“I would hardly call The Swords opponents.” He smiled. “Besides, my cloak isn’t black, it’s navy.”
“Navy.” I looked at it again, but it was too dark to tell the difference. “And what secret society do you belong to?”
“Quill.”
“You’re the ones who publish the members’ names in the paper the first week of every semester.”
“We have no use for anonymity.” He shrugged a shoulder.
“Interesting.”
“We could use more women though.” He turned toward me and even with the mask around his eyes I could see him checking me out.
Before I could answer him, someone pulled me away and I turned to see Adam standing there.
“Let’s dance.”
“What?” I pulled away slightly, on the border of the dance floor, in that place where I had to make a choice—in or out.
I looked at the guy I was talking to, but he was now looking at Adam as if they were having some sort of standoff. I couldn’t be sure if that was the case, but the guy walked away, and I got the indication that Adam won.
“I thought you didn’t dance.” I turned back to Adam, who was bobbing to the beat of the song.
“I didn’t say I didn’t dance. I said I wasn’t planning on it.”
“And?” I stepped closer. He put a hand on my waist as I began to move to the rhythm.
“I changed my mind.”
“Because too many people were coming onto me?”
“Maybe.”
“I would accuse you of being jealous, but you don’t know me, so it can’t be that.”
“Jealousy is an emotion. Like love and hate. It’s beyond reason.” He winked.
Winked. My heart slammed, full stop. Maybe I hadn’t been paying attention, but I was pretty sure no one had ever winked at me. As we danced, I continued sipping on my whiskey and decided to worry about the real Stella and what was happening inside of this place tomorrow. So far, cloaks aside, it seemed like a college frat house. The comment about the burial wasn’t far out of my mind, even though for now I was choosing to ignore it.
The pocket of my cloak vibrated halfway through the next song, and I set down my drink on the nearest rock and took it out.
Dr. Thompson: anything?
Me: Nothing yet.
Dr. Thompson: search the property
Me: I’m trying
I silenced the phone and tucked it back into the pocket, leaning into Adam to tell him I was going to step outside for a second. He looked like he wanted to come with, but I walked away too quickly for him to offer. Search the property. How exactly was I supposed to do that? Once I stepped outside and shut the door, my ears rang loudly, as if I was still standing beside the speaker system. Suddenly, I felt hot and annoyed by the white cloak and mask. I took the cloak off and held it in my arm, leaving the mask on for anonymity. Before I could talk myself out of it, I opened the door to the right and let myself inside. The first thing that hit me was the smell of incense. It smelled like the church I’d grown up in and I was instantly reminded of Father Murray, walking around with that silver thurible and swinging it throughout. The second thing I noticed was the darkness. With the door slightly shut behind me, I could barely see anything. Unlike next door, there were no strobe lights, only the glow of candles. Maybe they’d illuminated this area so people knew they were in the wrong place and wouldn’t get lost. I turned around, thinking about the couple days of blank memory in my head that I still needed to account for myself. I didn’t even remember getting the key to this place. I didn’t remember getting an invitation or opening it. Nothing. Blank. Just as I reached the door, I heard something. Voices. Multiple voices. They were quiet at first, and grew louder. I turned around and walked back. Beyond the large rock that seemed to serve as a wall of separation, there were ten people in cloaks. They were chanting something I couldn’t understand but somehow felt familiar, as if I’d heard it in my sleep and my consciousness had evaporated the memory.
The cloaks weren’t red, but brown. Brown cloaks with a rope tied at the hip. My heart stopped beating. The only other place I’d ever seen those was . . . but no. I shook my head. No way. I inched closer to the edge of the wall and crouched down to see if I could make out what they were walking around. It was some sort of surface made of rock, a bench of sorts, but I couldn’t tell if anything was on it, until they made way for a second and I saw a person.
A naked person. A woman? They held hands in the midst of the chant and shifted once more. A naked woman. I brought my hand up to my mouth to keep in any sound. If I was discovered, who knew what would happen. They suddenly came to a halt. The chants stopped. I moved my head slightly to try to make out who the woman was, but one of them was blocking her face. I couldn’t tell whether she was dead or alive. She remained unmoved. They began to chant again, this time a very familiar prayer, and I felt myself grow dizzy. They were monks. If I had any doubt before, that solidified it for me. The one at the foot of the table began disrobing and climbed up to the table to join the naked woman. Dread crawled up my spine. My hand tightened over my mouth. I couldn’t find the strength in my legs to stand up now and get out of this room before anything else went down. I couldn’t look away. The only thoughts I could summon were: Was nothing truly sacred? Should I do something? Should I come out from the shadows and help her? Did she sign up for this? Who were these people? I felt water rolling over the hand I had over my mouth and realized with surprise, that I was crying.
Suddenly, I felt a presence behind me, and froze. I’d been caught. I’d been caught and my brain wasn’t switching on my flight response. A hand came over mine over my mouth and another hauled me up. I began to kick and scream beneath our hands. I wiggled to try to get the person to drop me. It was no use. Whoever had gotten a hold of me was stronger than me by a lot. The door opened and closed and suddenly I was back in the round hall between the two doors, still cradled in someone’s arms and fighting to be let go.
“Stop fucking moving. I’m going to let go of your mouth now and set you down. Don’t panic.” It was Adam.
Don’t panic? I was hyperventilating, my air coming into my lungs quicker than it could get out. My tears continued to fall, blurring my vision, as if I knew the person on that table. I didn’t. I didn’t have to. I knew those monks. Not those monks, but, thanks to Karen, I knew monks. I’d known monks and nuns and clergy and that was not something they’d approve of. Instead of setting me down, Adam carried me up the dark, winding cobble stairwell. He opened the dungeon door and kept walking down the hall until he made a left, or right, I wasn’t sure with the disorientation and wooziness in my head I was experiencing, and finally, in there, he let go of my mouth and deposited me on some kind of couch.
“You okay?” he asked. “Breathe. Deep breaths. Focus on your breaths.” He positioned me so that I was sitting down, even going as far as placing my elbows on my legs and holding my arms there so they wouldn’t wobble off. “Breathe.”
I did. I focused. Breathed in, breathed out. I thought of Dr. Maslow, who had always instructed that I “Breathe in the good things, expel the bullshit.” In my head, I said those words as I breathed. When I finally felt like I’d gotten a grip, I wiped my tears quickly with my palms and looked up at Adam, who was kneeling between my legs.