck was back there messing with me is approaching quickly, and then I remember that the first bodyguard warned me about my ticket.

I search my clutch for the ticket and find it, feeling my heart about to hammer out of my chest. I scan the barcode and the door swings open. The other bodyguard isn’t here, so I let out the breath I was holding as I desperately gasp for fresh air, bent over with my hands on my knees. The door slams behind me causing me to jump out of my skin.

Everything feels hot, so I welcome the breeze of the cold air for only a second as I look at my phone and see that it’s exactly midnight.

I hear a noise at the door behind me, as if it's being opened, and my gut tells me to run, so I chase after the wind through the trees, but I only get a few feet in before the wind picks up and something smacks into me, taking my breath away. I clench my eyes shut and when I open them, I’m standing in the middle of my living room.