

# The Rabbit Hole

# by Amiya Powell

#

Copyright 2016 AMIYA POWELL ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Although The Rabbit Hole is a work of fiction, the locations featured in the book actually exist. Below, you'll find a list of addresses and phone numbers. And if you happen to see me around, don't be a stranger.

Alice in Wonderland Sculpture Central Park at 75th St and 5th Ave

Ben's Best Kosher Deli (718) 897- 1700 96- 40 Queens Blvd, Rego Park, NY

Bleeker Street Pizza (212) 924- 4466 69 7th Ave, NY, NY

Blue Hill Restaurant (212) 539-1776 75 Washington Pl, NY, NY

Bowery Meat Company (212) 460- 5255 9 E. 1st St, NY, NY

Dough (347) 533- 7544 448 Lafayette Ave, Brooklyn, NY

Doughnut Plant (212) 503- 3700 379 Grand St, NY, NY

Gottscheer Hall (718) 366- 3030 657 Fairview Ave, Ridgewood, NY

Gray's Papaya (212)799- 0243 2090 Broadway, NY, NY

Hidden Public Library- Terrence Cardinal Cooke Cathedral branch (212) 752- 3824 560 Lexington Ave (Located underground in the actual #6 train station on northwest corner of Lexington Ave & 50th St. There is no above ground sign marking its presence.)

Hudson Hotel (212)554- 6000 358 W. 58th St, NY, NY

Max and Mina's Ice Cream Shop (718)793-8629 7126 Main St, Flushing, NY

The Metropolitan Museum of Art (212) 535- 7710 1000 5th Ave, NY, NY

Paper Factory Hotel (718) 392- 7200 37-06 36th St, Long Island City, NY

The Speakeasy (???) ???- ???? Sorry, can't post this one, but it's hidden beneath a popular New York City restaurant. There are several clues in the book.

Westway Diner (212) 582- 7661 614 9th Ave, NY, NY

# Prologue

MK Ultra was a top secret program developed by the CIA in the late 1940s to research methods of mind control on human beings. The experiments involved administering drugs, torture and psychological abuse on unwitting subjects. After coming under Congressional scrutiny in the 1970s, the program was terminated and most of the records were destroyed. Allegedly.

# CHAPTER 1

March 14, 1999

Mr. Barret Groh, the acting liaison for the Society of Names, was a dashing sort, a throwback from an era where murder and politics were conducted with class. Whether he was coming to kiss you or kill you, he did so impeccably groomed and in an Armani suit. He wasn't a label whore by any means; it was just a damn good suit. He arrived at the office of Countess Veronique des Valentines to give her some particularly interesting news. He could have called, but he much preferred to handle such matters in person. Or perhaps it was just an excuse to see her.

"I'm starting to believe you've made a deal with the devil," he remarked. "You look younger every time I see you, skin like chocolate cream. What's that saying again? Black don't crack?"

The Countess despised Mr. Groh, but her job required she tolerate him. She sat up stiffly in her chair, with her lips pursed so tightly, she was in grave danger of swallowing her cheeks. And what he'd come to tell her would not put her at ease. The Society of Names, the organization for which she'd served as chief operating officer for the past seven years, was in the process of adding a medical research division. It was slated to be run by Dr. Ider Bragg, the former head of Seventh Generation. When a scandal broke over its unethical medical practices, Seventh Generation vanished into obscurity. The company lost millions in private funding, and was ultimately bankrupted by a carousel of legal proceedings. The press compared Dr. Bragg to Josef Mengele, the infamous SS physician who performed horrifying medical experiments on concentration camp victims. Due in no small part to the CIA, Dr. Bragg was acquitted of all charges. All that was needed for him to continue his work, was someplace far from the prying eyes of the world. Where better than the Society's own hallowed halls? The CIA had been pumping information from it for years because of its easy access to high profile clientele. The clothes came off and the secrets came out.

"Countess, you do understand you'll still be very much in charge here? We want you to continue running things just as you always have. What you've done here is remarkable. No one's denying that."

This much was true. Society girls were renowned as the finest in the world and always in high demand. This was because the Countess treated her work as an edict from God. She was not a pimp turning out whores; she was a master artisan creating modern day geishas. And she was protective of her girls, like a mother bear over her cubs. With the addition of the medical research division, all staff, excluding primary personnel, would be used as test subjects. The Countess could not in good conscience support subjecting her staff to being government guinea pigs, especially not at the hands of a madman like Dr. Bragg. That is why she had to inform Mr. Groh that she would be stepping down from her position. Mr. Groh balked at this. She was looking at it all wrong, he said. Governments had been experimenting on their own people for eons. America was no different. The Tuskegee Airmen study had become the most publicized incident, but it wasn't the first and it wouldn't be the last. In fact, it wasn't even the worst.

"You really need to think this through," Mr. Groh said, doing his best to make it sound like a suggestion. "We need you on board Countess, not just for your skill as a leader and a teacher, but to serve as a sort of moral compass. You see, there's a lot of money at stake in the hopes Dr. Bragg can deliver great things, but what these investors don't want is to have their fingerprints anywhere near the atrocities that buried Seventh Generation. Now of course the good doctor is going to skate that line, but we need you to make sure he doesn't cross it. That isn't a job for me. I personally lack your humanitarian spirit and couldn't care less what happens to those overindulged, painted gutter rats you treat like children. Without you, this place will descend into chaos, and down the rabbit hole we'll go."

The Countess was speechless. Mr. Groh grabbed a handful of raspberries from a bowl of fresh fruit on the desk, and ate them one by one. "Absolutely delicious," he said, letting his gaze settle at her décolletage. "But I can't deny, I've always preferred black." The Countess straightened her blazer and crossed her legs, which greatly amused Mr. Groh. He so enjoyed a game of cat and mouse.

"Besides," he continued, "you'll never be able to just walk away from this place. You know too much. You've seen the best of it, haven't you? I'll take Presidents Who Like it Up the Ass for $500, Alex." He laughed long and hard at his own joke, actually wiping away a tear. "Oh God, remember that prime minister, the somnophiliac? Liked the girls to pretend they were sleeping while he felt them up? And the princess...My god, wasn't she a magnificent mess." A smirk taunted the edge of his lips as he delighted in the memory of one of the Society's most fascinating clients. The first time he'd read through her list of fetishes, he blushed like a schoolboy. He certainly wasn't unaccustomed to such kink, but the source was more than a little surprising. "She always looked so prim and proper in the tabloid photos. Remember, Countess? White gloves, curtsies, the whole bit. And who would've guessed she loved nothing more than a plump blonde with a hairy cunt to service all those perversions? Delectable really." The Countess remained stone- faced, her empty stare focusing on a point just beyond Mr. Groh's shoulder. She would not engage him beyond what was necessary, and that did not include a trip down memory lane. Mr. Groh leaned back in his chair, surveying the room while his thoughts traveled to another time. He and the Countess had been friends once, before they'd been forced to choose sides. Now, it was her vs. everyone else. What was she trying to prove?

"Veronique, your clients would never feel safe knowing you were roaming free with that kind of information. You know that. You've always known that. You will be watched for the rest of your life. Then of course, there's the CIA's involvement in a place that's supposed to be neutral ground. Leaving isn't an option for you. Even if we didn't kill you, I guarantee someone else would."

# CHAPTER 2

Present Day

My Name is Alexia and I am Homeless...

Children can feel when something is not quite right. Once I'd figured out I didn't belong, I spent my childhood searching for clues to secure the belief. The evidence was everywhere: in the hushed tones that followed my name at family gatherings, in the odd looks from my aunt and uncle as though they expected I might turn into something right before their eyes, in the way my grandmother hovered over me when I was in her care, scarcely allowing me to be three feet out of sight. Don't get me wrong, my family had never shown me anything but love, but it wasn't enough to hide the distance between us.

The only person I felt really close to was my little sister Esmeralda, Esme for short. She was an old soul, wise beyond her years and capable of understanding me when others did not. When I was sad, she would have me draw to work through my feelings. The pictures, she said, could say what we could not. I have no idea where she picked this up. Afterward, she would interpret my drawings for answers about what was bothering me. Then she would hang my work on the fridge. I found the whole thing so entertaining, it usually snapped me out of whatever mood I was in. And honestly, her analyses were pretty spot on. It was weird. I was the second child of five. My older brother Liam and I had the same father, but mere mention of this sperm donor's name was like a curse in our household. I'd seen a picture of him once. Liam was his spitting image. I didn't look anything like him, or my mother, or anyone else in my family for that matter. They were all hopelessly pale and blonde, and then there was me.

"What a lovely tan she has," an elderly woman at church remarked once. "And that beautiful, thick hair. I'm sure you have quite a time getting the knots out," quipped another. I was probably about four or five. I vividly remember my mother loudly and rudely telling them to go fuck themselves. I was so confused. I thought they were complimenting me. We didn't go back to church after that, but something strange happened. My grandmother started dyeing my hair. I was happy at the time. I wanted so badly to look like my mother and siblings. I remained a bottle blonde until I was seventeen, but I knew there was something incredibly fucked up going on. I often wondered if maybe I was the product of a rape. My mother was the type who would keep the baby. It made sense. Why else would they treat me the way they did? Always hiding me, hovering over me and making excuses for me. I was damaged in some way, but no one would tell me how.

When I was twelve, my mother met a successful entrepreneur named Ian Galloway when he was in Arizona on business. A broken foot landed him in the E.R. where a dedicated nurse caught his eye. At first my mother refused his advances. A single mother of four, she had little time for games. Ian however, was relentless in his affections. He convinced her that she was all he wanted. He soon became a common presence in our home, meddling in our lives with the tenacity of one who would stick around for the long haul. Four years later he still hadn't gotten divorced from his wife. It was never the right time, you see. He convinced my mother that if we lived closer, things would be different. The next thing you know, we packed up and moved across the country. We were only thirty minutes away from Ian, but we saw him even less. My mother was heartbroken, starting over in a new city and pregnant by a married man who wanted nothing to do with her. And then came my own moment of truth. It solidified everything I'd always felt. She sat me down one day, and tearfully told me I would be going back to Arizona to live with my grandparents. She hadn't anticipated how expensive it would be to live in Manhattan, and could no longer afford to take care of all of us. My older brother and I worked to help out, but it just wasn't enough to make ends meet. It would only be temporary, she said. She never explained why I had to be the one to go, and I never asked. I was supposed to leave at the end of the week, but I went for a walk that night, and just never went back.

At nineteen, I'd been living on the street for almost two years. If you try, you can get used to anything. My current residence was an abandoned lot in Brooklyn, with a bunch of other homeless people. It was a popular destination for vagrants in-the-know, but far enough away from the subway that the riffraff were seldom willing to make the trek. Beneath a long, stone roof, a collection of metal stalls once home to a flea market, provided space and privacy to the forgotten. The gate still had a big wooden sign out front that read: International Bazaar! A few times a month, a guy named Dylan would show up with these spectacularly fancy meals. When he pulled up in his delivery truck, the camp would start buzzing like children at Christmas. We would line up at the entrance of the lot, and a chunky, cheerful fellow they called Tuba, would serve as Dylan's helper. After setting up a plastic picnic table, Dylan and Tuba would serve everyone until all of the food was gone. The first time I laid eyes on Dylan, I was smitten. He was tall and muscular, with a dazzling smile. As I watched him today, setting up the food and chatting with the natives, I knew there was no way I was getting on that line. It would be too embarrassing. I looked like a ragdoll, and I hadn't had a shower in two days. Wasn't going to happen.

"Oh yes you is gettin' on that line," threatened Myra, a sixty five year old woman with more moxie than teeth, and my only friend in this urban wilderness. "I'm hungry and I'm not fixin' to walk my old ass up there." I stood my ground, glaring at my makeshift parent with my arms folded. "Go on Mrs. America," she chided, giving me a shove out of the stall.

Mrs. America was her nickname for me because she said I was as lovely as a pageant queen. Maybe to her, but I didn't see myself as anything special. At just under 5'7, I was pretty slim, except for my boobs, which seemed to crop up out of nowhere. "There must be a boob fairy 'cause you did not get those from me," my mother used to tease, hunching her shoulders to emphasize her own flat chest. My hair was an untamable mess of curls that hung to my waist. It had grown out so much that the blonde I used to keep up religiously, was now only on the ends. The only thing I did like were my lips, full and pouty with a cupid's bow. As a treat, I would go to the makeup counters in Macy's and try on tons of different lipsticks. The women at the Clinique counter were always nicest. They knew I didn't have any money, but they played along. Sometimes if they weren't busy, they would even do my whole face. It was nice to have them all fawning over me and telling me how pretty I was, but I thought they were just being polite because they felt sorry for me. One time, the manager Kiki, who I'm pretty sure used to be a man, asked me if I was Black or Hispanic. It wasn't the first time someone asked that, just never so frankly. I usually answered with "No, I'm German, Irish and Scottish," but that time I responded truthfully. "I'm not sure."

Myra continued grumbling about how hungry she was, and how I didn't appreciate her. "Fine Myra, I'll go," I muttered. I skulked up to the line, praying that Tuba would be the one to serve me so that I could at least pretend like I didn't see Dylan. No such luck. When I got to the front of the line, Tuba was happily waiting on a family of four. "Hey," Dylan said enthusiastically. He flashed that smile and I went mute. All I could manage was a wave. I grabbed two paper plates from the stack and held them out for the food, while trying to will my brain to work. "Are you here a lot?" he asked, wincing immediately after. It was a ridiculous question to ask a homeless person. "Wow, sorry. That's not what I meant. I mean..." His voice trailed off and the color began rising to his cheeks. I couldn't believe it! He was nervous about talking to me too. My stomach fluttered.

"Alexia," I blurted out. With the full plates in hand, I turned on my heels and raced back to the stall, my face hot with embarrassment. Why did I shout out my name like that? I didn't dare turn around. And thus began our courtship. A few awkward encounters later, and we could finally look each other in the eye and enjoy casual chat. Every time I spoke to Dylan, I was giddy. Sometimes he would stop by just to say hello. Other times he would bring me fruit and cake. He told me that if I was looking for a job he could use some help, but I was too embarrassed to take him up on it. I wasn't even sure what he did for a living and anyway, I was doing ok.

"You need to get up wit' that fine ass white boy an' get off these streets baby girl," bellowed Myra, as we waited our turn at one of the city's last communal showers. It was a hike, but it was worth it. "He's crazy about you. Reel him in and you could be Mrs. Fine Ass White boy." A bystander nodded her head in agreement, and they began jabbering on about how different life would be if they were still young and pretty. I wasn't interested in any of that. I'd already been down that road with Henry Dufresne.

Henry Dufresne was a gorgeous Black man, with hazel eyes and a hard body. What made him stand out even more than his looks was his Australian accent. American women went nuts over it, and couldn't keep their feet on the floor. Married to a wealthy older woman, he traded a few minutes of his time each day for access to her inheritance. Would you believe he hired me as a housekeeper? Under the disparaging eye of his prune-faced wife, I cooked and cleaned like Cinderella. Dame Dufresne was usually busy with charities, luncheons and the various other social gatherings of the privileged and powerless. I did my best to stay out of her way and make sure she had nothing to complain about. I was paid $35 a week. The rest they felt was supplemented by room and board. I know, criminal, but go without food for three days and then tell me what you will and will not do. Henry helped me get a P.O. Box so I'd have an address even if I moved around. Even though I wasn't supposed to, I started keeping money in it. I figured I wouldn't be getting any mail, at least not in the near future, so who would know I was using it as a bank? I was so happy to have a job and a place to live, nothing could shake me.

Before long, Henry made his real intentions clear. What he truly wanted was a live in mistress. It started innocently enough, but sideways glances and friendly pats quickly blossomed into much more. I would get out of the shower, and he would be there waiting, begging for just a taste. He wasn't a very good kisser, but my hormones didn't care. "I need you," he would say, running his hands all over my wet body. I usually resisted his advances, making up one excuse or another. "I don't have sex without condoms," was the last one. The next time he stormed in on me, he made sure to have one. Damn. I stood there in my towel, dripping in more ways than one. I couldn't hold out any longer and he knew it. He pushed me up against the wall and started kissing me and licking my breasts. I was feverish with lust, undoing his pants in a frenzy to get to what I'd been craving since we'd first locked eyes. He lifted my naked body onto the bathroom sink. He was rough, battering his thickness into me like a conqueror staking his claim. I was being much too loud for the clandestine affair, and a panicked hand rose to my mouth, his eyes pleading for my silence. I tried to be quiet, but each thrust penetrated to the end of me. I wrapped my legs around his waist to receive all of him, not wanting it to end. "You're mine now," he whispered, pressing me tightly to him. And I was. Who else did I belong to?

After we'd had our fill, we laid down on a towel he'd spread out on the floor. I lay my head on his chest, listening to the sound of his heart beating, feeling in the contrived closeness much more than what it was. There we stayed until Dame Dufresne's movement in the halls forced us to part. We crept back to our quarters separately so as not to rouse suspicion. Just a few hours later, it was time for me to begin my housework. I was completely exhausted, but it didn't matter because my spirit was energized. That first tryst was the opening of Pandora's Box, unleashing all kinds of devilish behavior in me. Henry and I simply couldn't get enough of each other, stealing moments of passion whenever we could. When I wasn't with him, all I could think about was seeing him again. When he would leave, I would stand at the window like a puppy unsure if its master would return.

"Alexis!" I whirled around to see Madame red with rage, her chubby hands astride her hips. It definitely wasn't the time to correct her on my name. "Where is my dry cleaning? I have an engagement and I need my teal chiffon blouse!" Oh shit. I'd definitely forgotten to drop it off. Spending so much time with Henry, I'd been forgetting to do a lot of things lately. Maybe I could just slip the blouse into some dry cleaning plastic and make her think it had been cleaned. I mean, she'd only worn it last time for a few hours and she was a smoker anyway.

"I'm sorry. I just need to run out and grab it. Why don't you hop in the shower and I'll be back before you get out." Without waiting for a reply, I flew downstairs, slammed the door like I had left, and waited a few minutes. I couldn't actually hear if Madame was in the shower from downstairs. If I ran into her, I'd make up something. When I reached the landing, I heard the water running. I snatched a dry cleaning cover off something else, and arranged the blouse in the plastic. It had no visible stains but reeked of cigarettes. Damn it! She would definitely notice but what could I do now? I hung it on her bedroom door, and hoped for the best. I hated that I'd messed up. I went to the kitchen and began scrubbing the floors, waiting for the fury of Madame's disapproval. Nearly a half hour passed and finally, she walked down the stairs and left out the front door. I exhaled. The incident should have made me more careful, but it had the opposite effect. I'd gotten away with something I shouldn't have. Now I felt invincible.
One morning, I brought breakfast into the den where Madame was reading the newspaper. Although in her forties, just a decade beyond Henry, everything about her seemed much older. Her face was riddled with lines from an excess of cigarettes and sun, and her clothing had enough pomp and puff for the mother of the bride. Today she wore a flowery blouse with a ruffled collar that came up high around her pudgy face. With her large, popping eyes, she reminded me of a pug in a post-surgery cone. She watched me set the tray down, her eyes tracing my every move like a lizard preying on an insect. A sharp, tinny chime cut through the tension. I looked up to see Henry behind the piano. Our eyes met and I drank in the sweetness of the exchange. When I turned back to Madame, I found that cold, reptilian stare still upon me. As I poured the juice and prepared the tea, I was shaking.

When Henry requested my presence at the piano, I welcomed the escape from Madame's relentless gaze. I sat down on the bench next to him, watching his fingers dance across the keys. He belted out the chorus to a rap song in a great operatic baritone, and we erupted into childish laughter. As we continued our haughty revelry, I noticed him growing harder by the second. I peeked above the piano. Madame was engrossed in the newspaper. Should I dare? Beneath my skirt, I was aching for him. I slowly unzipped his pants and with one swift motion, swallowed up his throbbing prick, squeezing my throat around it. Once it was nice and slippery, I teasingly ascended, sucking him in while swirling my tongue over every inch. "Oh!" he moaned, along with a string of sour notes from the piano. Realizing his error, he tried to incorporate the outburst into a song. "Oh Danny Boy! The pipes... the pipes are... calling!" he sang, as I stroked the yearning flesh. Having such power over his excitement was its own aphrodisiac. I was soaking wet. I began working faster, rhythmically, hand over hand, twisting and pumping at the solid staff, gently tugging the tightened pouch. Warbling an awful rendition of New York, New York, Henry shuddered to release. Pulling his shirt down over his slacks, he excused himself, giving Madame a kiss on the cheek as he departed.

Suddenly, I felt guilty and afraid. What should I do? I couldn't just run right out after him, but I didn't want to be alone with Madame for very long. I closed the piano, taking great care in putting away the bench and sheet music. Perhaps Madame would be done eating soon so I could take her dishes. "My husband is such a kind man," came the stiff, gravelly voice. I was miles away, and it took me a second to realize she was talking to me. Oh God, why was she talking to me? Unsure of how to respond, I smiled and nodded in agreement. "I would have preferred to hire professionals for the house, but Henry felt we had a unique opportunity to change the life of someone who was down and out. Such an idealist."

I was worried. Madame was not a woman of idle chit chat. She went on to detail how the loving and philanthropic Henry had made it his mission to personally scout such persons for employ. There was Vanessa, whom he found crying on a curb outside of a strip club, Winter, a plump, cherub- faced girl who despised cleaning and seldom got up before two, Daniella, who did pretty well with the chores, but simply could not keep out of Madame's clothing and jewelry, and then, there was me. Their home had been a revolving door for these young, useless beauties, who had no more desire to further themselves than a pig has to get out of the mud. The worse off they were, the harder Henry worked to reform them. Madame patted a spot on the couch right next to her. I could hear my heart beating in my ears. I walked over to her like a prisoner on a death march. The stench of cigarettes and alcohol was like a force field. I stared straight ahead, with my hands planted firmly in my lap. "We used to pay very well, you know?" She took a sip of her tea, and it seemed like an eternity passed before I heard the clink of the porcelain cup returning to the saucer. "But then I realized I was actually paying these women to screw my husband? Can you imagine? Have you ever seen a bigger fool?" She gave a rehearsed laugh, like one repeating a favorite anecdote for party guests. I suddenly felt ashamed at my behavior and pity for this woman. She handed me a tissue to wipe my tears and told me not to feel bad. She felt the same regard for Henry as one does a pet goldfish. "Do whatever you want with my husband. I really don't care, but under no circumstances will you disrespect me. Do I need to explain what I mean?" I shook my head. I knew precisely what she meant. Henry and I were carelessly flaunting our liaisons, having sex everywhere from the pool to Madame's bedroom, not to mention this morning's vulgar display right under her nose. And I'd become slack with my chores and other household duties. I'd never been irresponsible like that. What had gotten in to me? And how did I get involved with a married man? More than anyone, I knew better. I'd put myself in a terrible predicament. I assured Madame that I would give her no need for a conversation like this again. As soon as I left the den my mood shifted. I was so excited, I nearly dropped the tray of dishes. I'd just been given carte blanche to spend time with Henry, provided I did my work and kept our affair off of Madame's radar. I cannot justify why I found such an arrangement acceptable. Even though Madame had become used to her station, I had no right to exploit it.

For the next few months, Henry and I cavorted around Manhattan like kids who had won the lottery. We ate at fine restaurants, did drugs until dawn, and fucked any place that provided even a moment of seclusion. One night as we strolled through Central Park, Henry insisted he had to have me that instant. I glanced down to see the best part of him vying for attention. As we sat down on a nearby bench, we scanned the area for particularly nosy passersby. The coast was clear. The towering greenery surrounded us in our own little world, and a street lamp played the part of romantic moonlight. After a passionate kiss, he stood me up and roughly spun me around so my ass was facing him. He slid his hand beneath my skirt and grunted when he felt I wasn't wearing panties.

"You're a naughty one aren't you?" he asked, fingering the outside of my dripping slit. He grabbed me by the waist, and slid me down onto his eager prick, filling me to the brim. Yearning to feel the weight of my breasts, he pulled at my blouse. The fabric tore away like paper, and I felt the cool night air against my nipples. "You're going to cum for me," he commanded, massaging a wet finger around my clit. Some people had stopped to gawk at us, a couple maybe. I could just make them out in the shadows. But it didn't matter to me. I was on such a high, and perhaps I liked the attention. Belle of the ball and all that. With my eyes closed and my head tossed back, I humped with abandon, taking him up again and again and again. The heat was rising rapidly, threatening to set my body on fire. As I strummed at my nipples, I pushed against his palm and came for him. Afterwards, we found a plush patch of grass to recline on. We held each other and stared up at the creeping night sky. The world was ours. Each day held the intensity of a year and in just a few months, we'd spent a lifetime together. Henry told me he loved me. I believed it, even though I knew it wasn't true. I knew he was not a man willing to deal with the responsibility such words required. They were more a token of appreciation, a bouquet of flowers bestowed upon an actor at the end of a performance. Madame's words looped in my brain. She told me plainly that I was not the first, nor would I be the last, and in my heart I knew it was true.

When I met my replacement, a tow-headed, cotton- brained sweetheart named of all things, Lolita, I felt sick to my stomach. Why are women cursed with such foresight? Henry did not know the street urchin he'd just given a light to would be his next charity case, but I did. Not wanting to seem jealous, I responded enthusiastically when he asked if we should let her accompany us for a night of partying. "She looks like she could use a good time," he said, as we watched Lolita flutter about the street, begging the nightclub patrons for cigarettes and cash. "You want me to hang out with you? Hell yeah!" she hollered, lifting her top and jiggling her tits. She smelled musty and hadn't shaved in awhile, but there was no denying her beauty. Her eyes were full of fire, and she wore the suicide scars on her wrists like badges of honor. I thought I knew how to have a good time, but this girl was a pro. The alcohol couldn't handle her, and she consumed every drug shoved in her face. Anyone could see Lolita was a fucking train wreck, but I watched Henry fall in love with her. And why not? Here was a girl who would always need saving. He would always be the hero.

At the next club, she disappeared into the crowd, shoeless, shirtless and impossibly jaded. Henry decided we needed to look for her. I saw the worry in his eyes. He would never feel that kind of concern for me. When we found her, she was blowing some rando on a couch near the DJ booth. Henry raced to rescue his princess, shoving people out of the way and hurdling furniture. I watched from afar. I couldn't hear them, but the scene played out with the visual flair of a telenovela. He got her up off her knees, and they started arguing. Mr. I'm-just-getting-my-dick-sucked tried to intervene, but Henry pushed him out of the way. Lolita started crying and fell into Henry's arms. I'd seen enough. I turned around and let myself be consumed by the swarm of people. The bass thumped beneath my feet as ghostly bodies rose and fell all around me. I clutched at the P.O. Box key hanging from a chain around my neck. There was no need for me to return to the house. I didn't really own anything of value, and I always had my trusty backpack with me. A smarter girl would have squeezed Henry for money, stolen from the home, and clung to that life raft until she could swim on her own. But I was too much of a fool to succeed at such games. Madame's revenge. She knew this would happen. Perhaps it was what she lived for, to see these women who came in and trampled on her life be humiliated and tossed out like garbage. I wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of watching Henry take a shit on me. Once again, I was out on the street with no place to go and no one to turn to. At least I'd managed to save some more money. I had enough to rent a room, or spend a few weeks at a hostel. But right then, I didn't give a fuck what happened to me. I'd never had my heart broken before. I just wanted to stop feeling. I left the club and walked until my legs wouldn't go anymore.

The soup kitchen on 9th Avenue had decent food and kind volunteers, but I still hated going. As soon as you walked through the doors, you were hit with the stink of poverty, the empty stares, the hopelessness that spread like cholera. Every time I took a seat in the dining area, I felt my place amongst the have-nots being solidified, my fire to fight for something more being quelled by hot stew and bread. But for the feeble, feisty Myra, my company was requested at least twice a week. She was a handful. She couldn't bite her tongue to save her life, but I liked that about her. I tried to keep from laughing when she fussed at a server to put some more food on her plate because she 'wasn't no damn cat.' "You can have mine Myra," I said, winking at the frightened young man.

On his chest was a big green button that read: Sunlight Christian Evangelical Church. The poor thing had probably been forced into this gig by well-meaning parents who wanted him to learn the value of charitable works. Yeah, slap some food on a few trays once a month and all your sins will be forgiven. Myra used my arm to steady herself as she sat down to one of the cafeteria-style tables. I slid both trays in front of her and grabbed the chocolate milks for myself. I'd never liked chocolate milk as a kid, but now I loved it. Probably the sugar. I shook up one of the tiny government cartons and downed it in one gulp.

"Das all you gon' eat?" inquired a particularly ripe smelling gentleman next to me. "You already too skinny. Men don't like girls wit' no junk in 'dey trunk. You got a boyfriend?" Before I could respond, Myra jumped to my aid telling our opinionated friend where he could shove his questions. She also took his biscuit. After her tirade, he slid his tray down a few seats. I didn't need help defending myself, but since the day we met, she saw it as her job to protect me, and I guess I needed to know someone cared about me. If I'd never met her, I'd probably be in an alley smoking crack right now. No, seriously, because the night I met Myra, that's precisely what I was up to.

The day after the incident with Henry, I was still wandering around the city in a daze. That afternoon, I went to my little sister Esme's school. I just wanted to see her. School had just let out, and a bunch of children were milling around out front, waiting to be picked up by their parents. Esme was easy to spot. She had a head full of blonde ringlets, and always wore head to toe pink. It was her favorite color and she would not be shamed from it. She was in a circle talking with a few other girls. I don't know what she was saying, but they were hanging on to her every word.

As if she sensed my presence, she looked right across the street and saw me through the trees. Her face lit up. I waved and blew her a kiss. She was about to run to me, but I motioned for her not to. Her little face fell. Just then, an older woman ushered her and two other little girls down the street and into the subway. I wondered who the woman was. My mother usually picked her up. My sister kept glancing back as they walked, searching for my face each time until she couldn't see me anymore. I felt so alone. I missed my family. I thought about going home, but I just couldn't bring myself to go through with it. It seemed like it was too late for that. I'd made my decision and I was going to stick with it.

As I left the school, I started to feel anger like I'd never experienced. I wanted more misery and more pain. I wanted to destroy myself. My next stop was Asgar Keegan's pad, a guy I'd met during my brief stint as a stock clerk at H&M, the Ikea of clothing. Asgar was a thirty year old burnout and occasional dealer who had an affinity for young girls. I don't mean young like me, I mean young like twelve. His place was a nonstop party. When he greeted me, he still had his H&M name tag on. He was wearing an oversized purple top hat with a stuffed rabbit peering out of the crown, and was higher than a psyche patient. "Oh shit, sup girl!" He gave me a big hug and introduced me to a room full of people who couldn't have cared less about meeting me. It was dark and smoky, and the Devil Wear's Prada remake of Still Fly, was blaring through four different speakers. It was Asgar's anthem. There were vices being savored at every turn. It was the perfect place to lose yourself. Someone put a cup in my hand and I drank every drop of what tasted like cough syrup. Asgar put his arm around me and asked me what I wanted to get into. "Do your worst," I said. There was a horny little tween practically blowing him right in front of me, so he dropped me off where he thought my needs would be met. "They'll take care of you. We're all friends here," he said, before pushing me into a room.

Three people were huddled on a mattress against the wall, and there was a sheet hanging over the window. No one responded to my presence. "I'm Alexia," I muttered, already feeling the effects of the chemical I'd imbibed earlier. Someone beckoned me over and within a few minutes, I was smoking crack for the first time. Crack. I could see how people got addicted after just one hit. It was glorious. You know that feeling when you wake up exhausted, and you'd do anything for just ten more minutes of sleep? You hit the snooze button, and damn it if that sleep doesn't seem like the best you've ever had. Well crack is like that ten more minutes of sleep. It's so satisfying in the moment, so rewarding and yet, after that alarm goes off, you just need ten more minutes. When my new besties said we had to head Uptown for a refill, I was right behind them. We ended up in a pretty rough section of the Bronx. To my surprise, the dealer was a young white kid who was perfectly at home in the gritty environment. He let us smoke a little before we left, and I was on cloud nine. On the way back, two members of our little posse got nabbed for jumping the subway turnstyle, so a girl named Dot and I bailed. She was about my age, mousy looking and really skinny with a raspy voice that was kind of cool. We headed a few blocks away from the subway station in case the cops were looking for us, since the two they caught had the drugs on them. Dot didn't seem all that concerned about it, so neither was I. We were sitting on the steps of a church trying to figure out what to do next. She wasn't talking as much as she had been, and was starting to get anxious and fidgety. It was freaking me out a little. "You got any money?" she asked.

I didn't have a dime on me. I was dangerously close to telling her about my P.O. Box when she came up with another suggestion. "You've turned tricks before right?"

"No."

She sucked her teeth impatiently. "Well you've had sex before right? It's the same thing. I'll find us some work. We'll make some money and meet back here in an hour." She didn't wait for a response, and bounded down the street. I didn't know what was going on, until she returned and instructed me to go around the corner to a light blue Cutlas.

"Is that a kind of car?"

She sucked her teeth again, and pulled me up from the stairs. "Yes! Fuck, how old are you?" At least I knew that was a rhetorical question. "Why can't we just go back to Asgar's? He's got plenty of other stuff," I whined.

"Because he doesn't have any rock. Now go! I'll see you in an hour."

She took off, undoubtedly to find a date of her own. My mother had always complained that I had a habit of doing things just to do them, and that's what always got me in trouble. I felt like I was walking to my death, but I couldn't stop myself. I had to know what was around that corner. Only after I'd gotten into the car did it dawn on me, that I was volunteering to participate in whatever activity this man decided. In the strongest voice I could manage, I told him I wanted to get out. He gruffly let me know that was not an option. The click of the doors locking might as well have been gun fire. I've always loved sex, everything about it, the smell, the sound, the intoxicating rush of hormones, loved it, but this was an entirely different situation. I was terrified. "You like it up the ass don't you?" he asked, rubbing his clammy hand on my thigh. He could tell I was new and enjoyed taking advantage of it. We drove to a dead end street in an isolated part of the neighborhood. I looked out the window. There were a few junkies and some stumbling, drunks-- no one exactly reliable in a crisis. I noticed someone sleeping in front of a closed bodega. I doubted they'd make a move to help me. Hell, they could've been dead for all I knew.

The john was a large man, a mountain of gelatinous flesh packed into Costco's finest poly blends. His thick neck exploded out of a plaid jacket into a doughy face. I imagined myself trying to fend him off and getting my neck snapped like papier- mache. "You like a little pain don't you?" he asked. His breath smelled sour. He took off his seatbelt and ordered me to get in the backseat. I was still debating whether I should just do what he wanted and get it over with, or fight. Fuck it. I was going to fight.

"Let me out! Let me out!" I screamed, and pounded on the windows with all of my might. I started swinging on the john, punching and scratching whatever my hands touched. "Help me! Help! Let me out!" The john was livid. He punched me in the head so hard, I saw stars. Before I could compose myself, he began choking me. My head ricocheted between the window and the headrest like a pinball, my hands weakly flailing about, clutching at him. Just as I was beginning to pass out, I heard a faint knocking sound. Suddenly I could breathe again.

"What the fuck!" I heard him yell. Someone was banging on the hood of the car and shouting vulgarities. It took me a moment to orient myself, but seeing my chance, I fumbled to unlock the door and make a run for it. "Hey!" The john grabbed my arm tightly, and told me to get back in the fucking car. I could see the person outside clearly now. It was an old woman. She'd been using her cane to rally for my release. I was not closing that car door again. I was screaming now, struggling to free my arm from his grip.

"Let her go," came a calm, accented voice, followed by the distinct schick schook of a twelve gauge shotgun getting ready to right some wrongs. Holding the weapon in one hand, and a blunt in the other, was a tall, brown skinned man with long dreads. If you can casually toke while you threaten someone's life, you are definitely a bad ass. Like magic, the evil john was reduced to a sniveling wimp. He was pleading for his life, while trying to explain away this terrible misunderstanding. With the gun trained on the john, the hero motioned me out of the car. I ran into the arms of the little old lady who had saved me.

Myra was all of five feet, and couldn't walk very well because of a car accident, but she was full of life. I would find out later that going to the hospital was her thing. "Oh I love me a hospital stay," she would joke. "I call 'em my spa vacation. You get pampered all day long and that morphine drip is the truth. Calgon take me away." It had been Myra sleeping in front of the bodega. Her yelling had woken up the owner, a Rasta named Max who was sort of a neighborhood vigilante. Max got into the passenger side of the john's car and they drove off. I never even got to thank him.

I was exhausted and starving like a hostage. Myra gave me a few sandwiches and I wolfed them down, barely stopping to chew. She piled up some blankets and made a place for me to sleep but for some reason, I just laid my head down on her lap. It was how I used to lay on my mom at the end of a shitty day. Then came the tears. I couldn't stop crying. Myra brushed her fingers through my hair and told me it would all be ok. The next morning we had breakfast at a local public school that offered free meals to the needy. Myra promised to show me how to survive on the streets, where to eat, where to sleep and shower. However this was not to be my life she said, merely a pit stop along the way for some much needed character building. How on earth could she know that? "Cuz I just know things Mrs. America, now eat before a bird carries your scrawny ass off." Myra never asked me how I'd ended up homeless, but she did tell me I needed to figure out where I wanted to be and get there. Easier said than done. I had no idea where I wanted to be.

"How does a person even decide something like that?" I asked.

"Oh you want me to do the work for you, huh?" She snagged the last piece of my bacon. "No ma'am. You got to live your own life. I will tell you this though, whatever you focus on is what you get."

"What do you mean? How do I focus on it?"

She chuckled at my persistence. "You set a goal, make a plan, and don't let nothing keep you from it."

Hmmm. If she had all this sage wisdom, why was she still homeless? I asked her why she hadn't taken her own advice. She wasn't offended.

"I don't want nothin' better for me honey. This here's my penance, to live among the dead."

# CHAPTER 3

It was only supposed to be a checkup. "In and out," they'd said. All of the other girls had come right back from their appointments, but Ming Young ended up being admitted to the hospital. "We have some tests to run," they'd said. "Nothing for you to be concerned about." That was four days ago. She wondered what the other girls were up to. Probably having the time of their lives while she went bat shit crazy. There wasn't a television in her room, or even a window. It was duller than dull. Getting up to pee was one of the afternoon's highlights. She looked at herself in the mirror and twisted her long, black hair into a bun, smoothing the curling edges with a few sprinkles of water. The wavy hair she'd always dreamed of finally arrived in her thirties, twenty years too late. She'd always been happy with the way she looked though, and she didn't mind aging. She'd accepted long ago that she would never be a great beauty, at least not by Asian standards. Her lips were too big and so was her ass. Such is life.

She climbed back into the bed and stared up at the ceiling. She was so tired of the stark white walls and the smell of sanitizer. And the needles, Jesus. They drew blood hourly. She'd been poked more times than a glory hole at a Chelsea dive bar. No one would tell her what was going on, or how much longer she would be there. In fact, none of the staff would even make eye contact with her, except for the sweet and bumbling Dr. Xavier. He even brought her a few books to read to pass the time. The lab coat he wore seemed comedic over ripped jeans and old concert tees. He always had a few days of scruff on his face and the weary eyes of one who didn't sleep, but he was still kind of cute. He knocked on the door of Ming's room. The door was wide open, but he was thoughtful that way. "You can come in," she said. Dr. Xavier hovered in the doorway with uncertainty, like a pet that had been yelled at too many times.

"Did you get to read any of the books?" She'd read them all. He was impressed. "You read all those in two days?"

"No, I read them all in one day. I read them again yesterday. I really liked Anna Karenina. Thank you."

He laid a bag onto the bed. "I brought you a few snacks. I hope you like Twix bars."

She sat up and started rifling through the bag. Her expression changed. "Are you kidding me? Cookies & Cream Twix bars? I used to love these things. I haven't seen them in forever. Where'd you find them?"

He took her enthusiasm as a good sign, and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Uh, well, they were discontinued in the 90s, but the Countess likes them so the company still makes them for her. They ship a few boxes here once a year." Ming found that funny. She couldn't picture the oh-so-elegant Countess sitting in her office, ripping into a candy bar.

"Well, you can tell her if she's really feeling nostalgic, I'd love some Ecto-Cooler and a few bags of 3D Doritos." Dr. Xavier laughed. "I'll see what I can do. I didn't know you were such a nine-o-phile."

"A what? Oh, Jesus. Is that what it's called? It sounds so lame. Well, I do love the 90s. I just can't escape this dorky persona. Must be the glasses. My-" She stopped herself from explaining how she and her husband had made up their own 90s trivia game. They used to play once a month with some friends at a bar Uptown. But that was a long time ago, before she'd ruined everything. She wasn't going to tell Dr. Xavier any of that. It was much too personal.

Silence, the thing both there and not there. Dr. Xavier could see Ming was closing up again. He needed another way in. "Uh, Ming, I wanted to ask you about your tattoo. Does it mean anything? It's pretty cool. Well, let me clarify, I wasn't being pervy or anything. I wasn't studying it. I noticed it. Uh, not just me. Some of the nurses were wondering too. About the tattoo, I mean. You know, sometimes we notice things. When we're examining people. Professionally. Professional examinations."

Ming was amused by his discomfort and allowed him to stammer on. The tattoo was on her hip and seeing it meant he'd probably seen her naked. How strange for a doctor to be so uncomfortable with the human body, and equally so in his own skin. "It was a private joke that turned into a nickname," she said. "My..." Damn. She almost mentioned her husband again. His existence was so intertwined with her own. "A friend and I had a thing for blaxploitation films. He used to tease that I was kind of an undercover badass. You know, the librarian that's got a switchblade hidden in her garter? That kind of thing."

Dr. Xavier nodded, his eyes lighting up at being let in on the secret. "I can see that. Yeah, I get it now." He'd read her file and knew more about her than he let on. After eight years at one of the top public relations firms in New York City, Ming Young looked every bit the part of executive debutante, but was known in the industry as being a ball-buster. She didn't take shit from anyone and her colleagues respected her for it. And feared her.

"So, level with me doc, is there something wrong with me? Am I sick?" No, he said. She was perfectly healthy. There were just a few tests they needed to do. Just a bit of research.

"We'd uh, like to start today. If that's ok with you Ming?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Start? We haven't even started yet? Are you kidding me? I've been in here for four days. What have you guys been doing?"

Dr. Xavier stood up, fiddling with his clipboard. "Uh, well, we had to do some preparations and take some blood. And things like that."

Ming threw back the covers and stepped down onto the floor. "I'm done. Tell the Countess I'm ready to go home. Isn't that how it works? I can just tell her when I want to go, right? Well, I'm ready."

Dr. Xavier was visibly frazzled as he watched her slip her clothing over the hospital gown. "Uh, Ming, listen, it won't be much longer. That you'll need to be here." She had already zipped up her jeans and was buttoning her shirt. "Ming, just one more day. Please, I'm begging you." He placed his hand on her shoulder and she froze instantly, staring at it as if it carried a deadly infection.

"You'd better get your motherfucking hand off of me before I stomp the shit out of you."

Dr. Xavier took several steps back, inadvertently bumping into the wall. The clipboard slipped from his hand, but he dared not retrieve it. "I- I- I- I'm so, so sorry, Ming. I overstepped. Forgive me. I- I just want to help. It will be easier for everyone if you... if you willingly do what we ask."

"Oh really? And what's going to happen if I don't?"

Dr. Xavier was shaking his head. "Ming, don't make this worse than it has to be. The tests are easy--- memory, multiple choice, math. That's it."

She saw the fear in his eyes and pitied him. Maybe he was afraid of losing his job. She didn't want him to suffer for her being uncooperative. She would simply have to tell Dr. Bragg herself. She wasn't afraid of him or anybody else. "Ok doc, I'll do it."

Dr. Xavier was relieved. "Oh Ming, that's-- that's great news. Really great. Such great news."

"Will Dr. Bragg be there?"

"Uh, yes. Yes, of course. He'll be there. He won't be administering the tests. He could, but he usually doesn't. There's a proctor for that. Not me, I'm not the proctor. I mean, I have acted as a proctor, but I won't be doing that today. But I'll be there too. It'll probably be Dr. Keldman or Dr. Mead, but maybe-" Ming placed a single finger over his lips and he twitched slightly.

"You're rambling," she said gently. He blushed, dropping his head and wrapping his arms around himself.

"I- I do that sometimes." Ming was struck by his vulnerability. She didn't know what to make of it.

With Dr. Xavier and a guard, Ming was escorted to Lab H7 on the third floor of building ten. It was just as dull and clinical looking as her hospital room, made even more depressing by a murky gray color scheme. Dozens of metallic cubicles only two feet apart covered the space, each containing a task for the participant to complete. When they walked in, Dr. Bragg was doing his best to look very official, standing with his chest puffed out and scribbling away on his clipboard. He reminded Ming of a painting she'd seen once of Henry VIII.

"Ming dear, wonderful to see you," Dr. Bragg crowed, attempting to pat her on the head. She caught his arm in midair and pushed it away. The proctor stifled a laugh. "It's alright Dr. Keldman, you may laugh. You'll find she's quite feisty. Perhaps I should conduct the first few tests to warm her up." He shooed Dr. Keldman from the seat and sat down, stretching the fabric of his shirt to its limit. A pasty chunk of flesh rolled into view. As old men often do, Dr. Bragg hiked up his trousers to compensate for the gap, and laid the clipboard over the offending sight. He cleared his throat as if it could magically erase what they'd all just seen. He motioned to the seat directly across from him. "Alright my dear, please, sit down." Ming did not move. For five whole minutes. Dr. Bragg occupied the time by jotting down a few notes, and humming one of his favorite tunes. Dr. Keldman had begun to sweat profusely, but pulling out his kerchief would be an interruption to the power struggle playing out before him. He had been warned by the good doctor before. A stinging drop of sweat made its way into his eye. Followed by another.

"I'd rather have that chair," Ming finally said, pointing to one clear across the room. She locked eyes with Dr. Bragg and painstakingly dragged the object over, so that it screeched and squeaked against the floor. After she sat down, she scooted forward, banging and scraping the chair the whole way. Both Dr. Xavier and Dr. Keldman watched the scene with great angst, nervously awaiting Dr. Bragg's reaction, but he was the epitome of calm. He merely adjusted his glasses and waited patiently for the little tantrum to end.

"Wonderful dear. I'm glad you're comfortable. Now Ming, let's begin. In this first test, I'm going to show you a picture of a hundred colored tiles for one minute, each with the name of a different color written on it. After the picture disappears, you'll use the touch screen in front of you to arrange the tiles in the order you just viewed. A timer will appear in the top right to let you know how you're doing. Alright? Here we go." The image flashed in front of her and instead of looking at it, Ming continued to stare down the good doctor.

"Perhaps you weren't quite ready, dear. I'll reset it and we'll try it again."

"Don't bother," she snapped. "I'm not doing any of this. Either I go back to the main building, or I go home."

Dr. Bragg leaned forward with his elbows on the table and clasped his hands together. "So those are my only options, huh?" He got up calmly and gathered his things. "That is unfortunate dear."

As he walked by, Ming felt something prick her arm. "What the hell?" she yelled, jumping from her seat. Dr. Bragg was already heading for the door. "Hey! What the fuck did you just do to me? Didn't you hear me? I'm ready to go home! I want to talk to the Countess!" She could feel herself getting woozy fast, and her legs were threatening to give out. He'd drugged her. The son of a bitch drugged her. She heard him tell the guard to place her in the hole. "Dr. Xavier, accompany Ming to her new accommodations and then get to my office."

Ming tried to steady herself against the table, but finally gave in to unconsciousness. She came-to briefly, lying on a gurney in front of a door that read: QUARANTINE in red letters. She was fighting to keep her eyes open and see what was going on. There was a panel on the wall with at least sixty different characters. She pushed herself to memorize them, but everything was so blurry. Come on Ming, stay awake, she thought. She watched as Dr. Xavier punched in his code. Each button had a corresponding tone. It's like a little song, she thought. AXM-882-1919-221-##-1919221. She sang it to herself a few times before passing out again.

Darkness is a fascinating thing. At first it seems so simple but once the eyes adjust, one sees the true depth of it, the velvety layers of blacks and blues, and violent purples. Ming lay on her back, tracing the hues with her fingers as they exploded and faded before her eyes. She didn't know why she was being imprisoned, or what they intended to do with her, but she knew crying and begging would not help. Someone's mind had already been made up. The cell was made of a thick, opaque plastic. It could have been glass. Her nails produced a clicking sound when she tapped against it. Her food was delivered via a drop chute at the front of the cell. When her side was open, theirs was closed, and vice versa. It seemed a bit unnecessary. Was she such a hardened criminal, they had to be absolutely certain no one had any physical contact with her? Not even to pass apple juice and cold macaroni? Prisoners at Pelican Bay had more freedom. The food wasn't ghastly, but she'd become spoiled by the gourmet cooking in the main building. Every day, the girls ate five star quality meals. And there was no bed in the cell, only a blanket and a mat to sleep on. Once a day, water would come on in the corner of the room. One of the nurses informed her it was for her to bathe. It was ice cold. In the center of the cell, there was a small hole in the floor. It was a toilet. After using it, she would pull the cover back over, and it flushed automatically. All of this, Ming had to navigate in the darkness.

The isolation was meant as a punishment, but she was perfectly content. A day passed. And then another. And then another. Everyone was astounded she hadn't yet begun to crack. They were all waiting on the edge of their seats for her to fall apart. They would be waiting a long time. She had the resolve of a soldier. Her childhood had already prepared her for just such an ordeal. At first when her father would lock her in the closet, she would cry and scream until her stomach gave out, and she threw up all over herself. He never responded to her agony. She often wondered if he took pleasure in it. When no one was around, her sister YiYi would sit by the door and comfort her. She would talk or sing songs, and whenever she could, slip food under the door. Pop tarts were the easiest. When she was thirsty, YiYi would slide a sopping wet towel under the door over and over, until Ming got enough to drink. This was how Ming conquered her fear of the darkness, and all the frightening things it represented. She learned to see the beauty in it, the profound peace, thus robbing her father of his power. Mr. Cash couldn't understand why he could no longer induce the little girl to hysterics by his favored disciplinary action. He took it as a sign of disrespect and resigned himself to breaking her. On one occasion, he packed up just enough food and water to keep her alive, and said she would remain in the closet indefinitely. It was he who broke first. After keeping Ming confined for nearly two weeks without hearing so much as a peep from the girl, he came home one afternoon in a mad panic. YiYi hadn't expected him back for several hours, and was feeding Ming through the gap under the door when he came barreling down the hall. There was no time to hide. She thought for sure she would get a beating, but he merely kicked her aside without mentioning the mess on the floor. He fumbled to get the key into the lock, dropping it several times. When the door was finally unlocked, he hesitated before swinging it wide. The knob bounced against the wall with a thump. The smell of urine and feces was overwhelming, and he covered his nose with the sleeve of his shirt. There was no movement. He called out to Ming. There was no answer. He finally saw her eyes peering through the hanging garments. He jumped back, alarmed at the cold, unblinking stare. "Ming, come out here." His voice was unsteady. Ming did not utter a sound or move. YiYi crept around her father's legs on her hands and knees, and called to her sister. Ming crawled out slowly, never dropping her gaze from her father. As the sisters embraced, Mr. Cash made his way upstairs, glancing back several times only to see those hateful eyes still watching him. Ming overheard him tell their mother that he thought he'd gone too far this time. "Why didn't you stop me Betty?" he asked. "They're your kids too." Mrs. Cash just laughed in that dainty, vapid way she had, and remarked that children were very resilient creatures.

In just three days, Ming had memorized the routines of each staff member. She remembered the characters of the control panel on the wall, and knew who was coming in based on the tones sounding on the keypad. Nurse Nasty was large and aggressive. The chair groaned when she sat down at the desk. She rushed through her tasks with hard, heavy steps, bumping into things and slamming them about. She would toss Ming's meals through the slot with such hasty disregard, the contents would usually spill from the tray. She was in and out in about a minute. Nurse Sweetheart was probably new. She sometimes entered her code wrong, causing a buzzer to sound. She would sing to herself as she worked, her soft-soled shoes padding lightly through the room. She took the time to saran wrap the food tray so nothing spilled out in the drop box. Ming used the staff visits to keep track of the time. Someone came in approximately every 14,400 seconds. It was important. If she did not keep her mind occupied, the Madness would come. She had seen it once before as a child, on one of the occasions she'd been locked in the closet. When she described it to her sister, YiYi warned her she must not follow it. "I don't know what it is Mingy," she said, "but I don't think it's good. Whenever it comes for you, you have to hide. Try really hard to think of something else. You can pretend like you're talking to me. You can tell me a story." It worked then, and it would work now. She loved her sister so much. They'd been through hell together, leaning on one another just to remain upright. Somehow, they'd grown up to be strong, capable women. Things could have gone very differently. Without any distractions, it was impossible for Ming not to reflect on the mistakes she'd made. She thought of her husband, kind and handsome, an endless source of love and adoration. They were that couple, the one that only existed in sappy novels and shitty romantic comedies, together for so long no one remembered when they weren't. And still, they preferred each other's company to anyone else's. They'd been friends for a year before their first date. The sexual tension was a tumultuous undercurrent all its own, but distance forced a self control they otherwise would not have known. His military duty kept him away. Theirs was a courtship by phone. They talked every second they could, through the nights and into the next mornings. Work be damned. The dynamic was so easy between them, unburdened by the need to present themselves as anything more than what they were. How does one give that up? It is a kind of freedom most people will never experience. And when he returned from overseas, conquered by an unfair god and disgusted with his own inhumanity, she remained by his side, a reminder of what could still be. Everything was perfect, magical really. And then she betrayed him. The first time was with a stranger she picked up in Starbucks on a lunch break. He couldn't have been more than twenty five. She fucked him in the bathroom. It was bizarre really. She just didn't do things like that, and it wasn't even that she'd wanted to. She kept the incident to herself. She didn't want to throw her relationship away on a moment of temporary insanity. But the urge was persistent and irresistible. She couldn't stop. She tried her best to hide it, but her husband knew something was amiss. When he walked in on her with someone else, she broke down and told him everything. It destroyed him. She destroyed him. And still, he'd wanted to make things work. But she just couldn't. She would only hurt him again. She was changing somehow, and it couldn't be helped. He was too good of a man to be dragged down with her.

Ming sat up quickly and crawled to the front of the cell. Someone was coming in. She could hear them approaching the door, but it was too soon for a nurse. She recognized the song as soon as it rang out on the keypad: AXM8821919221##1919221. It was Dr. Xavier. She could hear the uncertainty in his footsteps. He was nervous. He called out to her, but she didn't answer. She heard typing. "Well, your vitals look good," he said. She sat in the darkness waiting, trying to gauge what was coming next. What impending doom awaited her? He'd only come to see how she was doing, he said. He was sorry that things worked out like this.

"Uh, I brought you some snacks, cookies and a coke." He slipped the items into the drop slot and flipped it closed. They hit the floor and the can of soda roll until it stopped against the wall. He sighed. "Ming, just do the tests Dr. Bragg wants you to do. You can be out of here today." She didn't say anything, but he heard the package of cookies being unwrapped. His heart leapt. He grabbed a chair and pushed it directly in front of the cell. Even if she didn't respond, he was going to talk to her. She needed stimulation and social interaction, no matter how mundane.

For lack of anything more interesting, he told her a little about himself. He grew up on Manhattan's Lower Eastside. Xavier was actually his first name, not his last. He didn't recall how he'd ended up being addressed that way. He preferred eating out because he hated washing dishes, and his favorite hangouts included Two Bit's Arcade and Arlene's Grocery. He asked her if she'd been to either of them. She didn't answer. "Well if you haven't, you gotta' go. Wait, Arlene's Grocery isn't actually a market or anything. Well, I mean it used to be. It was converted to a bar in the 90s, and now they've got bands playing there all the time. It's really cool."

His pock comm, the simple communication device they used throughout the facility, began going off, vibrating loudly against the wooden desk. "Uh, well? It looks like I have to get going. I'll see you tomorrow Ming." She heard the whoosh of the electronic door sliding closed behind him, and she was instantly filled with sadness. She hadn't wanted him to leave. But he said he would be back tomorrow. Hopefully, he meant it. She knew eventually, they would force her into submission. Perhaps they would start withholding food at some point. She would hold out as long as she could, just to aggravate Dr. Bragg. The hard fact was, they were holding her against her will in a place outside the realm of public authority. Whatever was important enough for them to do that, was about more than a few tests. She saw something shiny flutter down from the ceiling and land just a few feet away. Another one followed suit, and then dozens of the shimmering objects began to fall like snowflakes, piling up into a mound on the floor. She closed her eyes. It wasn't real. Her mind had already begun to play tricks on her. She lay down on the mat and pulled the blanket around her. "YiYi," she began, "I'm so scared, more than I've ever been. I need you to help me through this. Help me to be strong. I can't let them break me."

Dr. Xavier visited Ming every day. She still wouldn't talk to him, but he stayed nonetheless. He always brought food. Sometimes he read to her, or played music. It became an enormous source of comfort to her. "Today is 90s day Ming. We're going to talk all about this magical period in history that taught us the power of repackaging mediocrity in bright colors." She burst out laughing. It was the first time she'd responded to him at all. He was so surprised, he lost his train of thought. "Uh... oh, yes, uh, Oh queen of the nine-o-philes, please accept this humble tribute, an Ecto Cooler juice box, a bag of 3D Doritos and some Dunkaroos." He dropped the items into the slot. "No way!" she exclaimed. "How did you get all this?" He'd simply told the Countess that some of the girls wanted the snacks and she made some calls.

"Well, actually I didn't speak directly to her. She doesn't much like me. In fact, I think she hates me. No, I know she hates me, but that's neither here nor there. I put in a word with one of her assistants, and voila."

"Why doesn't the Countess like you? You're pretty darn dreamy." Dr. Xavier was grateful Ming couldn't see him blushing. No one had ever referred to him as dreamy.

"Well? I uh, I guess she thinks I'm Dr. Bragg's boy. She said I lost my ability to reason and distinguish right from wrong."

"I see," Ming said, "and is any of that true?"

"It's just... It's— well, it's complicated. There's a lot of political crap Ming. I'm just trying to survive."

"Survive? Why would you choose to work in a place like this anyway? You could work anywhere."

"I didn't choose, Ming. I was chosen."

The words made her skin crawl. She remembered how special she'd felt when she opened the fancy invitation. Maybe he'd been lured in the same way. Even now the ring still sat on her finger. She twisted it back and forth, and ran her fingers over the jeweled eyes. It was just a piece of metal, but she could not yet abandon her faith in it. Her first week at the Society had been absolute bliss. She desperately wanted to believe there was a way back to that. "Ok Ming, are you ready to delve into all things 90s?"

She giggled. "I guess. Are we really going deep? Arsenio to the X-files?"

He made a trumpeting noise. "Oh yeah, and back again."

They talked for a long time, about music and movies and video games. He was just happy she was communicating. The isolation was affecting her. He could see the cracks in the facade, and he was worried. Every day, he asked Ming to reconsider Dr. Bragg's request and go through with the testing. Every day she refused.

Dr. Xavier looked forward to spending time with Ming. He didn't have many friends and she was easy to talk to. The wall separating them served as a buffer. Since he couldn't see her expressions, it removed the anxiety he normally felt during social interactions. All he had to go on was what she said, and he believed her to be truthful. She asked him why he didn't have a girlfriend. He was offended.

"How do you know I don't?"

"The way you looked at me when I first met you. You don't seem like the unfaithful type. I don't think you would've looked at me like that if you had someone else you cared for." But then again, she hadn't been the unfaithful type either.

"You're right, I don't. Have a girlfriend. I'm usually here working. And anyway, how would I explain my job? I'm not allowed to stay away from this place for too long. Whoever I dated would have their life raked through with a fine-tooth comb. I don't want to put anyone through that."

Ming agreed that would be pretty awful. "Well there must be someone around here you'd be interested in. The nurses seem fond of you, girls and guys, so bonus."

"I'm not into guys," he said gruffly. Too gruffly. Ming had obviously touched on a sore spot. Maybe he'd been sexually abused as a kid. It would explain a lot.

"Take it easy, doc. I was just joking, but whatever you've got going on there, you need to work it out. What about that girl who was talking to you on the intercom the other day? I think she likes you."

She heard him stand up. He was walking around. She'd made him uncomfortable. "Why do you even care?" he asked.

"I don't know doc, something to talk about I guess. Not like I have anything new going on in here." She popped open a soda and savored the satisfying burn of the ice cold coke.

"Her name is Krishna Collins," he said. "She's a scientist here, and she's almost as out of my league as you are."

"Ok, as flattering as that was to me, you know not to say things like that in front of her, right?"

He sat back down in the chair. "Yes Ming. I'm not that clueless. How could you know she likes me? You heard us have one conversation."

Ming let out an exasperated sigh. "Trust me, she likes you. You should ask her out. If she says 'yes', you owe me some real food. No more snacks. I'll take a slice from Totonno's. Nothing says 'thank you' like a trek to Brooklyn. I'm kidding by the way. We're probably a million miles from there. Any decent pizza will do."

"You're pretty confident about this, Ming. I accept your wager. So what do I get if you're wrong and Krishna turns me down?"

Her answer surprised him, rattled him even, and he was certain she meant it. "A promise," she said, "that if I ever get out of here, I won't slit your throat for what you're doing to me."

Dr. Xavier swallowed hard. He didn't know whether to be grateful or terrified. "Uh, I guess, I guess we have a deal. You know Ming, I- I don't condone what's happening here. I'm kind of a prisoner too."

"Really?" she replied sarcastically. "Yet only one of us is confined to a dark cage 24/7. I'll tell you what doc, if I was a prisoner like how you're a prisoner, I'd be running this place in a week. Maybe you and I should switch places." She took another swig of coke. Before her imprisonment, she couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten junk food. Not that she didn't love it, she just preferred the benefits of healthy eating. She still had a fat ass though, and thank God. Anyone without one simply had no business in a pencil skirt.

Dr. Xavier was quiet for a long time. Perhaps she'd gotten to him. Good. That's what she'd intended. "You ok, doc?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Yup, just thinking."

"About what?"

He'd been thinking about Ming. He liked her. A lot. "Ming, would you ever consider a guy like me?" The 'no' was swifter than Dr. Xavier was prepared for, followed by an 'absolutely not'. At least she was honest.

"Don't get me wrong doc, you're cute and sweet, and I'm one of a handful of women that actually likes a nice guy, but you've got no integrity, and you're not particularly happy with yourself. Very unappealing."

Ouch. He knew he shouldn't punish himself further, but he couldn't resist. He had to know more. "What makes you think I'm not happy with myself?"

"You reek of it. You're doing things to people you don't want to do. Dr. Bragg is forcing you to be something you're not, and it makes you feel bad. You're so beaten down, that you don't even realize how much power you have. You're a scientist for Christ's sake. Figure something out. Take over this place and run it like you want to. Or burn it to the ground."

She heard his pock comm buzzing on the table. She knew it was time for him to go. In spite of her harsh words, she didn't want him to leave.

"Ming, I have to go," he said softly. "I'll see you tomorrow, ok?" Silence. "Ming, I gotta' go. Please say goodbye to me."

She couldn't. The tones rang out as Dr. Xavier punched in his code to exit. He said goodbye one more time, and Ming was all alone again. Hours and hours and hours. The darkness pitched and rolled around her, swallowing her up. She couldn't see her hand in front of her face, and everything looked the same whether her eyes were opened or closed. She let out a scream to wake the dead. It felt so good, she did it over and over until her throat was a mess of razor blades. How much time had passed? She'd forgotten to keep track! Whattimeisitwhattimeisitwhattimeisit? Hundreds of tiny voices started chattering all at once, layering themselves into intricate collages that piled up in her head, and spilled out in an indiscernible crescendo. She listened closely, trying to decipher the gibberish. Maybe it was a message. Was God talking to her? Or the devil? Was it her sister? Suddenly, she knew the only way to understand what they were saying was to join them in their dimension. It's not hard to visit the other dimensions. One simply needs to let go. "Let go," they said, in a sacred language that existed before time itself. "Come with us. Your sister is here with us." She could feel herself severing ties with her current consciousness, being returned to her original form of ancient particles and boundless energy. Once she crossed to the other side, it would all make sense. Right? No, that wasn't right. It was a trap. "No!" she shouted, giving herself a violent slap. She knew it was the Madness, trying to lure her farther and farther out to sea. She had to fight it. She lay down on the cold, smooth floor, and pulled the blanket over her so she would not have to see the creature's hideous red eyes. She could hear it breathing in the darkness, long, slow, wheezing breaths. She needed to talk to her sister. She retreated to the secret place in her mind where the Madness would not find her. There, she could talk to her sister for hours. "YiYi, I'm back. I made it. That was a close one though. Wait until you hear about today. I've been working on Dr. Xavier. I think he'll help me. I just have to convince him he can."

What went on in building twelve was highly classified. It was home to a group of scientists nicknamed the disciples for their incredible dedication. They worked, ate and slept in that very building. Save for Dr. Bragg and Dr. Xavier, no one in the complex ever saw them, or even knew who they were. Cameras of any kind were not permitted in building twelve. Nearly everyone in the facility was treated as a test subject, and embedded with a surveillance technology known as a Godseye, but the Gadby Monarch Sonic Emissions Radial Disruptor, or more simply put, the Godseye blocker, ensured that what happened to patients in these quarters could never be recorded. For security reasons, high-level staff members like the scientists were not outfitted with the Godseye. Should the complex ever be compromised, the assailants would need only to yank a device from one of their heads to gain access to a trove of information that would turn the world upside down. Instead, the disciples were implanted with something called an Omega chip. If they were kidnapped or suspected of espionage, the Omega chip could be detonated remotely, flooding the victim's system with a quick-kill poison. Each scientist was on a five year contract. During this time, they were not allowed any contact with the outside world. No matter what. The disciples did not earn any money, and the world would never know how much they'd contributed to Dr. Bragg's research, but they believed the sacrifice was well worth it. In exchange for their service, each was given a private lab and all the resources needed to work as they wished. Today, a handful of them were performing an investigative procedure for one of Dr. Bragg's ongoing studies. The patient would be awake but sedated, while thin slivers of her brain were sliced away and analyzed. Dr. Xavier had come to despise building twelve- the choking stink of bleach, the screaming, the constant gshh, gshh, gshh of blood being hosed off of tile. It was a house of horrors, but the disciples had become immune to it, carousing with one another like coworkers at a McDonald's. It sickened him. As he walked into the house lab, everyone greeted him warmly. Most of them called him X-man. He hated that. The patient was already prepped in one of the operating areas with her head peeled open and steadied by a surgical brace. She sat calmly, looking around the room with a stupid smile on her face, numbed into a robotic alertness by copious amounts of drugs.

"Dude, tell me you brought the donuts?" asked Dr. Cho, the forty year old frat boy still obsessed with Jager Bombs, porn stars and shit humor. Just the other day he'd placed a half-melted Snickers bar on the floor in one of the bathrooms. Hilarious.

"Yeah, of course I got 'em. I went to three places." He held up the bags and Dr. Cho snatched them from his hands.

"Dude, you are awesome. Everybody, stop what you're doing. Let us partake in the miracle that is sugar and fried bread." Everyone gathered around and started digging in.

"X-man, I don't mean to be a dick," began Dr. Cho, with his lips coated in powdered sugar, "but you went to Dough which is in Brooklyn, Doughnut Plant on the Lower Eastside, and then this other place in Chelsea I've never even heard of. If you were on that side of town, how did you skip over Donuts Bro-nuts? Like dude, you know after I smoke, I need that Coca Cola donut with the rum dipping sauce." Dr. Cho's discontent was met with a chorus of groans and boos from the group. Everyone else on the team appreciated Dr. Xavier. Since they couldn't leave the facility, he was their lifeline to the outside world. They relied on him for news, sports updates, and any goods they couldn't get inside of the facility.

"Stop complaining Cho, you fucking asshole," barked the pint-sized Ryoko Ando, her ponytail bouncing with each sassy wag of her head. "He went to three different places. He even got vegan ones for Miller. That was super nice. If it was me, you'd all be eating day old Dunkin' chunks from Penn Station." She slid around the table and stood on her tip toes to give Dr. Xavier a kiss on the cheek. Ryoko always wore flimsy little dresses, sheer catches of fabric that could be undone by a gust of wind. She usually didn't wear a bra. Dr. Xavier looked away to avoid getting a glimpse down the front of the frock. He didn't have to struggle long because she wasn't done scolding Dr. Cho just yet. "And maybe if you weren't always high, you'd remember a thing or two. Donuts Bro-nuts closed down months ago. X-man told you that last time. The owner got caught with a boy or something."

Dr. Cho looked like he was trying, albeit unsuccessfully, to recall the story. "Doesn't ring a bell. But I do remember how the owner used to look at me, like he wanted my hog." The usually quiet Dr. Krindem, hurled a half-eaten donut, beaning Dr. Cho right in the face.

"What the fuck dude!" Dr. Cho exclaimed, wiping his face with the edge of his lab coat.

Dr. Krindem shook his head. "He wasn't gay, you fucking Neanderthal. Why would the place close down because of that? He had a little boy chained up in his basement."

"Oh yeah, I do remember that. Man, that sucks, 'cause those donuts were insane. Well, speaking of Neanderthals, tomorrow is the big day. I know everyone will be there, and I am giving you X-man, the honor of assisting me." Everyone applauded, hooting and hollering. The patient, still waiting in the operating area, started clapping too, slowly and methodically, without a change in her facial expression. It gave Dr. Xavier chills.

"So what do you say X-man? Will you sit at the right hand of god tomorrow?"

Dr. Xavier was failing miserably at cobbling together an excuse when Krishna Collins walked in, just in time to save him. "Sorry Cho, he can't. He's helping me with something."

With her kinky, golden mane and fleet of tattoos, Krishna looked more like the lead singer of some punkalyptic fusion band, than an esteemed member of the scientific community. The facial piercings didn't help. A line of colorful studs extended from her forehead to the bridge of her nose, with a few more scattered around her eyes.

"Krishna, are you kidding me?" Dr. Cho snapped in his big boy voice. "I'm cloning a Neanderthal! Tomorrow! I don't know if you got the memo, but it's kind of a big deal."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, and you have thirteen other people who'll be there tomorrow to stroke your dick. 'Cause that's what you really want, right? I can't believe the board even approved this shit. As a real geneticist, I'm offended by your half-assed research. If that thing lives for more than a week, I'm calling social services."

Krishna stopped talking suddenly, aware of a strange tapping sound coming from across the room. It was the patient, still clapping with that same crazed grin. "Are you guys fucking serious? How long has she been waiting over there? Scrub up and get that shit done!" They all scattered like rodents, but she grabbed Dr. Xavier's hand to keep him at her side.

"You're not in charge of us," Dr. Cho said under his breath as he stomped off in a huff. "Unbelievable," Krishna muttered to herself, as she led Dr. Xavier out of the lab.

Dr. Xavier knew Krishna Collins wouldn't have pulled him from a procedure unless it was important, but all he could think about was that she was touching him. He did his best not to look at her ass. Why was she wearing something tight and metallic? Was that really necessary? As soon as they got into the hallway, she looked around to make sure they were alone, and then moved in close to him.

"Krishna, would you want to hang out with me sometime? Just uh, just you and I?" The words spilled out on their own, as if something else were controlling him. He hadn't planned on asking then, or maybe ever. She looked confused.

"Wait, what? A date? Yeah, yeah, definitely, but we can talk about that later. I need your help Xavier. I'm so fucked."

His heart was beating so fast. He couldn't believe she'd said 'yes'. Ming was right. Krishna Collins was into him. God, she was so cool, so effortlessly cool. And beautiful. He'd have to plan a date. She couldn't leave the complex, so he'd have to figure out something special he could do there. Maybe he'd cook for her. No, it would look like he was trying too hard. But he wanted to try hard. He really liked her. What was wrong with showing it? He needed to ask Ming for advice.

"Xavier, did you hear a word I just said?" Oh shit. He hadn't. Not one. He hung his head shamefully. How could he already be screwing this up?

"Xavier, come on! This is serious." She lowered her voice. "They got out again, and, and they haven't come back. I need you to help me find them."

He took a breath to refocus. No more daydreaming. This was serious. "Did you put the trackers in them?"

She glowered at him with her hands on her hips. "No Xavier, I did not. I've been busy as fuck. Bragg's been heaping work on us. I've barely had enough time to feed them."

"Maybe they'll come back. They came back last time." She shook her head. "Maybe, but Dr. Bragg is moving me to another lab next week. You know how I've got the two connected rooms? Well he says it's perfect for something he's working on. If they come back, I won't be there." She covered her eyes with her hands, fighting back the tears. She never let anyone see her cry. Dr. Xavier wrapped his arms around her, and she laid her head against his chest. He never imagined such a small gesture could make him feel so necessary.

"Ok Krishna, I'll help you, but, uh, don't you think we should say something to Dr. Bragg? I mean, this could be really bad." "What? No, you can't tell him. He'll kill them. Promise me." "I promise."

Dr. Xavier made his way into Dr. Bragg's office very carefully so the door did not bang into the serving cart. Having to bring him meals was demeaning, but he didn't complain. Dr. Bragg no longer trusted the culinary crew. They were all loyal to the Countess and he feared she would entice them into poisoning him. So, he gave several members of his staff the task of going into the kitchen, and dishing the food directly from the pots. That way, he could be certain no one had tampered with his meal. As his primary assistant, the job usually fell to Dr. Xavier. "You're late!" Dr. Bragg seethed, his face turning an unflattering shade of crimson. "You know how I detest tardiness. I could have starved half to death waiting on you!" Dr. Xavier hid a smirk as he sat the tray onto the large metal desk. Dr. Bragg would most certainly not starve. The man scarcely took a breath without putting food in his mouth. Dr. Xavier turned to the wall of monitors behind him. They were all alive with the activity of the complex, most of it quite mundane, except for the one on the end. The cameras used near-infrared to record in total darkness. He could see Ming crawling about like an animal, screaming and pulling at her hair. In the next moment, she'd made a game of throwing her cup and retrieving it. "Well? Did you come here for entertainment or are we going to discuss the upcoming surgeries?" Dr. Xavier sat down in one of the metal chairs in front of the desk. He now had the best seat in the house for watching the good doctor devour his food like a pig at a trough. His face and hands were already shiny with grease. He'd reached up to adjust his glasses and the lens now bore an oily smudge, which Dr. Xavier found incredibly distracting. "Uh, I was wondering, how much longer you're going to keep Ming in solitary? She's approaching psychosis. Sometimes I go in there and she's, she's not right for the first fifteen minutes or so." Dr. Bragg, apparently in an eating contest with himself, was gulping oysters and haphazardly tossing the shells onto the tray. "Oh, I don't know," he replied, shoving a forkful of linguine into his mouth, the olive oil dripping down his red beard. "She needs to stay put for a bit. A long bit. And see to it that you curtail your visits with her." He dabbed at his mouth with a silk cloth he'd hung at his neck like a bib. "What? Why? She's losing her shit down there. Talking to me is the only thing helping her keep it together." Dr. Bragg took a sip of wine from plastic stemware. "Come dear boy, do you think I do anything without purpose? You'll just have to trust me." Dr. Xavier bristled. "Trust you? You'll have to do better than that if you expect me to sit by and watch this shit show. I don't think the board would approve of what you're doing to her. And a lot of other things you're doing." Dr. Bragg slammed his fist down on the desk and a cup of pens toppled to the floor. "Now you listen to me boy," he began, his lips curling back in an ugly snarl, "you're so far out of your league it'll take a team of Navy Seals to bring you back to shore. Don't forget where you came from and how easy it would be to send you back. Is that what you want, boy? Think about it and think about it carefully. Day in and day out, being treated like a human toilet? Is that what you want?" Dr. Xavier lowered his eyes. Why did he always have to bring that up? He constantly held it over his head. He bent down to pick up the fallen pens. Seeing that he had successfully humbled the boy, Dr. Bragg returned to a more pleasant disposition. "Don't forget the work we're doing here. You've been instrumental to our progress, Dr. Xavier. Don't you want to continue to be a part of this?" Of course he did. During his time under Dr. Bragg's tutelage, he'd seen miracles-- cancers cured, limbs regenerated, and of course the Godseye, the most astounding feat of biotechnology in operation today. If he walked out of there, he would be giving up the opportunity to take part in some of the most revolutionary scientific advancements of his lifetime. In any event, what was the alternative? Going back to prison. He would take his own life first. "Dr. Bragg, I apologize for overstepping. It's just difficult to watch Ming suffer like this." He knew so much about the girl, perhaps too much. He couldn't help but feel sorry for her. And now they had become friends. Dr. Bragg leaned back in his chair with his hands clasped atop his belly, staring thoughtfully at the pathetic sop before him. He really should have kept him from spending so much time with Ming in the first place. The boy needed to learn to put his feelings aside. He'd been like him once, so emotionally attached to ideas of right and wrong that he was unable to see the big picture. "I'm not going to hurt the girl, Dr. Xavier. She's very important to me. You know that. Both of them are. They're the closest thing I've got to my own children. I'd always planned on throwing Ming in solitary. I was just waiting for a reason. In order to continue with my research, I need her broken, completely unhinged. She has an indomitable will. Take her out now, she'll bounce back in a few days and be telling me the many different ways I can go fuck myself. A few more weeks in there and she'll be right where I want her to be. You can even go in there and be the one to rescue her. You can be the good cop." Dr. Bragg started cutting into his steak. "Goddamned thing's cold now. Can we move on, now that you've succeeded in ruining my dinner?" Dr. Xavier didn't answer. He was staring at the monitor, watching Ming huddled in the corner, talking to herself. Dr. Bragg snatched the remote control from the desk and shut down all of the screens. "Go down to the kitchen and get me another steak. When you return, have your head screwed on straight. "

# CHAPTER 4

Today, the board members of the Society of Names convened in the aptly named Hall of Secrets, for a presentation from Dr. Bragg. They wore masks to hide their faces, and long black robes that featured a single monogrammed letter on the chest. This was how they addressed one another. They were not the heads of the Society, but individuals selected to represent the collective interests of the thirteen families. No one knew who they were, or which family was represented by whom. Anonymity was crucial to protecting their power, because these men literally held the keys to the kingdom. Dr. Bragg hoped that one day, they would view him as an equal. He longed to step into their inner sanctum, and learn the secrets that separated gods from mortals. It had taken quite some time for him to build up even a professional rapport with the board. They despised him at first, understandable given his rather abominable reputation, but it wasn't long before they saw his true genius. He wowed them with the electronic contraception, floored them with the limb regeneration project, and had them shooting in their pants when he introduced a cure for cancer. But no matter what feats of wonder Dr. Bragg produced, the board saw none as more valuable than the Godseye. Not because it could diagnose major illness years before the onset, or for its audio/visual recording capability, or its ability to regulate sleep. No, what they were after was the way it could be used to manipulate behavior. Dr. Bragg had long been obsessed by the idea of mind control, but found the accepted methods ridiculous and riddled with flaws. Training people like dogs and then triggering their actions with learned stimuli was a cheap party trick. Brainwashing was time consuming, unpredictable, and never awarded the handler a true control of the subject. He wanted the power to force thoughts and actions as instantaneously as one would change the channel on a TV. It needed to be just that simple. But how? Man had only just scratched the surface at unraveling the complexities of the human brain. He could spend ten lifetimes studying it, and still not have a full understanding of how it worked. And then he made a discovery that would change everything: Everyone's brain had its own unique language. If you wanted to communicate to a person's subconscious, you needed to learn that language. His experiments testing the theory proved promising. The ability to plant and erase memories was indeed a breakthrough, but it was only the tip of the iceberg. He knew he was on to something profound, he just needed a hint. This hint came from Dr. Xavier Marlowe, the young man the CIA dropped off to serve as his assistant. Dr. Xavier proposed that the key to understanding brain language could lie in quantum cryptography. And so it did. The boy was a genius. In less than a year, Dr. Bragg reformatted the Godseye with this added technology, and he was able to achieve precisely what he'd been after. With just a few strokes on a keyboard, he could make anyone do anything. Best of all, the subjects had no idea they were being influenced. He began working to perfect the device. There'd been some minor snags along the way, a few failed trials here and there, but the concept was spot on. He kept the board abreast of the details, and in three more years, it was complete.

"Dr. Bragg, I never thought I should see such an invention in my lifetime," crowed the decrepit Mr. J.

"Well I did," added Mr. H., standing up to address the table. "Gentleman, this is going to change the world in ways we cannot yet fathom. No one can get their hands on this. Following proper security protocol is more important than ever. Dr. Bragg, how long before you can put on another demonstration? I'd like to see something live if you can arrange it."

The good doctor cleared his throat in a most irritating way. It was a compulsion, a nervous tick. "There are a few minor bugs to work out but, we're talking about months."

"Good. Make it epic, something the investors can really sink their teeth into."

"Oh yes, of course sir, but what about the Countess? She's already breathing down my neck about detaining Ming Young."

The men began chattering amongst themselves about this. Mr. A. banged the gavel on the table. "Ban her from the goddamned buildings. Call it an added security measure. You have carte blanche to do whatever you must to put this device in our hands."

"How much does your team know about the new feature to the Godseye?" Mr. H. asked. "Nothing at all. I've done most of the research on it myself, with minor help from Dr. Xavier. The rest of the team is kept quite busy with other projects."

"Good," Mr. H. replied, "the less people know, the better. I definitely don't want the CIA in on this yet. They're still talking about that disastrous show you put on a few years ago. Bragg, we're not going to have another one of those incidents, are we?"

The good doctor lowered his eyes and wagged his head like a child. "No sir, most certainly not. The divergence issue has been handled."

"Good. I want the device tested on a sample populace by next year, or sooner. I'm thinking San Quentin. Is anyone opposed?"

Mr. A. banged the gavel. "Then it's settled Dr. Bragg. We're looking forward to the next demonstration."

Countess Veronique des Valentines took her job very seriously. At any given time, she had hundreds of women in her care, yet she knew all of them by name. She knew their likes and dislikes and their biggest fears. She knew who cried themselves to sleep at night, and who would steal the shoes off your feet. The girls were her responsibility and she would protect them at all costs. When Ming Young, one of her newest recruits did not return from a routine checkup, she was livid. Over a week went by, and no one had said a word to her about it. Dr. Bragg was not permitted to hold any of the girls without her consent, and she had the power to veto any procedures she deemed unnecessarily inhumane, but lately, he was becoming more brazen in his disregard for her authority. When she'd called the good doctor to find out where Ming was, he supplied an apology riddled with false sincerity, and claimed an urgent medical matter required that Ming remain under his supervision.

"What urgent matter?" the Countess asked.

Dr. Bragg chuffed. "Excuse me, dear? Do you have a medical degree I haven't heard about? Are there a couple of PhDs hanging on the walls of your office that I missed somehow?"

The Countess was seeing red. Who the fuck did he think he was? "Now you listen to me Bragg—" She caught herself before she ripped him a new one. Being nasty wouldn't accomplish anything.

"Dr. Bragg, please be reasonable. I just want to make sure she's all right. Is there any way I can see her?" He hesitated.

"Countess, as soon as the girl is fit for service, she'll be returned to you care. Now if you'll excuse me, I have real work to do," and with that, the good doctor hung up the phone.

Although the non-essential staff were required to be subjects in ongoing experiments, the Countess had intervened many times to protect them from the gross atrocities Dr. Bragg was prepared to commit in the name of science. To him there was no sacrifice too great, if it meant even a modicum of knowledge could be gained. She had resigned herself long ago to the fact that there would be some casualties of war so to speak, but the place needn't turn into the Island of Dr. Moreau.

Once Dr. Bragg unveiled his first invention, the Society's board members saw how important he would be to their future endeavors. The good doctor promised there was much more to come. All he needed he said, was a bit more freedom. That was when the tide began to turn for the Countess. Slowly but surely, the board began to let out the line and give Dr. Bragg the room he needed to thrive. They started treating the Countess like a nagging housewife whining, for more attention from her husband.

"Ezra!" The tall, solid man rounded the corner as though he'd been waiting there all along. Her personal bodyguard for over twenty years, he was one of a handful of people she could trust. "I'm going down to speak with Dr. Bragg."

"OK. I'll assemble the team."

"No Ezra, I'm going alone. Without the team. And without you." She could see he was displeased, but he knew when to bite his tongue. "I know you don't approve, but I really want to show Dr. Bragg that I've come with peaceful intentions." She smoothed her hair in the mirror and rewrapped her scarf. She always believed looking good was the first step in any plan. "I'm losing ground, Ezra. There have been more deaths in the past year than all the other years combined. It's unnecessary. They're just wasting people like this is a goddamned human pez dispenser. And what about the ones that don't die? I can't take it anymore. I see them in my dreams at night."

The zombies, as they were called, were the patients of experiments that had gone horribly wrong. When the Countess found out Dr. Bragg was exterminating them by the truckload, she brought it to the board expecting they would be as outraged as she was, but they were not. They ruled that Dr. Bragg had not acted unethically but to be fair, the good doctor should present these human remnants to the Countess, and she could decide what to do with them. How was that fair? Most of them were so feebleminded and grossly deformed, keeping them alive seemed cruel. Choosing who should live and who should die was a horrible task that always left her in tears. How did she end up an accessory to this madness?

The hospital in building ten remained pretty busy caring for the girls and the rest of the staff in the complex. There were always a variety of ailments and injuries to contend with. Unfortunately for the skilled medical team, most of their time was spent dealing with plastic surgery requests. As soon as a girl made a little money, even the most beautiful among them found something they wanted to fix. Tonight, the floor was rather quiet. The waiting room was empty for the first time in a long time. The Countess wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. A floor buffer hummed in the distance. As she walked by the front desk, the receptionist smiled politely, but the Countess knew she would be phoning Dr. Bragg as soon as they broke eye contact. Beyond the hospital were buildings eleven and twelve, restricted access areas that were heavily guarded at all times. Dr. Bragg's office was located on the second floor of building eleven. It featured a wall of monitors so he could survey the activity within his kingdom like the Wizard of Oz. The corridor that led to the main gate was over a mile long, gleaming white from floor to ceiling. Caddie carts were not allowed beyond building ten, so the Countess had to walk. She could see the guards in the distance. Dressed all in black with unwavering posture, they looked like paper silhouettes against the milky background. One of the men, a stout blonde named Theodore, halted her when she was about ten feet away and warned that an access code was required to enter the premises. If she did not have an access code, she should turn around immediately. She despised these formalities. They knew who she was, and their overly professional demeanor was insulting. Besides, there were several cameras pointing right at her. Dr. Bragg was most likely watching her approach. There was a panel on the door where she quickly thumbed in her code. It had been sometime since she'd ventured into these halls. The system accepted her code and proceeded to the eye scan, a recent addition to the Society's security features. She stepped into the passageway and the door closed behind her. She was just a few feet from the entrance to building eleven, but first she had to contend with six more delightful members of the good doctor's militia. Normally when she walked through, they remained on either side of the chamber, respectfully acknowledging her by removing their hats, but today they stood in the center blocking her path.

"Ma'am, you are not permitted beyond this point," the leader said authoritatively. "You are advised not to advance."

His words were ice cold but the Countess was undaunted. "Excuse me dear, I just came through the security gate. Obviously I have clearance for this building, otherwise my code wouldn't work." The officer repeated the previous message, but this time each of the men drew their weapons.

The Countess was stunned that these men would dare train weapons on her. "Do you- do you know who I am?" she stammered. "Do you know who you're pointing those guns at?"

A handful of staff had gathered in the lobby just beyond the glass doors and were watching the situation unfold with nail-biting curiosity. There was no doubt Dr. Bragg had orchestrated this little stunt to humiliate her, but she knew they wouldn't actually shoot her. Even he wasn't dumb enough to let that happen. She was embarrassed, but put on a brave face for the audience. She would not cower and run off with her tail between her legs. "Ok, I've had enough of this little show," she said. "I need to see Dr. Bragg, and if I have to call my team down here to do it, this is gonna' become a Tarantino film real quick. So what I need you bright young men to do is get the fuck out of my way." She took a step, but the sound of six pistols cocking in unison stopped her cold.

"Ma'am, you are not permitted beyond this point. You are advised not to advance. This is your final warning." Ok, so they had every intention to shoot her. What now? She was fearful that even turning around might be misconstrued, and lead them to fire upon her. A lump was forming in her throat. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the sea of onlookers part, and the good doctor bullied his way through.

"Stand down gentlemen! Stand down!" he shouted, as he pushed through the glass doors. The men immediately lined up in formation against the wall. For the second time ever, the Countess was grateful to see Dr. Bragg. "I do sincerely apologize my dear," he said, dramatically wringing his hands. "How truly terrified you must have been. If only you had told me you were coming."

Her throat was dry and she was queasy, but she was determined not to let him know he'd succeeded in scaring the shit out of her. "Since when do I need your permission to enter this building?"

He gasped and his face lit up with false surprise. "Oh dear. You haven't heard then? Seeing as how important you are, I assumed someone would have told you." Naturally, he waited for her to ask what exactly she hadn't been made aware of, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of begging for the information. He gave in about thirty seconds into the standoff. "Well, after a riveting, neigh, astounding presentation of my latest technological breakthrough, the board felt, and I agreed wholeheartedly-"

"Christ!" the Countess snapped, "How many words can you fit into a fucking sentence? Get on with it!"

Dr. Bragg pretended to be offended. "There's no need to be uncivil, dear. As I was saying, after my presentation, the board advised that I make some improvements to security. As of today, you no longer have access to building eleven." Her face did not betray any emotion, but he noticed her fingers curve tightly into her palm. She was furious, and it gave him the utmost pleasure. He despised the Countess, not just because of her low breeding and insufferable arrogance, but because she was small-minded and had no vision for the future. The Society was a platform they could use to change the world, but all she wanted to do was run a whorehouse. She had never been anything but a hindrance to his progress. During the days when she ruled the roost, he was forced to do much of his research on animals. What a tremendous waste of time and money! He was not some low-level tech testing mascara on rabbits. He needed human beings for his work, alive and healthy. So what if a few people suffered if it meant saving mankind. It took years, but the board members finally realized he was the horse to bet on. "When the network is updated in a few hours, your password will no longer work at the main gate of this building either. That will make sure we don't run into this little snafu again. But since you're already here, what was it that you came for? Perhaps I can be of some assistance."

The Countess allowed her famous tight smile to spread across her face. "You needn't worry yourself Dr. Bragg. I do believe all of my questions have been answered." She grabbed hold of her skirt to keep it from dragging on the ground, lifted her head high, and began the long journey back to the main building.

The Countess had always known it was Dr. Bragg who'd been spreading gossip about her. Her people made sure she knew of the things being whispered behind her back- she'd fucked her way into her position, her royal title was purchased, and she was really just bridge and tunnel trash. Bridge and tunnel trash? She'd always been amused by the put-down. If Dr. Bragg was trying to hurt her feelings, he would have to try a lot harder. None of those things were untrue, and she wasn't ashamed of who she was. Growing up in a middle class family in Queens, her life would have turned out quite differently had she never met Charles Courtney Gramercy, a man from a family of considerable wealth, anchored in American heritage. When he first laid eyes on the young Veronica Harris, he knew he had to have her. She was sitting outside on the steps of her college campus, with a face full of tears. He had his driver pull over, because he had to know why that lovely creature was so miserable. "I can't pay for school anymore," she sobbed to the much older man who'd sat down beside her. "And what are you studying?" he asked, dabbing at her tears with a kerchief. He was surprised to hear her say business. "You're so beautiful, I thought it would be something in the arts. How refreshing." What she needed he said, was a benefactor, and he would be delighted to be that for her. Although she was one of a long line of women in his life, C.C. Gramercy showered his mistress with whatever she desired. For her twenty third birthday, he altered her pedigree by having her legally declared a Countess. According to the paperwork his team of lawyers drew up, she had been briefly married to a Count before his untimely passing. Should anyone wish to investigate, they would find a perfectly legitimate paper trail, although the two people had never even met. It was C.C. who secured the position for her as headmistress of the Society. "Darling, I know you want to be your own woman, but you'll toil away half your life for peanuts. Take this position. You'll make money and rub shoulders with people who matter. It's a poorly run boys club. I think you can turn it around, and make even more money." He'd been right about everything. She was a millionaire before she was thirty and had vacationed on every continent by her fortieth birthday. People knew her. They adored her. She was on a first name basis with kings and presidents all over the world, and was treated like a VIP at every function she attended. It was a life she'd never imagined possible. The Society was her empire and she its noble ruler. Before Dr. Bragg came aboard, she'd loved her job.

After the awful ordeal with Dr. Bragg, the Countess called Ezra immediately and told him everything. She could hear him silently fuming, but he was not a man of many words. He much preferred action. "Would you like us to take care of it ma'am?" he asked. "No, I don't. I just... I just needed to talk to someone. And Ezra, do not come down here and start any shit. You'd better be in my apartment when I get there. Is that understood?" She heard scuffling and movement on the other end of the line. He'd probably already been making his way down to meet her. "Yes, ma'am. Understood." It was so stupid for her to go there without any protection. What the hell was she thinking? Her attempt to extend an olive branch only made her look weak and desperate. A wave of relief washed over her when she'd finally made it back to the main building. She headed up to her apartment, a luxurious two-floor dwelling, big enough to get lost in. It was her safe haven, the only place she could truly relax. The maid had already set out the tea in the living room. She and Ezra retired onto the couch for their daily ritual. He did not drink, smoke or do drugs. Oolong was his only vice. He made a striking figure, gracefully handling the delicate tea cup in his large, rough hands. Ezra was a complex conglomeration of contradictions. A street thug with a Yale education, he thought no more about ripping out a man's heart, than giving a hungry family his week's wages; he'd done both more than once. He respected life, but was not afraid to die. His only wish was that when it was his time to go, God allow him to do so like a warrior. The Countess often wondered what she'd done in a past life to gain such an ally.

"Oh God Ezra, what do I do? I just never thought this would happen, not like this. Opal, would you pour me a brandy please?" The maid, who had been waiting patiently in the corner until her services were needed, sprung into action as though performing a life-saving operation. The Countess took the warm glass in her hands and took a moment to savor the fragrant notes of plum and chocolate. A good night's sleep awaited her at the bottom of the glass. "Now I'm on the outside looking in on something I built. Before me, this place was nothing more than a bunch of pageant queens blowing Senators for crack."

Ezra snickered as he recalled the old days when the place was like Sodom and Gomorrah. Clients actually stayed on the premises then. There were 24 hour orgies, a cocaine fountain, and a virgin dispensary. People were overdosing left and right, and it wasn't unusual to find children roaming the halls, some as young as ten. Any fetish or vice was accommodated, no matter the detriment. Something was always leaking to the public. There was a new scandal in the paper every week. Reporters bribed guards to get the drop on the salacious activities of prominent world leaders, and the girls, well, they just couldn't keep their mouths shut. The Red Squad was the cleanup crew, a highly organized team of female mercenaries who amazed people with their ruthlessness. They thought nothing of weekly murder sprees to restore law and order, and were known for exploiting their victims before killing them. It was an ugly business. When the Countess took over, she cleaned house and started anew. Ezra, then just a young man, was working as a courier. He was one of only a handful of people she kept on, surprising everyone by placing him in charge of her personal security team. In addition to his imposing size and rumors of him dropping people off of balconies, his face was rather frightening to look at. Westerners were not used to seeing Ta Moko, ornate patterns meticulously chiseled into every inch of his face. When questioned about her decision to put someone barely out of boyhood in such a position, her response was simply, "Do you want to go up against him?" They did not. The next thing the Countess did was institute a vetting process to verify exactly who was being accepted into the Society. Stopping information leaks had to begin with choosing people who were less likely to run their mouths. She requested the board turn the process over to an offsite agency to make sure it was thorough and unbiased. Drug testing became mandatory and random. Simply put, junkies were a liability. She knew a loyal staff would be critical to daily operations, and never are people more loyal then when you are their last hope. The prisons were full of decent people in need of a second chance. C.C. Gramercy pulled some strings, and she was able to choose from thousands of applicants all over the world. They remained some of the best employees in the whole damn place. In fact, her entire personal security team was made up of ex-cons.

The Countess knew the girls would need training to be courtesans. People spent more on luxury items so that is what they needed to be: rare treasures you could not obtain anywhere else in the world. She created a course for the girls to teach them to take pride in their work. "Fucking is an art form," she used to say, "and we're looking for Picassos." When she became too busy to teach classes anymore, she hired instructors and expanded the curriculum. At the end of the day, it was all about creating a good product. The place needed to feel like a resort, not a harem in some sheikh's basement, so she added a few amenities-- spas, salons, boutiques, and some recreational activities. The board members, who'd been skeptical of her methods at first, were in awe. A place that had once been hemorrhaging money, was actually turning a profit. A big one. The Society had a new image, one of quality. Although the Countess had never liked the idea of using the staff for medical research, it brought in a fortune. She could never have afforded all of the upgrades she made without the millions of dollars in corporate sponsorship. And there was a time when she actually felt good about the work Dr. Bragg was doing. The Godseye had been a definite game changer. It worked like a hard drive. Once employees left, it was removed and their memories stayed behind. The risk of exposure for the Society and its clients decreased substantially. That meant the Red Squad had less of a reason for murder and mayhem. And of course, she could never forget what the good doctor had done for her personally. For awhile, she'd felt so indebted to him that she turned a blind eye to much of his ungodly behavior. She would never forgive herself for that. Someone once told her that all geniuses were a bit touched. Dr. Bragg was no exception. He could not be permitted to run amok.

"Countess, I know how much this place means to you," Ezra said. "You've put your heart and soul into it. It would be tough to walk away, but look at what it's becoming? How long do you think it will be before Bragg tries to put one of those implants in my head? Or yours? It could happen." She knew Ezra was right. There was no doubt Dr. Bragg had done something to those officers to make them react to her that way. She'd been just seconds from a face full of lead. Things were getting worse.

"So what should I do Ezra? Leave, and spend my life on the run from the CIA and the Red Squad? This is my home. And what about Bella? I can't just leave her like that. What do I do? We can't just kill him." Ezra leaned forward and spoke in a hushed tone. "I've been thinking a lot about it. What if we could kill him, and make it look like one of his people did it? Make sure none of us are spotted anywhere near the scene." The Countess was skeptical. It was impossible. Nearly everyone in the facility had a Godseye, which meant there were cameras everywhere. "But no one on your security detail has the implant, ma'am. Don't you see? That's our advantage."

She shook her head. "No. I don't want any of those boys getting hurt. And I can't risk losing you, Ezra. I'll be all alone."

He took her hand in his. "Countess, with all due respect, we have to go, or we have to fight. I think we can take him down with just a couple of men, two or three."

She tipped back her head and finished off the last of the brandy in her glass, wondering to herself if there was another way. Any way at all. There wasn't. "Ok, Ezra, do it. Two men can go. No more. And you can't be one of them. Spare me the details. The less I know, the better. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

Opal came rushing into the room, nearly tripping on a rug. "Knock, knock," the spirited girl sang out.

The Countess rolled her eyes. "Christ. Opal will you stop doing that? We can see you standing there. A simple 'excuse me' will suffice."

The girl curtsied, another new habit she'd picked up as of late. "Sorry ma'am. Belinda wanted to remind you she still needs your signature to discharge the bulimic girl, and Sonya broke her leg skiing so the prince needs a replacement for the rest of the month."

The Countess ran her fingers through her hair in frustration. Would this night never fucking end? And what the hell were her assistants doing? Why hadn't one of them found a replacement for the prince? "Why didn't they just call me on my fucking pock comm?" she muttered to herself, lazily getting up from the couch.

"They did ma'am," Opal countered, "but you left it in your desk. Again. You've been doing that a lot lately. You probably have a lot on your mind." The Countess shot her a shut-the-hell-up look.

# Chapter 5

Whenever the doctors needed to retrieve Ming for tests, a thick fog was pumped into her cell, and she lost consciousness. She would awake to find fresh bandages on her arms where blood had been drawn. It was a terrible torture to know she'd been out of the cell and unable to enjoy it. Her eyes craved stimulation. The hallucinations were getting worse. The line between what was real and imagined continued to blur. Lengthy chats with her sister provided a soothing escape and sometimes, it was as if YiYi was sitting right beside her. She could feel her presence, smell her perfume, and for brief interludes, see those lovely, almond-shaped eyes blinking back at her through the darkness. She told YiYi all about the facility: the daily goings on, the implant in her head, and how she was being held captive in conditions unfit for an animal.

The sound of footsteps in the hall sent Ming scrambling to the front of the cell. She sang along with the familiar tune as it chimed on the keypad: AXM8821919221##1919221. It was Dr. Xavier. "Ming, you are in for a treat. I brought you something very special for lunch today. You were right about Krishna. I asked her out." He slid a greasy, paper bag into the slot and closed the door. The smell of garlic and basil filled the cell and even in the darkness, Ming knew it was pizza. She tore into the bag. It was still hot. She pulled at the layers of cheese and stuffed a hearty chunk into her mouth. The robust tomato sauce and smoky mozzarella transported her to a happier time. She saw herself with Dylan, holding hands and walking down the street. They were sharing a slice, and joking about the dangers of choking on the cheese from a New York City pizza.

"Wow, a date? Check out Mr. Big Stuff over there," she teased, as she wolfed down another savory bite.

"But now I've got to figure out a good date. She can't leave the building she's in, so it's got to be something we can do there. Any ideas?"

"Not off the top of my head, but I'll think about it. I've got plenty of time to do that. This pizza is delicious. Where'd you get it?"

"Wow Ming, I'm actually offended. I made it." She laughed. "Ok, obviously I'm kidding. It's from Bleeker Street Pizza."

Ming was shocked. He couldn't mean Bleeker Street Pizza on Seventh Avenue. There was no way. "You mean in Manhattan?" she asked, trying to sound casual.

"Yup, that's the one. You know it?"

No, no, no. She just couldn't believe it. Manhattan? She'd never imagined the Society was in New York. Dr. Xavier didn't appear to be trying to hide anything, so she probed further. It turned out, they weren't too far outside of Manhattan. She tried to wrap her head around it. How could that be? How could they hide this place? The main building where the girls lived was like a hotel, and there were spas and shops, and the hospital. It was literally a small city with thousands of people. "How come no one knows about this place? Are we on a farm or something? Is it gated in? Never mind. You probably can't answer that."

He could tell her anything she wanted to know, he said. Well almost. "If I can't answer, I won't. But you should know when you get out of here, you won't remember any of this. They're going to wipe your memory. Everything is saved on that device in your head."

The device. The Godseye, it was called. She ran her fingers along the base of her neck. She could barely feel it. If she wanted, she could pull up the piece of synthetic skin, and expose the metal outlet. That was how they plugged in at night in the dorms. She didn't question it before, but now it all seemed incredibly disturbing. In the first few days she'd arrived at the house, some of the girls had the bright idea to try and remove theirs. It seemed easy enough pull out. All they needed was a few minutes away from their hovering attendants. Ming agreed to keep watch. It wasn't long before two of the girls emerged from the bathroom, covered in blood and screaming for help. The victim of the medieval surgery, lay unconscious on the tiled floor, a microchip suspended from a cluster of wires hanging out of the back of her head. Ming rolled her over to check her pulse, and found her eye pushed back in the socket and punctured by one of the wires. It was the most gruesome thing she'd ever seen.

"To answer your question Ming, we're underground. All of the buildings are completely underground."

That wasn't possible, she thought. There were skylights throughout the buildings, and windows. The sun sparkled and the moon shimmered, and rain beat against the glass. She'd seen it with her own eyes.

"None of that is real," he said. "They're just screens playing pictures." She couldn't accept it. "Well what about when we went outside? And, and we played volleyball on the beach. And we had a barbecue under the stars. And there were fireworks."

Dr. Xavier was hesitant. "It wasn't real Ming. None of it was real." He could hear her softly weeping. He'd revealed too much and she was already so close to losing her mind.

"Tell me how it works," she sobbed.

"We shouldn't talk about-"

"Tell me!" she shouted, banging her fist against the wall of the cell. Dr. Xavier cursed himself for ever starting down this path. None of it would make her feel better.

"It's complicated but basically, when you plug in at night, the Godseye syncs you to the network and to the other girls. We plant information, and each individual's brain works to make it relevant. Think about it like a seed being planted in the forest. Once it takes root, it becomes a part of the ecosystem that was already there."

Ming chuffed at the pride in his voice. "And what's the point of any of it?" she asked.

"Lots of things, Ming. It keeps the girls from getting cabin fever and builds emotional connections faster. And there are lots of practical applications too. Imagine how it could help trauma victims, or allow people to experience things they otherwise couldn't in real life."

Right, she thought, and I'm sure that's the first thing it'll be used for. "I just don't understand, what does Dr. Bragg want with me? Why me?"

Dr. Xavier claimed not to know exactly, but Ming didn't believe him. His pock comm went off. There were no words she'd come to hate more than him saying he had to go.

"No, please don't," she begged, "not yet." She could hear him procrastinating-- shuffling papers, tapping a pen, mulling it over.

"Ming, I have to. I'd stay all day if I could. I swear. I'll be back tomorrow, ok? I promise."

She pounded on the glass. "Wait! Tell Dr. Bragg I'll do the tests. I'll do whatever, just don't leave me here again." There was a fear in her voice he'd never heard before.

"Don't worry, Ming. I'll talk to Dr. Bragg right away. You'll be out of here in no time. I promise. Just hang in there." He was disgusted with himself for lying. He wasn't going to bring the matter up with Dr. Bragg again, and he wouldn't be back tomorrow. Dr. Bragg had put a strict limit on his visiting hours.

Ming didn't know how long it had been since Dr. Xavier had come to visit her. It could have been hours or days. How long could a person live in two worlds before being completely engulfed by one of them? The other side was so much more inviting than her suffocating surroundings. The Madness constantly called out to her. "Come," it seemed to say, "let us go on a journey of all things known and unknown", and down the rabbit hole she went. There was no darkness on the other side. She could hear things and see things, and touch them. Images whirled around her at lightning speed. Emotion was a blur of color and texture and light, glorious light. It was as if her life had been put into a kaleidoscope. She reached out and broke off a piece of time. She put it into her mouth, and it dissolved into a sweet paste that bubbled on her tongue. Now, everything slowed down. She could see the memories plainly, as they floated by in waves. But there was one that stood out to her, the image of her on the floor of her parent's bedroom. She remembered it well. She was only a little girl then, six years old. She looked so small, delicate like a bird in her lavender shift and bare feet. She watched herself reach for the knife her father kept tucked beneath the bed frame. It wasn't there. She carefully ran her hand along the perimeter of the undercarriage, feeling for the carved ivory handle. Had he moved it, knowing her plan? She felt her sister's presence and turned around to see YiYi kneeling beside her. She placed her hand on Ming's arm. "Don't do it Mingy," she whispered. "Please don't. They'll separate us. Let's go before they wake up." Ming reluctantly followed YiYi back to their bedroom, crawling on their hands and knees until they were out of range. YiYi confessed that she had moved the knife. She knew Ming was going to kill their parents. "And just how did you know that!" the eldest sister hissed, with her arms folded. YiYi tried to articulate the phenomenon as well as a little girl could, but it didn't make any sense to her either. "I heard you," she muttered. "Like, I could hear your mind." Ming stared at her, irritated at the nonsense. "No, really Mingy, I did! When you were in the closet, I could hear you, kind of. It was like another language or something, but not words, I dunno, but then I understood it. You said you were going to put the knife in daddy's eye, and cut momma's throat open. First you said you wanted to stab daddy in the head, but didn't think you would be strong enough to get the knife through his skull. You kept repeating it all again and again. And then... you wanted us to tell the police someone broke in and did it." Ming was shocked, for that had been exactly her plan. She'd gone over it in her mind so many times that it lived and breathed. She knew precisely how many steps it took from her room to theirs, and figured out that for a girl of her height and weight, she would have to choose the most vulnerable spots on her parents' bodies to kill them quickly. Had her sister really read her mind? Suddenly, everything went pitch black, and Ming tumbled headfirst back into reality. She could feel the sweat pooling at her back, and the sound of her own breath was deafening. Her skin was crawling, but she knew not to scratch at it. It was just a tactile hallucination. Maybe talking to her sister wasn't so crazy after all. There was no doubt YiYi had heard her then. Maybe she was listening now.

"Is this it? This is all you need?" Dr. Xavier asked Dr. Desousa. He was reviewing her request for research supplies. She nodded, taking a deep inhale of a cigarette. An ash tumbled onto her shirt, a colorful eyesore that read: 100% GMO FREE.

"And you're really going to do this with six patients?"

"You know I don't take more than I need," she said in her calm, motherly tone. Dr. Xavier was fond of her. Everyone was really. She was just an ageing hippie, who still believed in peace and love. The oldest member of the team from building twelve, she was by far the easiest to deal with. She followed the rules, never complained, and had an enormous respect for the lives of her patients. She'd only ever lost one, but it weighed on her conscious like a bag of bricks. If she hadn't skipped the animal trials, it wouldn't have happened. She'd allowed the freedom of the complex to lure her into recklessness.

"Uh, I have some, some pretty bad news," Dr. Xavier began, "and I am so, so sorry I have to be the one to tell you this. I just want to say first Dr. Desousa, how much I admire you. You are a hero. What you've done is miraculous-"

"Honey, just spit it out. What is it? I can take it."

"Uh, well? It seems that the board isn't going to approve an early release for the HIV vaccine. Uh, but, but, you will be able to take it with you when you go, so there's that. You've only got another year left on your contract."

She lit up another cigarette, and then suddenly burst out laughing, so hard in fact, that she ended up in a coughing fit. Dr. Xavier jumped up to see if he could help her. "Are you ok? Should I get you something to drink?"

She waved him off. "I'm fine honey, it's just that these motherfuckers are something else. A few weeks ago, Dr. Bragg talked me into another five year contract. He said he needed my help perfecting the regeneration treatment. I've been dying to see the data on that, so I agreed. I was excited. But now I see, it was just to keep the vaccine off the market for a little longer." Dr. Desousa began to wonder if the vaccine and all of her research would ever see the light of day. If she waited, what was to stop them from suppressing it for another five years? There's no money in a cure. There had to be a way for her to get this out into the world now. "Dr. Xavier, you have to help me. We can save millions of people tomorrow. Do you understand? Millions."

He shook his head vigorously. "No way. I can't."

"You have to!" she exclaimed. "You have an obligation. If you don't do this, you're no better than, than Hitler! That's not who you are, is it? That's not who you want to be, is it?"

Dr. Xavier stood up, raking his fingers through his hair, thinking. "What am I supposed to do, slip a vial under my shirt? You know that'll come up in the search. And, and, and even if you inject me with it, the bioscanners will catch the subcellular changes. No, No, I'm sorry. It's not possible. There's no way to get the vaccine out of the building."

"You won't need to. You'll study the key points in my research and bring it to a colleague of mine. He'll know what to do."

"You think I just get to roam around out there on the streets? I have a GPS tracker in me, and I'm followed constantly. They'll know, and then I'm- I'm fucked." Dr. Xavier was adamant about not getting involved. Whatever Dr. Desousa suggested, he pointed out why it wouldn't work.

"You know, I used to think you were a man of integrity. Today's just been full of surprises for me. You don't even deserve your next breath. Get the fuck out of my office you piece of shit. You're dead to me." She spun her chair back toward the computer, and lit up another cigarette.

Dr. Xavier was stunned. He'd never heard her speak to anyone that way. He let himself out and started down the hall, replaying the conversation in his mind. She said he lacked integrity, precisely what Ming accused him of. Was it true? Did other people think that too? What was he doing that was so wrong? He was just trying to stay alive and out of prison. Anyone else would do the same. He looked up to see Krishna rushing toward him. Shit. She was pissed and he knew why.

"You son of a bitch!" she yelled, slapping him across the face. He covered up fearing she would strike him again. "You told him! You fucking told him! How could you?"

"I'm sorry Krishna. I- I thought it was the right thing to do."

"For who? For you? To get you another pat on the back? Dr. Bragg's boy. He sent the Red Squad into the tunnels after them, and told them to shoot to kill. Shoot to kill! Do you have any idea how much time and energy I've put into that project? Unless it's about work, don't say another fucking word to me in this lifetime."

When the Countess arrived to her office, Dr. Xavier was already waiting inside. She'd warned Belinda about doing that. There were no cameras in her office and she didn't want to worry about people nosing around through her things. "I'm so sorry Countess, but he was worried about Dr. Bragg finding out he came to see you."

Well, that made sense. The Countess walked into the office and sat her bag down. "Xavier," she acknowledged flatly. She seldom addressed him as doctor. And why should she? He didn't finish school. He hadn't earned it. Christ, she thought. He'd already begun his nervous twitching. Everything about him just irritated the shit out of her-- his skittish behavior, his incessant rambling. Sometimes she just wanted to shake him. She caught herself. She was a compassionate woman. After all, how much of his behavior had been caused by his ordeal? Poor thing. When she'd heard Dr. Bragg was in need of an assistant, it was she who suggested they comb the prisons. She had the connections, so she did it herself. And there he was: the almost doctor, serving a twenty year sentence for manufacturing meth. There were more than a few candidates to choose from, but none looked as broken as Xavier Marlowe. Her intentions weren't all philanthropic. Her hope had been that once he found out the role she'd played in orchestrating his freedom, he would be her ally, become her eyes and ears behind Dr. Bragg's iron curtain. But no. He bonded with Bragg. They were two peas in a pod. She only succeeded in making the enemy stronger. So what did Xavier want now?

"Is he uh, is he going to- does he have to stay? Here? The whole time?" Dr. Xavier asked, twisting the edge of his lab coat between his fingers. He was referring to Ezra, who had taken his usual position in the corner of the room behind the Countess.

"Xavier, what do you want?" she asked, wishing she hadn't indulged in those cocktails before this meeting. She was much too relaxed. She might slip and say something fucked up.

Dr. Xavier shifted in his seat a few times. "Uh, Well? Have you ever heard of the Prison Rape Elimination Act? It's a bill that was passed by Congress in 2003 in response to the uh, widespread sexual abuse going on behind bars. There were studies, and, and, and hearings, and over three hundred million dollars designated to combat this epidemic." He began to fidget again. The Countess was wrestling with the urge to throw something at him when she felt Ezra's calming hand upon her shoulder. He always knew when she was close to flipping out.

"You know, when I uh, when I first got to prison, there were these, these, these seminars, Rape Awareness Prevention and Education. What a name, huh? I couldn't believe it. I thought it was a joke. Anyone could go to them, but if you were a new inmate who was uh, who had a high probability of, of being affected, it was recommended that you attend. There was quite a turnout you see, because it wasn't just potential victims who went, it was also the predators. It was one really fucked up singles mixer. And there in that room, while some government official droned on about human rights, a dozen other men and I, were being silently bid on." His new owner liked to be called Daddy, and he was a rather large man who insisted his 'girl' look nice for him. In addition to occasionally using Xavier as currency to settle debts, Daddy had an unyielding sexual appetite of his own, often joking about how he'd almost split his last 'girl' in two. Xavier never reported his torment to the prison authorities, and it wouldn't have mattered if he had. No one cared. It was the law of the jungle. One of the nurses he saw regularly took pity on him. Daddy was on an anti-seizure medication, so she switched it out for one known to cause erectile dysfunction. "A few months later, she uh, she told me what she'd done. She said she just wanted to give me a few nights of peace. And I told him. I told Daddy. That nurse was the only person trying to help me, the only one, and I turned on her."

The Countess allowed a brief silence so she wouldn't appear callous, but she did not have all night for therapy sessions. "Xavier, this is all quite tragic and I'm sorry for your loss, but what the fuck do you want?"

He shifted in his chair, wincing at the memories. His body could still feel the pain. "I just wanted to tell you... Not a day went by that I didn't think of killing myself. Not one day. I tried more than once, but after a few days on suicide watch, I was right back in the same hell. You helped me. You saved me. And I turned on you." Not only had Dr. Xavier refused to align with the Countess, he'd spoken out against her during multiple hearings before the board, testifying that she was a nuisance to Dr. Bragg's work. He convinced the board that her tyranny made everyone else afraid to speak up against her. He was lauded for his bravery, commended for his ability to remain unsullied by her manipulation. There was no doubt he had played a significant role in her demise in power. "I'm so sorry Countess. I'm so sorry. I couldn't see things as they really were. I didn't even have clearance for building twelve back then. I had no idea what he was doing. Now, he's holding all the cards isn't he? You know, he uh, he makes us bring him his meals now. He's worried you'll try to poison him. I'm usually the one that ends up having to do it. Whenever he wants to eat, I have to stop what I'm doing and tend to him." He raked his fingers through his hair. "At least I don't have to suck his dick," he quipped, followed by an awkward laugh. "I wanted to ask you Countess, why were you trying so hard to get Ming Young out of there? How much do you know about her?"

"Well, Bragg snatched her without a word to me. Anytime that happens, I'm concerned he's hiding something. You know that."

"Well, there's a lot more you should know about Ming. Maybe if you present this to the board, they'll listen to you." He pulled a stack of folded papers from his lab coat. "Trust me, it's a fascinating read. You can just return it to me through the internal courier. It's best if we're not seen interacting." He got up to leave.

"Thank you, Dr. Xavier," the Countess said. "I know it's quite a risk for you to come here like this."

He stopped at the door with his back to them. "I saw your friend, the one you'd asked me to look after when I first arrived."

The Countess sat up, turning in her chair. "And? How is she?"

"Not good. Not good at all."

"Ok, that's it for names A to F. Should we have a drink before we move on?" the Countess asked her assistant Crystal.

"God yes," the boy said, fanning himself dramatically. He crossed his legs and adjusted his posture to get more comfortable in the chair. The Countess eyed him strangely. "What?" he asked, looking down at his ample breasts and giving them a proud pat.

"Uh, have you forgotten where the bar is, dear?" Crystal cut his eyes before getting up and walking over to the liquor cabinet, neatly concealed in a console below the bookshelf. "I forgot diva trumps queen around here. Armagnac?"

"God no. It's noon, and we have work to do. Are you trying to relax, or end up in a gang bang? There's a bottle of wine in there. I think that's more of what we're looking for."

Crystal returned, and handed the Countess a glass. "You know what I love most about this job?" he asked.

"Drinking in the middle of the day? The beautiful men? My hand-me-downs? That skirt looks good on you by the way."

Crystal gave a spin, and let the skirt twirl around him. "Right? I do what I can do when I can do it. But seriously Countess, I love working here because of you. I learn something from you every day. You're strong and smart, and fearless. But I know you hate when people get sentimental, so I'll back off. I just had to get that off my chest." He sat down and resumed typing on his laptop.

"Crystal, don't take this to mean I'd like you to continue droning on about it, but thank you. Ok, moving on, Gable, Alicia. That's a definite no. She's got a little bit of an attitude and I don't like it. Gabriel, Anya. I like her, great personality, really nice shape, but she needs to lose about fifteen pounds. Schedule the one-on-one after she loses the weight. And please make sure her Godseye is adjusted gradually. Sabrina Santana almost starved to death. Ok, Gardner, Arcadia. I'm into this whole sexy bohemian thing she's got going on. It just needs to be refined. Let's make her hair really light, white blonde, not genetically though, not yet. This is just a trial, so just send her to the salon and let them dye it. And what do you think about green eyes?"

"No, blue, definitely blue, a really light, ice blue," Crystal squealed gleefully as he typed. He absolutely loved transforming average pretty girls into goddesses. "She is going to look like an angel. Gawgeous! Do you want the eyes permanent, or just contacts for now?"

The Countess flipped through the pages in the ledger to read more of her notes on the girl. "If she's ok with it, just have them done permanently. It's a good investment. She'll be around for awhile. And I'd like to do a one-on-one with her before and after."

"I can't believe you still use notebooks. How dreadfully archaic."

The Countess laughed. All of her assistants were constantly on her to make the technological leap, but she still preferred the feel of a pen in her hand. The sound of a page turning was like the first shred of wrapping paper being torn from a gift. And her notebooks were more organized than the Library of Congress. They were alphabetized, color coded, and updated frequently.

"Countess, Ezra is back," the receptionist's voice crackled over the intercom.

When he came in, the Countess could tell from his face it wasn't good news. She took a sip of wine. "What happened?"

"He said he can no longer provide you with the drugs because it violates the new security protocol. If you want the surgery done, he'll be happy to do it for you."

The Countess leaned back in the chair with a sigh. It was just another instance of Dr. Bragg flexing his muscle. He knew damn well she would never trust him to perform the surgery. She might wake up with a claw, or not wake up at all. She hoped Ezra's plan to end the son of a bitch was progressing. She'd been tempted to ask for an update, but it was best for her to stay out of it. Completely. "Well, let's get this over with. Do you have everything else?" Ezra held up the bag of supplies.

"Oh my God! Oh no, no!" Crystal exclaimed. "Are you about to do this here? Without anesthesia?"

"Yep," Ezra replied, "and you're going to help."

Crystal clutched his head. "Sweet Jesus. I can't help. I don't know anything about this kind of thing. And I'm wearing couture. Why do we have to do this now?"

"It's already been too long," the Countess explained, slipping off her blazer. "Once the replication phase begins, the growth rate increases exponentially. I'm a few hours away from looking like a circus freak, and I've got meetings all afternoon."

While Ezra rolled out a sheet of plastic onto the desk, and prepared the tools, Crystal helped himself to a glass of Armagnac. And then another. While he knew about the Countess' affliction, he'd never actually seen it. Apparently, it didn't occur often, once every few years. When he'd arrived to her office that morning, he noticed she was wearing gloves, but thought it was a fashion statement. As she removed them now, he saw the grotesque anomaly she'd been desperate to hide. Another hand had already begun to form, springing out of her wrist, and curving into her palm. It was a disturbing image, but Crystal couldn't avert his eyes. Ezra took off his jacket, and put on a butcher's apron and gloves. He carefully marked the Countess' wrist for the cut. "I don't think I'm the right person for this," Crystal countered. "Why don't I get someone else? Plenty of qualified men roaming the halls."

The Countess rolled her eyes. "Crystal, relax. There's nothing to it. You just need to help keep me still. After it's over, Ezra will give me an adrenaline shot, I'll pop a few oxys, and it's right back to work. The tissue is engineered to heal at lightning speed. There won't even be much blood. It's actually quite interesting."

The Countess slipped a fold of leather into her mouth to bite down on. Ezra secured her hand into the vice, and instructed Crystal where to stand. The way they were going on like it was no big deal, only made Crystal more uncomfortable. He swallowed hard. "Oh Jesus. Ok, I can do this. Whew. You need to hurry up, 'cause I'm getting real queasy. Are you going to take off the whole hand or just...?"

The blade gleamed as Ezra unsheathed it. "Yep. The whole hand."
It wasn't until Ming tried to kill herself that Dr. Bragg finally allowed her to be taken out of isolation. Even with sunglasses, the harsh florescent lights were unbearable to Ming. She was happy to see Dr. Xavier's face again. It was slightly different than she remembered it. After not being able to see for so long, her brain began replacing physical features with emotional representations. She'd been given a mild sedative and was being transferred to her new living quarters. Dr. Xavier walked alongside as the orderly pushed the gurney down the hall. "You're going to love it Ming," he said cheerfully. "It's bright and spacious. There's even a treadmill."

His voice sounded so strange to her, so loud, but not loud enough to drown out the sound of the gurney wheels, scratching and squeaking beneath her. So much noise. He was still talking and talking. She wasn't sure if this was even real. She'd imagined herself outside of the room so many times, but those had proven to be nothing more than lucid dreams. Eventually, she would always return to the darkness.

"It's going to take you some time to get back to normal Ming," he continued. "But I'm going to help you. I'm so glad I found you in time. All of this to avoid a few tests. I bet now you'll be happy to do them. But don't worry, it won't be for at least a week. Maybe more. You need some time to recover."

She laughed weakly, and her voice was a mist. "Oh doc, I thought you knew me better than that. I'm not doing any tests, or anything you people want me to do. You can all go fuck yourselves."

Dr. Xavier had the orderly stop the gurney, and bent down to speak to her. "Ming, you musn't say things like that. Don't you see? This is a fight you can't win. If you don't do what Dr. Bragg wants, he'll throw you back in solitary."

"Good, then I can talk to my sister. It's too loud out here anyway."

The Countess always had a rather hectic schedule but this particular Friday was especially busy. Staff meetings, conference calls, a fiscal presentation for the corporate sponsors, and client requests, and that was just the morning. Even with her five assistants, it would be a long day. She decided to take a quick lunch in her office. On days like this, it was easy to forget to eat. She drank a bowl of stew brought up from the kitchen and gorged herself on fresh raspberries. They were her favorite treat. Well almost. There was still a little time left before her next meeting. Perhaps she would indulge in something relaxing to clear her head. She summoned Idris via the pock comm.

The young man arrived in minutes, full of energy and eager to be of service. It was his only job at the Society and he performed it with pride. He knew the Countess enjoyed the smooth, hard lines of a body well cared for, so he went to great lengths to maintain his physique. His prick could not defy the Pavlovian response to the door latching behind him. It always made him feel like a boy who could not control himself. The Countess had already removed her blouse and bra, and was sitting with her head laid on the desk. Idris loosed her hair letting it fall in graceful bundles over her shoulders, and began massaging her head and neck. "God, I really needed this," she moaned, as her body yielded beneath his forceful touch. Down her back he went, releasing all the tension, all of the frustration that had been building for days. He got on his knees in front of her chair and began massaging her shoulders, and then her breasts. She gasped when she felt his mouth, greedily slurping at her nipples. He slid beneath the desk and lifted her skirt to her waist. The swollen, pink invitation beckoned him, but he knew better; it wasn't time just yet. He kissed her thighs, nibbling at the thickest parts, his favorite parts. She whimpered and slid down in her seat, like a cat directing its owner where it wanted to be pet. He loved the way she tasted, craved it when he could not have it. He wanted to be covered in her, to wear that sweet scent on his skin. He tried to go slowly, to savor it, but her excitement urged him on. He could feel her body weakening, tightening and trembling, straddling the line of certainty and uncertainty. Her body lurched once more and then, the walls came down. It was the moment he liked best, seeing her in a state others did not. "Thank you Idris," she said as though he'd just dropped off coffee. He knew not to linger or engage her in conversation and so, he left without a word.

As the Countess was preparing for her next meeting, Keston, the day receptionist piped in through the intercom that a package had arrived for her. "It's marked Urgent." It had come through the facilities internal courier, but it didn't have a sender. That was odd. Packages were not accepted without a sender, unless they were from essential personnel or someone with high security clearance. "Was it checked?" the Countess asked, knowing the answer. No member of her staff would dream of handing her a package that hadn't been thoroughly checked for potential danger. "Yes ma'am," Keston replied. "The package has been verified as safe. It's some kind of jewelry." The Countess smiled. "Well by all means, darling, bring it in here." The box was wrapped in a tacky, shiny paper. Dr. Xavier, she thought. A formal apology. He seemed the sentimental flowers and candy sort. There was no need for that though. The files he'd supplied on Ming Young had been more than enough. The card read: Honor their sacrifice by wearing this beautiful necklace. Please think of me when you wear it." A riddle. How clever. Honor their sacrifice. It didn't take a detective to figure out it was a pearl necklace. She tore off the wrapping paper and opened the velvet box. Nestled on the cushion was indeed a necklace, but instead of pearls, they were little shells. Ugly little shells. Not nearly as chic, but a thoughtful gesture nonetheless. It had to be from Dr. Xavier. Judging by the way he dressed, he would give a woman a gift like this. It wasn't until she picked it up that she realized they were human teeth. There was a patterned variation in the shades, as though each had been carefully selected for the task. Some had cavities, others had dark silver fillings. There was a gold one in the center with a diamond in it. She knew it belonged to Mikhail. It was Dr. Bragg who had sent the gift. It was a message. Ezra's plan to kill him had failed. She took out her pock comm and dialed Dr. Bragg. He picked up immediately, a distinct pleasantness in his voice. "Are they dead?" she asked. "Oh yes," he said. "Quite. But if it makes you feel any better, they didn't beg." After a long pause, the Countess hung up.

In a candle lit chamber, with sparse furniture and stone floors, the Countess stood before the members of the board. She had been summoned to answer for the recent coup against Dr. Bragg. The council was not aware it was an assassination attempt. The two men from her team had not confessed to anything. She prayed God would forgive her for the death she'd sentenced them to. Being forced to endure the hour long interrogation video was a torture in and of itself. Listening to their screams of agony was like swallowing barbed wire. She broke down several times as she watched their flesh being peeled back from their bones, and their fingers pruned with wire cutters. Afterward, Mr. H. extolled the council's utter disappointment at having to weigh in on what was clearly a human resource issue.

"Do you think we have time to mediate between you and Dr. Bragg? Don't you understand how important he is? And this relationship has been rewarding for everyone, has it not? You've practically built a goddamn amusement park down there."

"If this paperwork is correct," added Mr. I., "you'll be putting in mini golf and a wave pool? I don't exactly see this as an act of protest."

The Countess knew better than to interrupt the board members when they were speaking, so she waited patiently until she was granted the floor. There was no longer any transparency between her and the research clinic, she said. More people were dying than ever before. Dr. Bragg had become reckless with his judgment. She submitted the files Dr. Xavier pilfered for her, in the hopes the board would finally see that this man could not be left unchecked. "I don't want to stand in the way of his research. I just want the authority I once had to question his decisions and hold him accountable."

They had her wait outside in the library while they deliberated. The room was small and musty, with books and papers strewn about. She'd only been there a few times, but it always looked like that, like some scholarly hermit had dashed off and never returned. She knew all kinds of wondrous secrets lay before her, but never had the courage to investigate the contents. The last thing she wanted was one of the board members to come out and catch her snooping. Mr. Groh, the Society's liaison, came in through the door on the opposite side of the room. He was still as handsome as ever. Only the silver in his hair betrayed his age, but it gave him a new kind of elegance. He smiled at the Countess, but she did not return it. He sat down next to her, stubbing out his cigar on the bench between them. She slid down some, and folded her arms in front of her. He chuckled. "Still a fighter after all these years. I admire that. I know you hate me. You think I agree with the things these people do, and what they are, but I don't. I just accepted a long time ago that I couldn't win against them. They rule the world Countess, and it's about to get worse. Be glad you're on this side of things."

She was intrigued. "Go on," she pressed. "Why are things about to get worse?"

He did not answer immediately, waiting until her impatience forced her to turn toward him. He loved to look at her face, a graceful beauty from a bygone era. "You're still a head turner, Veronique." He pronounced it with a perfect French accent.

She had come to despise him less over the years, but not much. "Groh, please. Just tell me. They'll be done deliberating any minute."

He scoffed. "My dear, don't be a fool. They decided long before today. It doesn't matter what evidence you present. They're no longer team Countess. You're aware of Dr. Bragg's passion, right? The galactic Rubik's cube he's spent his life trying to solve? It's the reason the CIA took such an interest in him in the first place. Well, I think he's done it."

She didn't believe it. It just wasn't possible. Mr. Groh took her hand affectionately. She fought the instinct to recoil from his touch. "Is this the one?" he asked. She nodded. He studied it carefully, moving the digits back and forth, tracing the lines of her palm. "Just remarkable. I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't seen the stump with my own eyes."

An accident had severed her hand, smashing it so badly, it could not be reattached. In an experimental procedure using tardigrades and cancer cells, Dr. Bragg was able to grow another hand in its place. The Countess had been only the third patient to undergo the procedure. The only downside was Dr. Bragg hadn't discovered, or rather, hadn't been interested in discovering, how to turn the cells off. The replication cycle would begin again without warning, and the cells would simply start producing multiple hands, despite the existing appendage. The first time it happened, the Countess and Dr. Bragg were still on decent terms. He removed the abnormal growth, ensuring a perfectly healthy and singular specimen would grow in its place in a matter of hours. Every few years, the mutated hand had to be cut off to grow anew, but it was a minor inconvenience for such a miracle. "Countess, let's be real. If he could do this, do you really doubt what else he's capable of? I'm telling you my dear, I believe he's done it. The world is doomed." The door opened. The board had come to a decision. They were ready for the Countess to return. "Goodbye my dear," Mr. Groh said, "I do hope we see each other again."

"Countess," Mr. H. began, "we have reviewed everything and find Dr. Bragg is not guilty of any misconduct."

This was outrageous. Had they truly read over the documents she'd submitted? "You cannot be serious!" she blurted out, unable to maintain her composure any longer.

"Countess!" Mr. A. shouted, banging the gavel a disproportionate amount. "Have you lost your mind! You do not speak until you have been given the floor."

Mr. H. stood up. "Countess, we are aware of everything Dr. Bragg is doing, and deem it all quite relevant. People will be hurt, lives will be lost, but it is such a small price to pay for what he is proposing. Now if he doesn't deliver what he's promised, we'll revisit the matter. Until then, the discussion is closed. If we hear any more nonsense about this feud between the two of you, you will be dealt with accordingly. Do not think you are indispensable. What you've done with this institution is nothing short of extraordinary, and we are grateful, but as you know, the maison d'amour is just a minor part of the Society of Names. The whole reason the organization was founded was to protect the world, and usher mankind into a safe and prolific future. Since the beginning, we have been on a quest for ways to bring about real change, to end poverty, and disease, and war. I assure you, those answers won't be found knuckle-deep in some hooker's ass. We need Dr. Bragg, and visionaries like him. As we've told you before, should anything happen to Dr. Bragg at your hands, we will eradicate your bloodline from this earth. And anyone you have ever loved or cared for, will suffer until their very last breath. Your punishment will be to watch it all."

# Chapter 6

Winter was more brutal than I could have imagined. Myra and many of the others relied on the subway for its warmth, easy panhandling, and convenient transportation to shelters at night. I however avoided lingering on the trains for fear of running into my mother or siblings. Not to mention, the police hassled me constantly, immediately judging me to be a young punk looking to cause trouble. One night, the cold was unbearable for even the most durable outdoor veterans. Shelters require you to arrive at a certain time to get a bed, but my job often made it impossible to make the cutoff. After a lengthy hike to the lot, I was disappointed to find it completely abandoned. My toes were numb and the insides of my ears were wracked with pain. I would have to warm up before I made the journey back to the subway. I'd seen enough people who'd sacrificed a finger or toe to the god of the elements and didn't want to be counted among them. I started trying to build a drum fire, like I'd seen people do countless times. Of course I had a crap lighter in my pocket that wouldn't ignite for shit. Fuck! I began digging around in my purse- a really old Eddie Bauer backpack- for another lighter, or a book of matches. Nothing. Myra had warned me about this so many times. Out of my peripheral, I saw a truck ride by and then circle back. It was Dylan. He was shocked to see me, nearly lifting me off the ground with a warm embrace. He'd been on his way home when he noticed me tooling around the lot. The wind was whipping up around us now, and he pulled me close. "Do you need a ride somewhere?" Embarrassed, I motioned to the lot explaining how I'd missed the shelter. His smile disappeared behind a veil of disapproval. "No way," he said, his green eyes blazing with intent. "I'll get you a hotel." I considered it for a moment, honestly I did, but I didn't want him thinking that I came with the room rental. He knew what I was thinking. "I'm not going to try to weasel my way into your bed. I promise. But I won't be able to sleep tonight knowing you're out here." Swoon. Mentally, I was already in that hotel room, but I made him persuade me a little more. "Come on, Alexia. I'll even let you drive if you want." He dangled the keys in front of me.

"Do you want to arrive in one piece?" I joked, opening the passenger side door. I'd never noticed the words King Catering etched on the sides of the truck. Now I understood all the generous donations, leftovers from fine social gatherings where people hardly ate. I would have never pegged Dylan for a caterer. Those biceps were being wasted lifting horsd'oeuvres.

"After the military, I had to do something. It's a family business. I've been doing it since I was a kid and the money's pretty good." After his dad died, his mother retired and Dylan inherited the King Catering Company. "One day I'd like to open a restaurant, but who doesn't these days?" Our conversation flowed with ease. He was thoughtful and sweet. He asked me lots of questions about myself, but intentionally avoided the subject of how I'd ended up homeless. I appreciated that. He did ask me if I had any family in New York, though. I just said 'yeah,' and left it at that. "They wouldn't happen to be from Queens, would they?"

I looked at him strangely. "No, they live in Manhattan, and we're originally from Arizona. Why?" No reason, he said. I'd never even been to Queens, unless you count falling asleep on the subway and ending up in Rockaway. That happened a few times. I looked it up once, the name of the neighborhood I mean. Turns out, it's a variation on the original Native American name, Reckowacky. Some have translated it to mean 'lonely place'.

The Happy Room Inn was a rundown, overpriced hooker motel, but at least it had working heat. It was actually much cleaner than I'd expected. Dylan was upset about my choice of accommodations. He thought I should choose a nice hotel in Manhattan, but I was already indebted to him enough. No need to rack up a $300 tab. He might think his kindness had purchased the rights to certain liberties. $100 bucks I could deal with. I could actually pay that back. I'd stashed quite a chunk of change in my P.O. Box. My goal was to save up $10,000. That would be my ticket to freedom, to a home, a job, and a new life. Just like Myra taught me, hold on to the plan no matter what. I thanked Dylan and hugged him goodbye. The hug lasted longer than it should have, and even through layers of clothing, I could make out his muscular frame. His breath on my neck lit me up like a Christmas tree. I knew he wanted to come in and believe me, I wanted it too, but to what end? A one night stand would probably be the end of him visiting the lot with meals for everyone, just to avoid the pain of interacting with me. But then again, he didn't seem like the fuck-'em-and-duck-'em type. Still, an actual relationship conjured up all kinds of weird scenarios. How long would it be before he felt pangs of guilt about living alone in a two bedroom apartment while his girlfriend slept outside? We'd end up moving in together because he felt sorry for me, and after our relationship had worn down to the nubs, I'd feel obligated to stay because he'd helped me get off the streets. The tarot cards didn't look favorably on our future together, no matter how many times I shuffled the deck. Remember those choose your own adventure books? I'd always been one to skip to the last page before making my decision. This was no different. I watched Dylan get into his truck. It had started to snow. I was so grateful for that room. After a long, hot shower, I climbed into bed. The sixty thread count sheets felt like spun silk to me. Just as I began to drift off, I heard a thunderous knock at the door. It startled the shit out of me. I sat up and stared at the door, afraid and confused. Was it Dylan? No, he would have announced himself. Surely it wasn't the motel staff. This wasn't exactly the kind of place that cared if you had enough fresh towels. The knocking came again, this time harder. I threw on a shirt and as quietly as I could, walked to the window. I was afraid to pull back the curtain. If I didn't make any noise, maybe they would think the room was empty. "I know you in there!" a man's voice boomed. My insides froze. "Open this muthafuckin' door bitch! Don't no unclaimed bitch be in here makin' money on my shit!" What the hell was he talking about? I didn't know what to do. I didn't own a cell phone and there wasn't a phone in the room. I thought maybe I could open the door and make a run for it to the desk clerk, but I hadn't seen what this guy looked like yet. He sounded like a brute. "Fuck you say man?" I heard him say, but it wasn't directed at me. He'd moved away from my door thank God, and turned his venom on someone else. A commotion broke out in the parking lot. I could hear lots of shouting and people egging on a scuffle. I waited until things died down to pull back the curtain. The first thing I saw was the catering truck. What was Dylan still doing here? Just beyond the stairs, a large man was face down on the pavement. Judging by the sheer size of his frame, it was probably the man who'd been banging on my door. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw Dylan was safe. Had he been the one to knock that man out? After the crowd dissipated, I watched Dylan and another man lift my secret admirer into the trunk of a white SUV. His head and torso made it in successfully, but his legs hung heavy and lifeless on the asphalt. He was dead. Had Dylan killed him? Or helped kill him? I dropped the curtain and frantically started gathering my things. My stomach was in knots. As I put the last of my things in my backpack, I watched in panic as the knob turned and I was standing face to face with Dylan. He'd kept a key for himself. I tried to run past him, but at 6'3 and 220 pounds, he scooped me up like a lacrosse ball. I started kicking and screaming like a lunatic. He had to physically restrain me. It took him at least fifteen minutes to assure me he wasn't going to hurt me, and that he hadn't killed anyone.

"Yes, I knocked the guy out, but I couldn't just leave him outside in this weather. He's got a room full of hookers, but they wouldn't open the door for me, and the desk clerk refused to let him stay in the lobby. Mr. Santiago helped me get him into the car."

Oh. Maybe I overreacted. "Sorry," I said sheepishly. He released the grip on my wrists and was going to get off of me, but I pulled his face to mine. It's what we'd wanted all along, a simmering heat between us that had been the subtext of every conversation for months. His lips were so soft. Our tongues exchanged the sentiment of yearning, the language of physical courtship. He lifted my shirt and caressed my breasts, licking and teasing at them until I was gasping. He made his way down my stomach. I knew where he was headed and was instantly filled with...disappointment. I didn't much care for oral sex being performed on me. Sometimes it could be downright painful. I always saw it as something I had to suffer through, because bruised egos did not make for hard dicks. He felt my body change and looked up to see what was wrong. "I'm just nervous," I lied.

"Well let me help you relax," and help me relax he did. He was not some teenage boy fumbling around behind the bleachers. He was going to make me cum. My body contracted around his fingers as his mouth mounted my clit again and again. I felt the energy surging through my body and coursing through my veins. I didn't want it to stop, but I no longer had control. "Please, God!" I cried out, gripping the back of his head and emptying my essence into him. I fell back, my body still trembling in waves of bliss. Oh, that's what all the hype is about. I lay there staring at the ceiling, feeling sublimely content. When Dylan returned with some glasses of water for us, I noticed he was bulging at the seams. Where were my manners? "We are going to have to do something about this," I promised, pulling at his belt buckle. I honestly couldn't wait to try out that exceptional piece of equipment. "Don't worry about me. I'm alright," he said, like I was offering peanuts on a flight. Um, what? I mean, this man had just licked me like an orphan on the last bowl. The least I could do was return the favor. His demeanor shifted and without another word, he turned away. Uh, what was going on? How had the best orgasm of my life become the most awkward moment in history? Feeling vulnerable, I pulled the sheet up around me. Had I done something to disgust him? Perhaps the spell had broken, and Dylan realized that Cinderella was just a worthless vagrant. Across the room on a tattered arm chair, sat my trusty backpack. In it was everything I owned in the world. I held less value to society than a cat or dog. An eternity passed in silence. I wondered what the protocol was for kicking someone out of a room they'd paid for. He turned around swiftly, as though the courage summoned had a short shelf life. He started to say something, when I noticed the glaring symbol of love and commitment on his finger. Now it made sense. He'd lost interest because he'd suddenly developed a conscience. "You're married?" I demanded, staring at the offensive hand. He looked surprised, as though he himself had just remembered. "You're fucking married?" I yelled, springing out of the bed. "No, Alexia, no. It's not like that. I'm not like that." He begged me to listen, even getting on his knees for the appeal, but I was so done. I didn't need to hear any of the clichéd bullshit people spit out in those situations. "Get out, Dylan! Get the fuck out!" Clutching the sheet firmly around me, I flung the door open and stood by it with the authority of a British guard. The cold night air rushed in, chilling me to the bone. "Alexia, we're not together. She doesn't want me." "I can see why." I threw his coat out the door and watched it disappear over the railing. He slumped out the door like a kicked dog. I really thought he was a nice guy. There'd been no red flags, no blips on the asshole-meter. I was halfway tempted to accept his story because I liked him so much, and it was hard to let that go. Maybe he and his wife weren't together. Maybe he really was planning on getting a divorce, but then I thought about my mom. Ian strung her along for years until it just stopped mattering. Their entire relationship had been built around his marriage.

I am still so captivated by the beauty of a sunrise. Before becoming homeless, I'd never given them a second thought. I parted the curtain to take in the splendid array of colors waxing and waning on the horizon. I felt rejuvenated and reminded of my plan to get my life together. The last thing I needed was boy trouble slowing me down. I was on the waiting list for temporary housing at a women's shelter. Once I got in, I could get a better job, a real job. And I had so much money saved. If the only thing I got out of dealing with Henry was that P.O. Box, it was worth it. I was so lost in my thoughts, I didn't notice Dylan's truck still in the parking lot. He was asleep with his feet on the dashboard of the passenger side. He'd stayed the entire night. I shut the curtain and hopped in the shower. A hot shower is a luxury when you're living on the street. Oh, God, and the privacy! It's almost impossible for a homeless person to get a minute to themselves--- the time one needs to relax, reflect, and refresh. I stayed in the water until I had used every drop of soap, shampoo and conditioner. As I packed up my things, I found myself getting emotional. It was difficult to leave the hotel room. I forced myself to calm down and meditate on the fact that one day, I would have a place of my own. I reluctantly shut the door behind me. A part of me hoped that Dylan would still be there, but the truck was gone.

I couldn't stop thinking about Dylan. Without any warning, I would just break down crying over it. I was so hurt. Myra said the only thing I could do was let it all out. "Cry until you can't anymore." It wasn't like what happened with Henry, because I was well aware he was a piece of shit. I chose to be delusional because I wanted temporary relief from my problems. But I'd really fallen for Dylan. I kept holding out hope that he would return to my life, and the pain would go away.

When you're at your lowest point, is there a signal beamed into the universe, an all- points bulletin issued to your enemies to seek you out and revel in your misery? First I ran into Samantha Eggert, the bitch who convinced people in our high school that I was really a transgender porn star named Jetta Leone. Jetta and I didn't look much alike, but she had blonde hair and a Marilyn Monroe beauty mark like I did. That was enough evidence for everyone to get in my ass like a thong, since they were looking for a reason to hate me. The teasing was relentless. The girls branded me a slut not to be trusted around their boyfriends, and the boys targeted said slut as an object for sexual advances and aggravated homophobia. My brother Liam finally put an end to it when he seduced Samantha, and secretly filmed one of their sexual trysts. He told her to lay off me or he'd put the footage online. She left me alone after that, but the damage had already been done.

I was handing out flyers on the corner when I spotted Samantha. There was a good chance she wouldn't recognize me, especially since my hair was almost completely dark now, and wrapped up in a bun, and I was about ten pounds thinner. She looked good. No, she looked great, just as pretty and preppy as ever. "Alexia?" she asked, cautiously approaching me. I pretended not to know who she was talking to, and handed her a flyer. "Alexia," she said again with certainty. I looked at her, feigning confusion. "Can I help you?" I asked, with the best accent I could manage under the circumstances. She bought it, and smiled with embarrassment as she tucked the flyer into her purse. "Sorry, I thought you were a friend of mine. Have a good day." Friend? Was she fucking serious? Not an hour later, I ran into two more people I could've spent my life never seeing again. I felt a pinch on my ass and when I turned around, it was none other than Henry and Lolita. "I thought that was you," Lolita bubbled with a big smile. She didn't clean up well. Even with nice clothes and an expensive haircut, she looked trashy. There was a freshly picked scab near her mouth. Eew. Henry had his arm around her waist. I could see from his face he didn't want to be there talking to me. "How have you been?" he asked, in forced pleasantry. "Fine, but I should really get back to work. It was good seeing you both." "Well we've been great," Lolita interjected. She opened her coat to show off the baby bump. "Congratulations." I turned back around and tried to continue handing out flyers, but Lolita wasn't done sharing. "Check this out," she said, waving her hand in front of my face. She was wearing a huge rock on her finger. I remembered the ring. It belonged to Madame. I glanced at Henry, but he was looking at the ground. "Come on hon, we should go," he said, pulling her away. "Bye Alexis," she said. Alexis. It was so important for her to share the details of her life with me, yet she didn't even know my name. Facebook has ruined the world. After that day, I decided it would be better to only work the night gigs. I didn't want to run into anyone else I knew. A few months later, a newspaper headline caught my eye: Heiress Poisoned by Cheating Hubby. I had to read it, and it did not disappoint. Apparently, Henry and Lolita had been slowly poisoning Madame with antifreeze. When she started getting sick, she grew suspicious and had some of the food Lolita prepared analyzed by a lab. Jackpot. How could Henry have been so stupid? He should have known Madame would figure it out. The only thing I'd ever seen her watch on television was the ID channel. If you're not familiar with it, it's nothing but back to back true crime dramas about murderers not getting away with it. It's so addictive. There was only one television in the Dufresne house and it was in the kitchen of all places, so I'd intentionally start making dinner right before the Homicide Hunter came on. Seriously, Joe Kenda is my hero.

#

# 

# Chapter 7

West Aldale couldn't believe what he was looking at. He didn't even know that kind of technology existed. Balanced on the tip of his finger, no bigger than an aspirin, was a tracking device capable of pinpointing a location within a one hundred mile radius. Encased in a candied shell, it was designed to be ingested. It was nearly undetectable to electronic sweeps, and remained in the body indefinitely. "Bloody hell, man. This is amazing. Can I ask where you got it?"

Teak Martin winced at the question. He had no desire to share the gory tale and knew West had even less desire to hear it. Even as young boys raising hell on the streets of London's Brixton district, West was known for having a gentle soul. It was his soft heart and clear thinking that had kept their merry band of hooligans from ending up dead, or in prison. Teak was proud of him. Out of the lot of them, he'd been the only one to carve out a legitimate fortune for himself. The rest of them fell deeper into a life of crime. At least they were smart about it. Teak ran a black market weapons trade and could get his hands on just about anything, including nuclear weapons. But he was no fool. He paid his foot soldiers well to handle all of that, while he remained the man behind the curtain. The authorities were always after him, but they'd never been able to connect all the dots. "Teak, thank you for this. How much do I owe you?" Teak waved him off as he always did. He wouldn't dream of charging West. They were family. He would however, appreciate a good night out in the city that never sleeps. Brazil was his home now, and he seldom ventured beyond the lazy comforts of his jungle palace.

"I never thought I'd say this man, but I'm tired of Brazilian girls." He did the sign of the cross on his chest, as if God might strike him for such blasphemy. West laughed shaking his head. "I'm serious man," Teak continued. "I want me a nice stuffy, jezzy, glasses and bangs, and her shirt buttoned to her bloody chin. You know what I mean brotha'? I wanna' work a bit, convince her to suck me off." West knew the perfect spot Uptown where the drinks were cheap and the girls feigned modesty, right up until you were fucking them in an alley. They would grab an eight ball and hit the pavement until the sun came up. Teak's face grew serious. "I don't know what you need this tracker for brother, but if you're in some kind of trouble, you should let me help." West nodded. He knew Teak would kill for him if need be, but he didn't want him getting involved. Teak had managed to fly under the radar for so long, and West didn't want to risk exposing him. Now Teak was intrigued. He thought West was done dabbling in illicit activity. "Oh, I need to hear it brother. Lay it on me."

West took a deep breath and asked, "Ever heard of an organization that leases hookers to the wealthy?" Teak nodded. There were tons of ops like that. It was big business. There were some that even employed has-been celebrities and models. Your favorite actress, who disappeared from the limelight, could very well be in Mumbai serving as a trained houseguest to a millionaire. "This one is known on the street as the Society of Names. Does that ring a bell?"

Teak thought for a moment, and then shook his head. "No brother, never heard of it. Sorry, I couldn't be more help." West was disheartened, but grateful to keep his friend out of it. Teak jumped up suddenly, and slammed his hand down on the counter. "Jesus, brother!" he exclaimed with a grimace of disgust. "I can't believe in a place as fancy as this, you still got cockroaches. Fuckin' New York City, eh? Let's get out of here. Let's get something to eat, too. I'm clammin' terrible." They'd been using the code since they were kids. Bugs, as in: it's not safe to talk here. They left their phones on the counter and headed out.

As soon as they got into the taxi, Teak tossed his composure out the window. "What the fuck have you gotten into man? Fuck's sake man!" He lowered his voice when he saw the cab driver eyeing them nervously. "Brother, tell me what the bloody hell is going on? These are dangerous people, man, Nazi government shit dat's over your head. I thought you was done with that life man." He wanted West to tell him everything, not a detail left out, but first, he had a story of his own. "You remember that African girl I was mad for? The one I was set on marryin'?"

How could West forget? Teak talked about her like she'd descended on a cloud. But what Teak never mentioned was how he met Bella, or whatever happened to her. Years ago, he had some business with a top ranking general of a country in central Africa. To thank him for his service, the general purchased a courtesan from the Society of Names to be Teak's companion for three months. Bella was beautiful and smart, and made Teak laugh. She spoke several languages, and was up for anything from samba to soccer. And the sex was mind blowing. Teak felt he'd found the perfect woman. Even his house staff was enchanted by Bella. When her contract was up she left, and Teak realized immediately he needed to get her back. Through the general, he secured another 6 months with Bella. This time though, he would ask her to stay with him for good. As far as he understood it, she could leave the job at any time. He had plenty of money, and she wouldn't want for anything. Teak was so excited about her return. He made sure the house was in order, and had the closets filled with new clothes and jewelry for her, but when Bella arrived, he knew something was wrong. There was an underlying sadness that only Teak seemed to notice. It was in the corners of her smile, the emptiness behind her eyes. "I thought maybe she'd found someone else," he said, taking a sip of whiskey. He and West had made their way to a dive bar on 10th Avenue. The sticky floors and torn leather booths made no difference to the kind of people that frequented the place. In the corner, a young man was getting a hand job from a woman old enough to be his grandmother. "She insisted everything was fine, said she wanted to be with me more than anything, but I knew something was off." Teak awoke one night to find Bella was no longer lying next to him. He called out for her, but there was no answer. A member of his security team told him she'd gone up to the deck to look at the stars. Teak quickly climbed the ladder in the living room to the rooftop. He was relieved to find her there gazing up at the sky. She was a vision dressed in white, the hem of her frock gently picked up by the breeze. He'd been worried for nothing. She turned around when she heard him behind her. She'd been crying.

"I started walkin' toward her, told her everything would be alright. But she was crazed, started yelling and screaming for me to stay away. Well, I couldn't brotha'. I just wanted to help her. She begged me not to take another step, said she couldn't fight it anymore, said they wanted her to kill me."

"What? Who would want her to kill you? The Society?"

"I don't know. I never got to ask. She jumped." Teak raced to the edge, grasping for her gown as it fluttered just seconds out of reach. He leaned over to see her body dashed on the rocks below. Several members of his security team heard the commotion, and had already made their way on to the roof. The doctor had been called, they said. Teak ran down to the beach. Bella was still breathing. It was faint, but she was still alive. He carefully scooped her into his arms. "Please Bella, hold on," he said, silently praying to whatever god listened to men like him. That's when he felt it, something hard protruding from the back of her neck. At first he dismissed it, thinking it was a piece of bone. He didn't want to see it. But when his fingers brushed it again, curiosity got the better of him. He gently turned her head and in the slivers of moonlight, could just make out what looked like an outlet. A flap of skin lay hanging from a piece of wire so thin, he could only feel it. What the bloody hell is that? he wondered.

Just then, Bella's attendant came running onto the beach and demanded that Teak get away from the body. "She's still our property sir. I'll need you to step away." His agency would not be pleased to know the body had been disturbed. Someone would be there shortly to claim it. Teak refused. Bella was still alive and he was going to stay with her until the doctor arrived.

"Sir," the boy appealed, "look where we are, out in the middle of nowhere. Your doctor won't get here in time. She'll be much better served by the agency. They'll be here in a few minutes. It's her only chance, but I need you to move away from her body, and make sure your security doesn't interfere."

As much as it pained him, Teak obeyed the request. He kissed Bella once more, and moved a few feet away. Her attendant leaned over her body and checked her pulse. The look on the boy's face said it all. She was gone. When the helicopter appeared on the horizon, Teak walked back up the rocky path to the house, and didn't look back. "It killed me, brother. Broke my heart, man. And worse, I didn't even have time for a proper mourning." Teak was haunted by Bella's last words. Who wanted her to kill him? Were they just the ramblings of a disturbed woman or had someone actually infiltrated his organization? He couldn't be too careful. Less than an hour after the incident, he abandoned his beachfront mansion. If someone was after him, he wasn't going to be a sitting duck. "I moved around a bit, but Brazil seemed to fit me, know what I mean?" He winked at West, then banged his glass on the table signaling the greasy waitress to fetch them another round. The bartender shook the girl out of an opiate stupor, and she sleepily rose from the barstool to tend to her few customers. Teak never told anyone what Bella said before she died, or about the strange embed in her skin. "I fucked that girl three times a day brother, and I ain't never noticed nothing like that before. What was that thing? Was she a bloody robot, one of those android people? I don't know, but there's something deep going on with these people brother, and whoever's covering their tracks is a pro. I looked all over the dark net and nothing. Anybody that's heard of 'em, don't know enough to be useful. And that African general business, it was all a set up. He wouldn't talk none, and I was so angry over losing Bella, I turned him over to the China Doll. Told her he runs a toddler prostitution ring." West raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, it was bad brother. She went all Hannibal Lecter on him, starving him and serving him his own legs. I almost felt bad. Where the fuck did she get that name anyway? China Doll. She's a monster, and she's not even Chinese. Anyway, I don't know how far up the food chain this goes, but you need to be prepared. You can't just shut your minces and follow Alice down the rabbit hole. I wouldn't go back to your apartment until you sweep it, mate. Maybe not even then. And if you're planning on using the tracker to tail somebody into that place, it won't work." Teak tossed back the last of his drink and threw a fistful of bills on the grimy wooden table. "So let's hear it brother. What the hell is you mixed up in?"

I never went back to the lot out of fear of running into Dylan. With my address change came a relentless stalker named YiYi Cash, a gorgeous Asian woman in her thirties with long legs and a sarcastic wit. She had an affinity for high fashion and higher heels. Any interaction with her of even conversational distance, always left the other party covered in some kind of sparkly residue. Did she sweat bronzer and glitter? What was strange though, was how often I'd run into her. My schedule was extremely unpredictable. Sometimes I didn't know where I'd be in the next hour, let alone the next day. Just for a moment, I let myself wonder if she was following me, but that was ridiculous. Why on earth would she be following me? I was sitting on a park bench lost in my thoughts, when I heard the familiar click, click, click of stilettos on the uneven pavement. "Scoot vermin!" she hissed at the other seated occupants, waving her manicured fingers dismissively.

I felt vindicated. Initially when I'd sat down, those very people made a big show of sliding down the bench as far as possible. I'd be lying if I said it didn't hurt my feelings. I looked relatively clean. I'd showered that day, but somehow they knew I was not one of them, and they wanted me to feel it. "Hi beautiful," she cooed, giving me a smooch on the cheek. "I brought you something." On her lap was a pink box with a white bow. It was a cupcake from one of the city's most decadent bakeries. I thanked her and she patted her cheek indicating the required payment. I leaned over to oblige, and she turned her head at the last second so that my kiss landed on her lips. I rolled my eyes, but she knew I found her immature antics amusing.

She looked pleased as I inhaled the treat. "God, you're so pretty," she purred, wiping frosting from my mouth and sucking it off of her finger. She wound her fingers into my hair, and began softly pulling at the curls and watching them spring back into place. She was hypnotized by this little game and played it often. Wasn't it interesting she remarked once, how my hair looked so chaotic from afar, but up close there was order and a repetition of shapes.

As I got to know YiYi, I realized I'd misjudged her. She was actually very smart, and she looked at the world differently from anyone else I'd ever met. Whenever I pressed her about it, she would clam up, or claim not to know what I was talking about. It didn't matter. I didn't want to drive her away. Her visits meant so much to me. The way she treated me made me feel like I wasn't completely invisible. In spite of her glitzy appearance, I could tell she'd had a rough ride. How else could she feel so comfortable spending time with me like she did? After we chatted for a bit, she asked me out to dinner, just as she'd been doing for months. I declined, just as I'd been doing for months. This time I had a good reason. Myra had a clinic appointment and needed me to come along, and would expect me to spend the rest of the day with her. What did YiYi want with me anyway? I wasn't in a position to be in a relationship with anyone. Completely unfazed by the rejection, YiYi hugged me and promised to see me soon. She would win me over eventually, she said. When I went to sleep that night, I could still smell her perfume on my jacket.

Thanks to a kid I ran into at a hostel one night, I'd learned a new scheme to make some extra money. I would make collages from magazines, frame them, and sell them for five or six bucks each. There were old magazines everywhere, usually bundled up for recycling outside of the upscale brownstones around the city. I got the frames from thrift stores and even the fancy ones were less than fifty cents. The tourists went crazy over these street crafts, and they were fun to make. Today I set up on 82nd street near the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I'd fashioned a nice looking table out of some crates and curtains I'd found in a dumpster behind the dollar store. I sat down behind it, and laid all of my materials out for my little project. It would be several hours before the traffic picked up. Someone came up behind me and covered my eyes. "Guess who?" Of course I knew from the voice that it was YiYi. How on earth did she know where to find me? She could've asked one of those mouthy kids at the park I frequented. For ten bucks, they'd tell a murderer where I was hiding out. I still don't know how she managed to sneak up silently in the pair of shoes she had on that day. They were towering platforms with little bells at the ankles. "Hey babe," she gushed, placing her handbag onto the ground beside me and using it as a seat. It was quite large and much sturdier than I expected. But I guess a thousand dollar purse had better be more than just a place to store your lipstick. She asked me what I was doing and after I'd explained it, she wanted to help. It was so weird, us sitting there like two children in art class. She was very thoughtful about it, taking great care in choosing her pictures and making sure the scissors left no stray edges. She moved quickly though, with a methodical rhythm, almost like a robot. When we were done, she'd made twelve collages to my four. Mine were nice, but hers were remarkable. She'd arranged the colors so that the hues rose and fell in gradation. Amid the various pictures were patterns within patterns, and then, each one told a story. It was wild. "Are you an artist or something?" "Hardly," she scoffed. I picked up one of her collages to study it further. The scene depicted a fire-breathing dragon wreaking havoc on a tiny town. It was so intricate that I could easily get thirty bucks for it. Why was she acting like it was no big deal? YiYi was always plying me with questions, but would answer very few of mine. I felt so close to her, yet I knew so little about her. "Why don't we ever talk about you? What are you hiding?" "Well, I was trying to preserve a little mystery for the honeymoon." She got me to laugh, but I wasn't letting her off the hook this time. I wanted to know more. She thought for a moment and then replied, "Ok, we can talk about me if you answer one question truthfully. Don't think about it. Just say the first thing that comes to mind. Do you like me as more than a friend?" The 'yes' rolled off my lips instantaneously. I tried to say more, but YiYi placed her finger over my mouth. She wasn't interested in hearing more than she wanted to. "So where should I start, babe? Like, do you want to hear how it was for me inside the womb or should I skip ahead a bit?" I rolled my eyes. "Come on. Be serious. Do you have siblings? Did you go to college? Stuff like that. Or, I don't know, something interesting about your life." "Something interesting. Well, I did used to be a school teacher. No one ever expects that."

Everyone always remarked on how incredibly smart the Cash girls were. Even as children, they exhibited signs of cognitive development well beyond their years. The oldest, Ming, learned to read when she was just two years old and her sister was not far behind. Before they reached school age, they'd created their own language, which they used to hold private conversations in front of people. Their parents dismissed it as gibberish at first, but when they realized the girls were actually communicating, they became irritated that adults should be excluded from something by children. "Knock that shit off or I'll knock some teeth loose!" Mr. Cash would yell. The girls would hush instantly, knowing he would not hesitate to beat them bloody. Their intelligence was of no value in their household, until that is, their father figured out the ways he could exploit it.

Ming had a photographic memory. She could see an image for only a few seconds and recall even the smallest details. "Ming, we're going in this store ok? You understand what daddy wants you to do, don't you?" The little girl nodded, excited to be of use to her father and for once, win his favor. He took her by the hand and they walked into the Pierra jewelry store on a Sunday afternoon. Mr. Cash chatted congenially with the sales associate, while his daughter surveyed her surroundings. When they returned home, she sat with Mr. Druggar, one of her father's accomplices, to create a sketch of everything she saw. The result was an exact replica of the store's interior down to the color of the guard's shoes. "Fucking unreal, Alan!" Mr. Druggar exclaimed, his eyes lighting up as he thought of the endless possibilities now within reach. The first jewelry store robbery went off without a hitch. Mr. Cash felt like he'd found the goose that laid golden eggs.

The value in YiYi's skill was not as easily recognizable. In fact, it seemed rather strange at first. She had an obsession with patterns, looking for them in everything from people's behavior to the changing street lights. Mr. Cash soon realized that she could analyze information, find consistencies and make predictions. Her mind worked at lightning speed gathering data, mentally rearranging the pieces over and over to see if some profound truth emerged. It was merely logic, but on a scale so vast, no one could keep up with it. When Mr. Cash saw how his youngest daughter's talent could benefit him, they became a staple at the track. He would feed the child information about the horses, the riders and the track, and like a computer, she would spit out the names of the winners. They made a small fortune and her father showered her with affection. It was impressive how often she was right, but when she was wrong, her father would deliver the cruelest of punishments. He knew YiYi did not fear beatings, even with a closed fist. There were times when the girl did not shed a tear. Instead he would lock her sister Ming in the closet for days at a time. To know that her sister was being penalized because she'd failed, crushed her more than physical abuse ever could. When no one was around, YiYi would sit outside the closet door crying and talking to Ming. Sometimes she would shine a light under the door, trying to provide just a few minutes of comfort to her sister. "Ming, I'm so sorry. I messed up," she would say, but Ming was never angry at YiYi. She knew it wasn't her fault, but that of the monster who was supposed to protect them.

After high school, YiYi was invited by some of the top universities in the country to join the cult of higher learning. She accepted a free ride to Harvard, but quickly felt out of place. She didn't fit in with the mechanized stuffed shirts or the libertarians or the freaks. And for all of their intellect, she found them dangerously ignorant of people and the world. They delighted in organizing events to hear themselves talk, passionately persuading audiences who already agreed with them. Locked in their tower of books, they were the new elitists. After a year, she transferred to Queens College to complete her studies. All that was left was to figure out what to do with her shiny new math degree. She didn't need money. She'd been working as a dominatrix since she was seventeen, and did well for herself. She had no intention of quitting, but she was searching for something more challenging. Ming suggested teaching. There was an alternative program that would allow YiYi to be in a classroom in less than a year. They were usually high-need, inner city schools--- just the kind of environment the girls had been educated in. Who knew her better than her big sister? YiYi loved the job and the children adored her. Everything was going fine, until she met Adele Williams, the sexiest thing since pushup bras and plunging necklines. YiYi went stupid over her, abandoning all reason. She didn't know Adele was the wife of Jackson Williams, a big shot on the board of education. When he found out his wife was having an affair, with a woman no less, things went bad. Really bad. That was the end of YiYi's teaching career. No matter. She'd been neglecting her clients anyway.

As YiYi waited for the elevator in the lobby of her apartment building, she began to feel a bit queasy. "Are you ok Ms. Cash?" the doorman asked, noticing her struggling to keep her balance. "Should I call an ambulance?" He stood up and rushed to her side. "No, no, Nick, I'm ok. Thank you, though." She was relieved when the doors closed between them. As she stepped out onto her floor, she was suddenly struck by an excruciating pain in her temple. She dropped to her knees, clutching her head in agony. The pain grew worse. It felt as if razor blades were pinballing around her skull. A blur of strange images flashed in her mind and then, everything went black. When she came to, she was lying in a hospital bed. The nurse, an older man with a bald head and no eyebrows, was adjusting her IV. He smiled when he saw she was awake. "Hello, hello, hello," he said cheerfully. "You're up. That's good. How are you feeling?" She was fine. Tired, but fine. The nurse removed a pen from his shirt pocket, clicked it three times and scribbled something on YiYi's chart. He clicked it three more times before putting it away. "Good, good, good," he said. "The doctor will be in shortly. Your friend has been waiting here." The nurse helped her sit up. Her head was still sore. She must have hit it pretty hard. "Now make sure you take it easy Ms. Cash. Easy, easy, easy. I'll send him in."

The incomparable West Aldale came strolling in flashing his dreamy, daytime soap opera smile. YiYi was so happy to see him. "How long have I been out this time?" "Just a few hours. I found you outside of the elevator and the doorman said you'd just gone up." YiYi's headaches began months ago, and no one could figure out what was causing them. The final diagnosis was stress, but YiYi knew that was bullshit. Stress didn't explain the flood of images she would see during the episodes. She started keeping a diary of the things she saw. Either one day it would make sense, or it would serve as a journal chronicling her descent into madness.

What she feared most was a tumor. No matter how many clear scans the doctors showed her, it was still in the forefront of her mind as a possibility. When she was only ten, her father was diagnosed with brain cancer and given a 40% chance of survival. She remembered his debilitating headaches, and the strange visions and auditory hallucinations that threatened his sanity. At one point during one of their tense family dinners, he told his wife that he could hear the voice of God. The diagnosis almost came as a relief to him, because it confirmed that he wasn't going crazy. Gazing upon his shrunken figure day after day, and watching the disease eat away at him nearly stirred YiYi and Ming to pity, but not quite. They wondered what would happen if he died. Was it worse to be subjected to his abuse, or their mother's bird-brained incompetence?

West poured her a cup of water and held it to her lips. "Drink love. I'm sure you're dehydrated by now." He sat down on the bed and could feel something hard beneath the blankets. He pulled up the covers and saw that she was still wearing her favorite boots. They featured a unique chain and lock mechanism, which was impossible to remove without the key. The hospital staff must have given up trying to get them off. The key still dangled from a bracelet around YiYi's wrist. He ran his hand over the smooth suede, and marveled at how this woman was just so damn sexy. Even now with a bandage across her head, and tubes sticking out of her arms, she was a goddess. He laughed to himself, imagining what the nurses must have thought when she arrived wearing those boots and that huge hat. She definitely made an impression on people. They often judged her harshly, but they were wrong. She was kind, loving and brilliant. He loved to watch her mind work. He kissed her on the cheek, and said he would be there in the morning before she was discharged. She knew that when she got home, she could look forward to being pampered. West would run a bubble bath for her, ply her with wine, and massage her feet until she fell asleep. Their lives would be a fairytale romance, if only she had the desire to fuck him. It's not that she would mind sleeping with a man. She was sure it was fine, and West was undeniably attractive, but she didn't want her sexual experiences to be 'fine'. She wanted mind blowing, heart-stopping, leg shaking lust. She refused to be cheated out of that, and didn't want to cheat anyone else out of it either.

"One more thing before you go West. Would you get my notebook out of my purse? I want to write down what I saw this time, before I forget." He handed her the prized possession she often referred to as her laptop, and inquired as to whether she'd established any meaning from the visions yet. She hesitated. It sounded crazy, but she was beginning to think it was some kind of puzzle. If anyone would believe her, it would be West, the ultimate sidekick. Their relationship was... unusual to say the least. Most people probably wouldn't understand it. West glanced over her shoulder as she flipped through the pages. There were dozens of drawings, detailed scenes, smatterings of numbers and letters, and strange symbols. Some images appeared over and over, specifically, a sketch of some kind of wolf or dog, and a cluster of triangles. "You actually see something in this?" he asked, his eyebrows knitted together in bewilderment. "Not quite", she mumbled, "but it's coming together."

# CHAPTER 8

Labor Day weekend in Manhattan was a unique experience. Everyone was out of the city to indulge in a last hurrah before school was back in session, and there was an otherworldly calm to the normally hectic landscape. I sat on the steps in front of Madison Square Garden, typically a droning conveyor belt of people and vehicles, and thumbed through a National Geographic someone had recently discarded. The thing no one ever mentions about being homeless is how difficult it is to find things to occupy your time. I had a job, but it was only a few days a week. I'd been wasting a bunch of money on stupid shit lately, probably out of boredom. The Library and the Met were my favorite hangouts since they were amazing and practically free, but they were closed today. Central Park was huge and buzzing with all sorts of free entertainment. There were concerts, marathons, plays, and a variety of talented street performers. I could usually be found dancing at the drum circles. But the park would be pretty empty today too. No matter. I would never tire of window shopping and sightseeing. "Excuse me, Miss?" A kindly faced older Black man had approached me wearing a sweater and a very dapper, flat- brimmed hat. Without a word I extended a lighter to him. That's what people around Madison Square Garden usually wanted, that or directions, and he didn't look like a tourist. He politely declined the lighter, and instead, inquired about the old woman he'd seen me with a few times. I knew he was talking about Myra, but I wasn't just going to give out information to a stranger. "I've seen you around here with her several times," he insisted. "I'm her son-in-law." I felt my eyes grow to the size of half dollars, but I still didn't say anything. Frustrated, he said, "Look, would you just give her a message for me? Please? Tell her Johnny said she has to stop punishing herself. It's time to come home." He told me he would have approached her himself, but he thought Myra might make a scene to get away from him. Yeah, I could definitely see Myra yelling 'Rape!', or something crazy like that, since she couldn't outrun him. Johnny bid me good day and walked down into Penn Station. Myra was very secretive about her past, but surely this would be good news to her. Her family wasn't angry at her, and they wanted her back in their lives.

Penn Station is a pretty big travel hub. Although Myra was inside, she was on the opposite end, which was about a block away. Every Sunday, a bakery located near the New Jersey Transit gave away its old food to the needy, and Myra made sure she was always first in line. I was so excited that I ran the entire way at top speed. I hoped she was still there because if she wasn't, I couldn't exactly call her cell. Even though Myra had a pretty set routine, I didn't, so it was possible we might not see each other for days at a time. "I don't need nobody keepin' tabs on me Miss America! I'll do the tab keepin' on you," she fussed one day, when I innocently asked where she'd been. When I got to the entrance on 8th Avenue, I was disappointed that the only people left were a tweaked out couple named Frankie and Tina, who were busy campaigning for the coveted crack head of the year award. They were already in the zone, complete with cardboard hats and an audience of intrigued tourists. I knew better than to ask them if they'd seen Myra. Then I heard my name being called from a distance. No one else called me Miss America. I looked across the street and saw her on the steps of the post office. She sat down whenever possible on account of the bum leg. When I got over to her, she handed me a huge paper shopping bag full of breads and sandwiches and pastries. Oh my God, it was like a Christmas-anniversa-birthary! I sat down and started digging in, while I told her all about the visit from Johnny. "Isn't that great Myra? You can go back home!" I went on and on about how I didn't know she had any kids, let alone a son-in-law. I was so busy stuffing my face, I didn't realize Myra had gone silent. She'd even stopped eating. I mean, this was a woman who could enjoy a meal while being waterboarded. She sat as still as a statue, staring straight ahead with her shoulders back and her hands neatly in her lap. She looked so beautiful, so regal. And then, out of nowhere, she confessed that she'd gotten hit by a car on purpose. She'd been trying to end her life. Her words tumbled out quickly, and did not match her tone or posture, as if someone was speaking through her. "I killed my grandson. It was an accident. Don't wanna' go back home. Don't want nobody's forgiveness." My eyes filled up with tears, but I did not move or say a word. There was nothing a mortal could do to relieve that kind of suffering. I hoped Myra could feel my spirit mourning with her, for her. The city seemed so much bigger with no one in it, and her words filled up the void.

I was still spending too much money. Probably because YiYi showered me with it every time she saw me. I knew better. Winter would be here again soon, and I would want to spend the coldest nights in a hostel, not on the street. If I'd saved everything I'd made like I intended, I'd already be in my own place. But you know how it is. Sometimes you just want to treat yourself. I'd been treating myself a lot, to everything from ice cream to new shoes. But that wasn't the real drain on my finances. I'd become friends, if you could even call it that, with a few kids my age, and they had become accustomed to me having money. I knew they were only using me, but sometimes I got lonely and their company was better than nothing. They usually needed my money to buy drugs, which was fine by me. Nothing like a good high to stave off the boredom. But no more crack. If that night with the gin-soaked rapist taught me anything, it's that crack and good fortune do not mix. I had to go Uptown to my P.O. Box to get some more cash, and a boy called Fat Patty offered to accompany me. Just fucking great. He wasn't fat in the least, but I never cared enough to ask the real reason for the nickname. It was probably something sexual. He was so creepy. He would stare at me constantly and never say anything, no emotion in his serial killer eyes. There was a rumor going around one of the hostels that he stole women's used underwear. I didn't find it hard to believe. The subway ride seemed so long with his big, dull eyes boring holes through me. I didn't know if he wanted to fuck me, or cut me up and put me in a soup. Or both. After I grabbed some cash, I started to head back downstairs to the subway, but Fat Patty grabbed my arm to stop me. He wanted to walk. "Why would we walk, Fat? Everyone's waiting on us." He stood his ground and we began a fifty block journey downtown. I really wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, but he was the only one who could score decent drugs. The rest of us would end up overpaying for some triple cut crap that resulted in a headache and the shits. At least it was a nice day, and I didn't mind the exercise. I just wanted him to pick up the friggin' pace. As we trudged along, I got a strange feeling. I kept stealing glances at his reflection in the storefront windows we passed. Something was amiss. His head was usually buried between his shoulders, and his swift, clodding gait would reel him so far forward, he always seemed seconds from toppling over. But now his head bobbed about like it was on a swivel, and his large eyes vigilantly searched the surroundings. "I need to pee. Wait here," he grunted in a smash of syllables. We'd made it over to the West Side and were near Port Authority. The street was swimming with people. I hate crowds. "Fine," I growled, and propped myself up against a pole in front of the Duane Reade drug store. "I'll be right here, I guess." About ten minutes later, Fat still hadn't come out. How long does it take for a boy to take a leak? I was getting antsy. I was going to wait another five minutes and that would be that. Just then, a kid on a skateboard whizzed by and knocked me to the ground. "Asshole!" I yelled, as he sped down the sidewalk. An older woman rushed to my side to see if I was all right. "I'm fine ma'am, thank you," I said, dusting myself off. Where the fuck was Fat? What was taking him so long? Maybe he'd been lured by a stranger with candy. Everyone knew the bathrooms in Port Authority were rife with middle aged men looking to be glory holed. Fat was totally the type to keep everyone waiting while he got his dick sucked. I don't know exactly what made me reach for my necklace-- instinct maybe-- but I did, and it wasn't there. The truth hit fast. The skateboard kid snatched my necklace. Fat Patty wasn't coming back. I'd been set up. The events from the day played in my head on a loop. How could I have been so stupid? How many of the others had been in on it? The worst part was that I couldn't do anything about it. I didn't have anyone on my side. If I confronted them, they'd just deny it. I'd busted my ass to save that money. I was so angry and I felt so violated. Thinking about hurting them was the only thing that made me feel better. As I walked, I started formulating a plan of how I would pay them back. I was patient. I could wait a long time to get revenge. I could act like everything was fine, and wait until we all got chummy again, then buy a bunch of drugs for everyone, leave, and call the police. That would really fix those sons of bitches. As I approached 23d Street, I saw a familiar face at the corner. It was YiYi sitting on top of a newspaper dispenser, scrolling through one of her many phones. What was she doing there? When she saw me, a huge smile spread across her face and she hopped down. "Hey sexy Lexi. Did you miss me?" She kissed me on the cheek, letting her lips meander down my neck. My discomfort was obvious. "Aww, what's wrong? Did you lose something important? Maybe this?" She held up my necklace with the P.O. Box key still attached. I couldn't believe it. "Where did you get that? How?" She was in a taxi she said, when she saw my encounter with the skateboard kid, so she had the cab driver follow him. When they were stopped at a light, she called the boy over and asked him if he wanted a free hand job. "He actually fell for that?" I asked. She flipped her hair to the side. "Look at me, honey. I could get the president to commit treason. A teenage boy doesn't stand a chance." Once he got in the cab, she threatened him with a tazer. He spilled his guts and gave her back the pilfered article. "And you just happened to be driving by when I was getting robbed?" It was a hell of a coincidence, but I guess I got lucky.

In the back room of a laundromat in Queens, Katia Saulveil sat behind a large desk feeding cash into a counting machine. She was the bookkeeper of sorts for a mediocre crime boss, who also happened to be her future husband. The laundromat was a hub where money was picked up, dropped off, counted and bundled for several illegal operations. Just beyond the door was another locked room, where a plain clothes guard named George stood strapped and ready to take out any threat to Katia. Should he find himself in an overwhelming situation, a panic switch was carefully concealed just within reach. When activated, a fleet of officers was guaranteed to arrive in minutes. Eyebrows raised when YiYi Cash waltzed through the door of this laundromat in a leather romper, black Chanel shades, and an arm full of gold bangles. She stomped toward the back, her pumps making a popping sound against the linoleum reminiscent of the carriage horses in Central Park. She certainly wasn't there to do laundry.

Seeing where she was headed, the manager, a short, portly Hispanic man named Rafael, jumped in her path with his bravest face. He asked her if there was anything he could do for her. They had been robbed last year after an old man came in pretending to be hurt. Everyone got distracted, including George, and the next thing you know, the place was overrun by robbers. Two people were killed, Katia was beaten up, and every dollar in the building was taken. George had never forgiven himself for allowing that to happen. Now he had an itchy trigger finger, and would not hesitate to shoot anyone who even thought of heading to that back room unannounced. Rafael was in a constant state of panic about someone getting hurt unnecessarily, which made him as jittery as a ferret on an eight ball. YiYi lowered her glasses to reveal ocean colored contacts, her eyes rimmed and re-rimmed with black liner. She looked him up and down, pushed her shades back up her nose, and continued on her way. "Miss!" Rafael pleaded. "Wait!" His short legs scrambled to catch up with her, unsure of exactly what he would do when he did. In a last ditch effort, he grabbed onto her purse to slow her down. She snatched it from him and began hitting the little man over the head with it. George, observing all of this on the surveillance monitor, could hardly breathe from laughing so hard. He knew YiYi would be coming by, but no one had told poor Rafael. "It's ok buddy. She's good," George piped over the intercom, barely able to contain himself. He hit the buzzer, and YiYi sashayed in as if she herself owned the place.

"Hi Georgy Porgy," she said seductively, blowing him a kiss from strawberry colored lips.

"Hey baby doll," he said with a huge grin.

She was immediately taken by his flashy, new wrist candy, and pulled down her shades for a better look. "My, my, my. That's very grown and sexy, Georgy."

He held up his arm so she could get a better look. "Ain't it a beaut? Jaeger- LeCoultre. Even used, it's worth more than my car. Everybody's got their vice. I like watches. Tell me baby doll, do I gotta' a chance with you yet, or you still a vagitarian?"

She winked at him and replied, "You know you can't keep a body like this without a strict diet." He chuckled to himself as he buzzed her into the next room. She'd always been such a clever girl.

Katia and YiYi had become close when they were still teenagers, training to be dominas for a member's only club called Temple. The last time they'd seen each other was at Katia's baby shower. During the party, YiYi suffered one of her migraines, and ended up in the hospital. She told Katia about the one she'd had a few days ago. She didn't mention the visions, though. YiYi gave her a peck on the cheek and sat down. "Wow. Your hair looks so healthy and shiny. What'd you do to it?"

Katia tossed her head about like a model in a Pantene commercial. "It's called Pregnancy Hair. One of the better side effects. Pregnancy Ass is the one I'm having a hard time with. And by the way, you and West did not have to buy all that stuff. This baby is going to be so spoiled."

"But he has to know how much Auntie YiYi wuvs him."

"I don't know who's worse, you two or George. Wait til you see how he decorated the nursery. You're gonna die."

YiYi groaned. She knew George was a Trekkie. "Oh Jesus. Is it Star Trek? Does it look like the bridge of the USS Enterprise? Do the baby monitors look like communicators?"

"Oh, you know he tried, but we compromised with a generic space theme. It's really beautiful Yi, tasteful. You'll be surprised. There are planets and constellations and shooting stars. He did sneak in some Star Trek pillows he found on Etsy, but they're so damn cute, I let it go. I'm so excited Yi, about the baby, about my life with Joey. None of it would've happened without George."

When Katia found out she was pregnant, she had no intention of keeping it. She'd never been the motherly type, and had no interest in raising a kid with a wannabe gangster for a father. But George pushed her to reconsider, and pushed some more. And then, pushed some more. She would regret giving up the baby, he said, and Joe was actually a nice guy, the kind who'd take care of his family and come home every night. He was a decent man, one he would let his own daughter date. The girls caught up for a bit longer, and could have spent the whole night talking, but unfortunately, this wasn't a social visit. Katia reached into the desk drawer and retrieved a small, black jewelry box with a raised seal. She handed it to YiYi, who held her breath as she flipped open the lid. She picked up the object inside, turning it over for inspection. There was an inscription on it that read: vous avez été choisi.

YiYi thanked Katia. She understood the full weight of this gesture. She was giving up her security blanket, her exit plan in case her life suddenly went to shit. Women like them knew all too well how quickly things could go to shit. But Katia was more than happy to help the friend who had been there for her through the worst of times, and she knew YiYi had exhausted all other resources before coming to her. She had scoured the darkest regions of the underground sex circuit, gone to the police, and even the FBI. No one gave a damn about another missing hooker, nor did they know anything about an organization called the Society of Names. Katia opened the desk drawer once more and pulled out an envelope containing copies of her ID and passport, and detailed instructions of how to proceed. The next induction was in a few months.

"And you're sure this girl can pass for me? 'Cause if they suspect for a second she's not me, she'll be ditched on the side of the road somewhere."

YiYi nodded. "Oh god yeah. Carbon-fucking-copy. It's uncanny. She looks more like you than you do. She's young though, like friggin' twenty."

Katia saw a familiar look in her friend's eyes, and couldn't help but tease her about this girl being a potential love interest. YiYi begged her to stop, slipping on her shades to cover her reddening face. She did not like to be teased. Yes, she liked the girl but this was just business. "Her name's Alexia, and she'll be making out like a fat cat on this deal, bitch, so whatever."

Katia rubbed her swollen belly thoughtfully and said, "You here that honey? Auntie YiYi's girlfriend is named Alexia."

YiYi could not hide her smile. The two women embraced warmly before they departed, and YiYi promised to call her soon. She leaned down and spoke into Katia's belly, telling the little boy to remember her voice. As she exited the laundromat onto the bustling sidewalk, there was a gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach. Was she doing the right thing? She thought of the cryptic message she'd received that prompted her to immediately vacate her one bedroom flat in the East Village. A note was slipped under her door which read: "We do not have any knowledge as to the whereabouts of the person in question. We respectfully request that you cease pursuit into our affairs at once." It was a thinly veiled threat. She hadn't even been able to establish contact with anyone from the Society, but somehow, word got back to whomever that she'd been snooping around. That very day she packed up everything and moved. There was only one place she could think of where they wouldn't expect her to be.

YiYi had just spent a long, grueling day at the studio doling out punishments and beguiling play to the city's most deserving slaves. People often confused dominas with prostitutes and this irritated her. Not that she was against prostitution, but the two services were very different. She had an intimate bond with her clients, one that did not rely on sex for validity. They both loved and feared her, and were honored to simply be in her presence. On the rare occasion they were permitted to touch her boots or (gasp!) her hand, they would have to be peeled from the rafters. The power she held over them was in the desire, not the satisfying of it. For them, she would always be the forbidden fruit.

She opened the door to her apartment, and tossed her keys on the counter. She was looking forward to some lush pampering at the hands of her personal servant. "Come to mama, baby!" she called, letting her vintage trench slip from her shoulders and onto the floor. Her man-pet bounded into the room on his hands and knees, decked out in full regalia. He whimpered like a dog, and nuzzled his head against her thigh. He handed her his leash and crawled to the couch with her in tow. Once she'd gotten comfortable, he slipped off her snakeskin pumps and massaged her tired, aching feet. Her moaning was too much for him, and he could not resist sliding one of her toes into his mouth. He knew the penalty for such behavior, and was not surprised when a jolt of electricity hit his balls. Another jolt sent him scampering behind the couch as though he could outrun the device firmly clamped around his manhood. He heard the tick, tick, tick of the dial as YiYi increased the output on the control, a sound he knew all too well. He was filled with a mixture of fear and delight. Would his mistress deliver yet another cruel surge, or would she be merciful? His answer came in a sharp zap that nearly made him piss himself. She laughed when she heard him yelp.

"Come here!" she demanded. He crawled out from behind the couch and knelt before her with his head bowed, his manhood growing harder by the second. "Closer! Or this dial goes to thirty." He scrambled forward immediately, because a zap at level thirty was like being tased. She grabbed his collar and pulled him forward until they were just inches apart. She smelled like strawberries. He wanted so badly to kiss her lips, just once would be enough.

"Know. Your. Place. Do you understand?"

"Yes, yes, Mistress" he stammered.

She leaned back onto the couch, eyeing him seductively as she slowly unbuttoned her dress. It was like nourishment to him. Why did she have this control over him, and why didn't he want to be freed? The desire was intoxicating and he feared losing it. Her hands traveled down her stomach and settled beneath her panties. He only wished it were his hand strumming and frolicking inside of her. He could see the imprint of her knuckles through the fabric, as she worked to satisfy herself, the curved belly fluttering slightly. He reached for himself, timidly at first, fearing his mistress would protest. When she did not, he began pleasuring himself with both hands. She closed her eyes and spread her legs wide, as she plunged her fingers deeper. He had never been allowed such a liberty, and wanted to savor every second. The sound of her breath filled his ears. The blush of her cheek was more beautiful than any bloom. He could finish at any moment, but he had to wait for his mistress. Her head fell back and her hand gripped the edge of the couch. Yes, he thought, give yourself to me. Just when she should have been approaching the finale, she stopped, sat up, and began buttoning her dress. His eyes became like saucers as he watched his mistress get dressed and fix her hair. His cock was still hard enough to hit a home run. This wasn't fair.

"What are you doing?" he exclaimed, instantly regretting the words as soon as they'd hit the air.

"What the fuck did you just say to me?" She stood up. "Did you just ask me what I was doing!" Her voice thundered through the apartment. The anticipation was building. He knew he was in for a terrible treat.

"It seems you truly have forgotten your place. I'm going to have to remind you. Go to your room and prepare my tools." He could hardly contain himself, as he ambled down the hall. What exquisite discipline did she have in store for him this time? Choking? Piss play? Orgasm denial? Once, she had taken him to the brink seven times before allowing him to relieve himself. He started humming a tune as he laid out the plastic mat. He opened the closet where the instruments of pleasure and pain were meticulously displayed.

"West!" YiYi called from the living room.

No, no, no! Damn it! he fumed to himself. Playtime was over. She only called him West when... well, when she needed West. He could tell by her tone it was serious, but he couldn't hide his disappointment as he made his way back to the living room.

"Aww, I know sweetie. I promise I'll make it up to you later. It'll be worth the wait." This provided a mild comfort to him, and he sat down on the couch beside her where she was thumbing through her treasured notebook. "I've found something, West. You're not going to believe it."

No, what he couldn't believe was how she'd made the jump from domination role play, to studying the riddles in her notebook, but this was a byproduct of her genius. Her mind just went. It was part of the reason he loved her. She turned the book toward him as if he could possibly understand the mess of hieroglyphs. She began to explain as simply as she could, why she thought Ming was communicating with her. Telepathically. The images she was receiving during the headaches were her brains attempt at interpreting the information Ming was sending. The problem now, was cracking the code her own brain had created. West didn't doubt what she was saying. She told him once of an incident that happened when she was a child. She had somehow read Ming's mind and learned about her intentions to murder their parents.

"So all you need to do now, is figure out what your subconscious was thinking when it translated these... symbols? Is that it?"

"Precisely!" YiYi exclaimed, jabbing her pencil on the paper for emphasis. "I was looking out the window thinking about a creative punishment for you, when I started noticing the shapes of the buildings, and it made me think about one of the images." She was excited now, and the words were trampling one another in an attempt to be heard. She pointed to a picture in the notebook which to West, looked like a bar graph. Thin rectangular slivers of varying heights jutted out into nothing. Underneath it were dozens of tiny arrows drawn so closely together, they resembled a rudimentary depiction of snow falling. She searched his face for proof that he could see it, just as she could.

"Love, I'm afraid I don't get it. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to see."

She sighed, not out of irritation, but out of the fear that maybe there was nothing to see. Maybe she was forcing a meaning where there wasn't one. It was something she did often, searching for patterns in the most mundane occurrences. It was called apophenia, a condition seen as evidence of psychosis. West knew what she was thinking. "Come on love, don't stop. Help me see what you see. I know you, YiYi. You're not crazy. You're brilliant." He put his hand on hers. He always gave her the confidence she needed.

She returned to the notebook. "See? I think this one's supposed to be the New York City skyline."

West stared at the page for a moment, and then began nodding his head. "Bloody hell. It is the skyline isn't it? It looks like one of those silhouettes you see on cheesy souvenirs. Wow."

YiYi threw her arms around him and squealed with excitement. West was enjoying the embrace a little too much. No, a lot too much. "Christ. Really, West?"

He shrugged his shoulders and suggested they get back on task. "What about these little arrows under the skyline? They're pointing in all different directions."

"Right. They cancel each other out, meaning the object is stationary. Ok, bear with me now, but I think Ming is telling me she's still in New York, or at least in the tristate area."

West raised his eyebrows. Any rumors he'd heard about the Society of Names reported it in some exotic locale-- islands off the coast of this and that, a remote part of the rain forest-- not Manhattan. To think that it was right here under their noses seemed altogether improbable. "How could it remain hidden for so long in a city like this? Someone would have noticed something."

"True," YiYi agreed, "But what if it was underground? I think that's what she's saying. Look at this." She flipped through the pages, which had become curved with wear, and pointed to another image featuring the same tiny arrows. Beneath that, was a drawing West noticed before, some kind of dog. But now under this new perception, he was able to see through YiYi's eyes. It wasn't a dog, but a fox, as in Ming's nickname, Foxy. Now, it seemed so obvious, but he never would have made the connection on his own. "And this one," she said, pointing the cluster of triangles. She waited to see if he understood, but he did not. "It's an abstract representation. The Society's symbol, that coiled snake and the diamonds make nine distinct triangles if-"

"You connect the points," he finished.

"So you do see it?"

"I do. I'm just amazed."

YiYi spent the next five hours studying the drawings to see what other breadcrumbs Ming left for her. West had dozed off on couch, and she couldn't blame him. She'd been staring at the pages for so long, her head hurt. She hadn't been able to decipher much, but it was enough to know that Ming was in trouble. At first, YiYi's plan was to get someone on the inside to find out if Ming was ok. With the new information, she knew she had to get her sister out of there. But how? "West, wakeup!" West sat up, blinking owlishly to shake off his nap. "I need you to call Teak. We need to figure out how we're going to rescue Ming."

# CHAPTER 9

YiYi Cash hopped out of a gypsy cab on Queens Blvd and strolled into Ben's Best Kosher Delicatessen. She was dressed like a pirate today, in knee breeches, a leather corset and red foldover boots. A striped scarf held her long, side-swept braid in place. She didn't know why George wanted to meet her here, but she was so excited to get a proper corned beef sandwich, she came a little early. In addition to being Katia's security at the laundromat, George was also a parental figure to her. He'd been best friends with Katia's father, Orris Saulveil. Just the way every gangster dreams of dying, Orris went down in a hail of bullets after a three day standoff with the police. George just kind of stayed in Katia's life, and they were both better for it. Her mother spent most of her time gambling and turning her body into a distillery, so George was always around to keep Katia's head on straight. He knew Orris would have done the same for his kids. When George finally arrived, YiYi was putting the last bite of sandwich into her mouth. He chuckled when he took in her full ensemble. "Aye, Aye, Captain. I think I know where they've hidden the booty."

YiYi groaned. "Come on Georgy Porgy. Do you know how many pirate puns I've had to endure today? At least you could've tried to be original." She slurped at the last of her coke. "So what was so urgent?" His face grew gravely serious, and YiYi feared something had happened to Katia or the baby. No, they were both fine, he said, but he'd sent Katia away to stay in Puerto Rico for awhile with her husband's family. If the Society found out she'd given up her seat to someone else, she might be in danger. They did not care for loose ends.

"But how would they find out? Why would they suspect anything?"

George nodded. "They might not, but don't you think it's strange that Foxy and Katia got recruited around the same time?"

YiYi agreed it was. This secret organization that no one ever heard a peep out of, suddenly crops up and tags two people she knows. The odds had to be astronomical. Why hadn't she thought about that before? "So what are you thinking, George? Why did it happen?"

"This is going to sound nuts, but the woman who runs the joint, I think she's looking for me, probably trying to use Katia to get to me."

YiYi furrowed her brow. "Why would she do that? Who is she?"

George decided it would be best to start from the beginning. As it turned out, he knew more about the Society than he'd previously let on. When Katia first told him Ming was missing, she never mentioned that she'd joined the Society. It wasn't until YiYi received the warning letter from the Society, that Katia finally told George the whole story. He was instantly alarmed. Years ago, he'd received a similar letter. "If you don't back off when they tell you to, there's hell to pay." He glanced around nervously, searching for anyone out of character in the neighborhood deli, something he should've done when he first walked in. YiYi was annoyed with the melodrama. Surely there wasn't anyone spying on them in here. She looked around. Nothing but families and a few couples. An awkward looking young man strolled in with a can of Redbull in one hand, and a laptop in the other. He looked too sleepy to be spying on anyone, probably a college freshman who'd left a term paper until the last minute. There had been a little girl giving her the stink-eye earlier. Perhaps she was an assassin sent by the Society, because who would ever suspect a three year old? She was giggling to herself when George abruptly said, "Hey doll, let's get some ice cream." YiYi saw the look in his eyes and did not question him. "I bet you haven't had Max and Mina's in awhile," he said. "Since Katia's been pregnant, I've become a regular there." He tried to sound as casual as possible and YiYi followed his lead. "Yes! I love Max and Mina's." She slipped her arm in his as they walked out. "I only wish they made like, a powdered ice cream that I could snort."

Once outside, they broke into a brisk walk. "Don't look back," George warned. He scanned the landscape for the best possible escape plan. Please God send us a taxi, he thought. They turned a corner and saw someone getting out of a cab. George caught up with it before it pulled off from the curb, and waved maniacally for YiYi to hurry up. She jumped in and scrambled across the seat to the other side. She looked out the back window and saw the young man with the laptop. He looked nineteen, twenty at best, and was wearing sweats and sneakers. "Just drive buddy," George ordered. "I'll pay you whatever you want. Just get us the fuck out of here." The driver nodded and pulled into traffic as if he knew they were being pursued.

"How'd you know, George? About that guy I mean? I never figured you for the James Bond type."

"I definitely ain't that, doll. We got lucky. He was wearing a Louis Moinet watch. You know how much those things are? Just shy of a million bucks. They've got pieces of moon rock in 'em and meteorites and shit. A guy with a watch like that don't step out in Sketchers and sweatpants."

YiYi laughed. "Georgy I didn't know you were such a glamadonna. When did you start caring about fashion?"

"I've always had a thing for watches. You can blame Katia for the rest. She's got me watching Project Runway and the Real Housewives of Atlanta." YiYi erupted into giggles. George pleaded with her to be serious. They didn't have a lot of time to talk. More than likely, that man had been following them for information. They were lucky they hadn't discussed anything in his presence. "Hey buddy, get us into the city. I'll give you an extra hundred bucks." He handed the man a wad of crisp bills, fresh from the bank. The man accepted it with a grin, and continued chattering away on his blue tooth.

George met Veronica Harris when she was just a regular girl from Queens. When he first glimpsed those long, brown legs in short shorts and platform heels, he knew they needed to be wrapped around his neck. Veronica was smart, with a trunk full of ass and attitude and he just couldn't get enough. They dated off and on for years, but never made anything official. Veronica had never been the type who wanted to pop out kids and settle down. When George found a wife for the task, she didn't take it personally. She kept herself busy with school and work, and of course, other men. She knew even with his family life, George would always make time for her. And he did. Their thirst for one another was insatiable. Every time they met for a tryst, it was as passionate as the first time. "We just had that chemistry, you know? That fire." This went on for years until Veronica met C.C. Gramercy, a wealthy older man who swept her off her feet. "I couldn't compete with that friggin' guy," George said. "He bought her a royal title for Christ's sake. Made her a Countess. That's what real money can do." As the Countess became a fixture in more affluent circles, George saw much less of her. He didn't even have a way of contacting her anymore. She would simply show up in his life whenever she got homesick. They usually met at the Waldorf Astoria for a night of sex, cocaine and thousand dollar bottles of champagne. When the Countess became the chief operating officer of the Society, little changed about their meetings, except now there were armed guards posted outside of the room. George had vastly underestimated the importance of her position. Having bodyguards escort you to a hotel for a roll in the hay seemed a bit extreme, but it was none of his business. She would talk about work sometimes and the vision she had for the place. She wanted it to be epic, something for the history books. She believed in taking care of the girls, and keeping them happy so they would want to work. A few days after one of his romps with the Countess, George received a letter at his job bearing the Society's ominous seal. It politely requested he discontinue his relationship with the Countess, as it was not in the best interest of the organization she represented. George tossed the letter in the trash. He'd never seen the seal before, and assumed it was the work of a jealous C.C. Gramercy. Whenever the Countess called, he continued to make himself available to her. A few months later, another letter arrived:

Mr. Orsini, we feel that we have been more than patient in regards to the aforementioned matter. We would hate for things to escalate beyond honorable action. However, please know we will do whatever is necessary to protect our investments.

Now, George was concerned. He wondered exactly what they were prepared to do to protect their investments. Tell his wife? Possibly. He was already in the middle of a messy divorce and a heated custody battle, but it could always be made worse. He and the Countess would just have to be more discreet in the future. He never told her about the letters. He didn't want her to worry, and he felt that as a man, he needed to handle his own shit. Looking back, it was one of the dumbest decisions he'd ever made. Things would have gone much differently, had he asked the Countess for help sooner. The last time they met at the Waldorf, the Countess told George she wanted him to come visit her and stay for a few days. She had an apartment, two floors, an indoor pool, the works. She even had a maid and a butler. She wanted him to get a glimpse of what her life was like now. She gave him a large, brass key. The top of it was shaped like a coiled snake, with jeweled eyes and three diamonds on its head. George recognized the symbol from the seal on the warning letters he'd been getting. The Countess told him that when she called, he was to take the key to Drucker's Electrical Knick Knack Company on 8th Avenue. "When you see the blind tiger, run the other way." George knew of the place. In the 1920's, the toy store had served as a front for a speakeasy. After prohibition ended, the shop was converted to a restaurant, but the hidden bar remained a popular haunt for New Yorkers in the know.

"Hey buddy, would you get us to LaGuardia? Here's another hundred for ya'," George said, peeling off another crisp bill from a neat stack, and handing it to the driver. He ignored YiYi's puzzled expression and continued with his story. About a week later, George was visited at his home by a mysterious woman. He had just grabbed a beer and settled onto the couch, when the doorbell rang. He glanced out the window and saw an attractive woman in her twenties, tall and slender with long red hair. She smiled and drew his attention to the grocery bags she was carrying. George nodded and smiled back. Every week someone from the local church brought groceries to the elderly members of the parish. His next door neighbor, Mrs. Peccorini, was on the list but she was visiting her daughter for the weekend. Everyone knew it was fine to leave the stuff at his place. He opened the door and the woman strolled in talking a mile a minute. She went right to his kitchen and sat the bags on the counter. George shut the front door, hoping it wouldn't take long. He went into the kitchen but didn't see her, then noticed her sitting on an ottoman in the living room. He was about to confront her, when he saw she was holding a gun. There was someone else hiding on the stairs too. He couldn't see them, but he could see the barrel of the silencer sticking out of the banister. "Let's go, buddy. Hands up, ass down," the redhead bleated. George did as he was instructed. The woman introduced herself as Ava Mcdowell, a representative of the organization George had so rudely snubbed. She came to inform him they'd cleaned out his bank account. "As of right now Mr. Orsisni, you're broke." He tried to protest and a bullet whistled by, just inches from his nose. It came from the stairs. He knew the shooter had not missed. "Now Mr. Orsini, you've got your health, two great kids, and a pretty successful business. Do yourself a favor and quit while you're ahead. When the Countess calls again, tell her it's over. And give these to your soon-to-be ex wife for me. I think she'll appreciate them." Ava handed him an envelope full of pictures of his children at school and in the park. There was even one of his daughter playing in her room.

"You dirty fucking bitch!" George yelled, jumping to his feet.

"Easy cowboy," Ava cooed in a mocking tone. "Bridgette, would you please calm him down?" The blonde sniper fired another shot, and this time it nicked George in the arm. He fell back onto the couch, hollering and clutching the injury. These women weren't fucking around. He promised not to give them anymore trouble. "Good to see you've come to your senses. Bridgette has that calming effect on people. She's just a people person. Know what I mean?" As Ava talked, she began knocking things over, moving furniture and emptying drawers of their contents. She disappeared into the other rooms, and George could hear her turning his home upside down as he sat there helpless. Out of his peripheral, he could still see the sniper's gun pointed at him. His arm hurt like hell, but it was the least of his concerns. The front door opened and he heard the window shatter. Smart, he thought, knowing she'd broken the window from the outside. She was staging a robbery.

"Alright," she said cheerfully, removing a pair of blue surgical gloves and stuffing them into the pocket of her coat. "I think our work here is done. Now Mr. Orsini, when the police get here, you'd better sell it. Tell them you came home to find your house was being robbed. Feel free to make yourself look like a hero. You can tell them how you valiantly fought them off."

"What am I supposed to tell my wife about the bank account? The divorce isn't final. It's a joint account. She needs access to that money for the kids."

Ava shrugged. "Not my problem. Isn't she divorcing you because of the cheating? Guess you should've thought about that then. By the way, since we spared your life, you owe us. Big time. Well be back to collect. Now Bridgette and I are going to head to a pub up the road called Gottscheer Hall. Heard of it?" George stared at the woman like she'd grown an extra head. "I guess that's a no. Well, I hear they've got good beer and German food. You sure you don't want to come with? You can meet us there after you wrap this whole thing up. I'll even buy you a drink." George stared ahead blankly. Hadn't they already done enough without patronizing him too? "Alright," she said with a sigh. "Your loss."

The Society of Names was founded in 1844 as an institution for the advancement of the human race, but as with most such organizations, it quickly devolved into a bastion of elitism and pomposity. The members became married to the idea that mankind had to be saved from itself, and those with power and money had an obligation to do just that. The brothel was only one part of the Society's operation, an arm of diplomacy extended to leaders of the world who shared and supported their collective ideals. In the 1970s, the Society wanted majority ownership of its overseas investments worth billions of dollars, but that would mean disrupting international relationships that had been nurtured for generations--- ties that superseded nationalism, politics and religion. The Society needed a villain, someone to take down their allies while they remained blameless. They enlisted the help of the CIA, offering the agency the opportunity to spy on high-profile clientele when they were at their most vulnerable- between the sheets. In return, the CIA launched a campaign of bureaucratic turmoil and economic ruin upon countries of the Society's choosing. The Society swooped in to alleviate the financial burden of said targets, and appeared more like saviors than vultures. After that, the partnership between the two organizations continued. The Countess revealed all of this, and much more to George. That was why the Society wanted him out of her life. He was a security risk.

Things only got worse for George. A few months after the break-in to his home, Ava and Bridgette returned to collect on the favor he owed for them not killing him. They wanted George to participate in a terrorist attack. He wouldn't be implicated, they said. They already had some poor idiots to pin it on, and only a couple hundred people would be hurt. All George had to do was help them with a few details and his debt to the Society would be paid. He would even get his money back. Every last dime. "What!" YiYi exclaimed, louder than she'd planned. The cab driver took a break from his phone call, and glanced at them through the rearview mirror. Evedy ting ok my friends?" he asked. George gave him a thumbs up and continued talking.

"It was the mid 90's. The government was tryna' build a case to put anti-terrorism legislation in place. What better way than B.Y.O.B? Bring your own bombs." YiYi was shocked. Of course she'd heard of conspiracy theories, but she'd never heard a firsthand account of one. "Were Ava and Bridgette part of the CIA?" she asked. George didn't know and never got to ask. At the last minute, he backed out of the operation. He just couldn't go take part in killing all those innocent people. He knew retribution was coming. He was so worried about his kids and wanted to get them out of the country, but he didn't have enough money. The Society had seen to that. He realized it had been their plan all along. He needed help and felt the only one who could call these dogs off was the Countess, but he had no way of reaching her. Then he remembered the key she'd given him. It was likely no one but the Countess knew he had it in his possession. He had to take a chance for his family's sake.

One night, he put the key in his pocket and headed into the city. He took the train so he could use the extra time to think. He didn't know how to go about it. Should he present the key to the bartender? Would there be a sign or a symbol? A secret door? He was afraid of making a mistake and drawing attention to himself. George exited the subway about fifteen blocks from Drucker's Electrical Knick Knack Company. He was still procrastinating, trying to put distance between himself and what he had to do. As he turned the corner on 41st street, he felt a hard blow to the back of his skull. It stunned him, and he dropped like a stone. Before he could get to his feet, he was struck again even harder. He was dizzy. His heart was pounding like a jungle drum as he tried to fight for his life. One of the masked attackers punched him hard in the throat. George fell forward, clutching at his neck and gasping like a fish out of water. A cloth was shoved into his mouth and a burning sensation spread through his chest with each breath. The assailants dragged him into a passage of a nearby freight elevator and beat him unconscious. He woke up a few days later at St. Vincent's hospital on West 12th. His body was so sore and swollen, the blanket against his skin was a source of discomfort. His right eye felt heavy, as if a string and weight were attached to the lid. With each inhale, a sharp pain shot up beneath his ribs. All he could think about was his children. He had brought all of this upon them. He begged God to spare them, no matter the consequences he would have to face. He shifted his head as much as he could. There was a phone on the nightstand. He fought the excruciating pain and hoisted himself up to sitting, grateful there was no one there to witness him bellowing in agony. A nurse walked in just as he'd gotten within reach of the phone.

"Mr. Orsini, you're finally awake." She scanned his chart, checked his fluids and asked him if he was in any pain. Of course he was, but that didn't matter. He just needed to call his family. "Not to worry. You're sister is here and she's already taken care of that. Mrs. Orsini is on the way." His adrenaline surged and his stomach flipped. He didn't have a sister.

"I'll send her in," the nurse said.

"N-n-no. Pree, no vistas now. I doe wan vistas." He tried to sound forceful, but his throat was killing him and he could barely move his lips.

"Oh come on now Mr. Orsini. It'll do you good to have some company. You've been out for a few days."

He motioned for the nurse to come close so that he wouldn't have to strain his voice. "I knoh 'dis soun cray-yee. N-no ma sister. Sheesh no ma s-sister. Sheesh tryna kih me."

The nurse leaned forward and whispered in his ear, "I know sweetie. We're everywhere." She stood up, and with a bright smile, promised to send his sister in right away. George couldn't remember a time when he was more fucked. He looked around for anything he could use to defend himself. He was too weak to reach much of anything without face-planting into the linoleum. And even if he could do something, how much time would it buy him? They might already have his family. The door opened and in walked Ava Mcdowell in a leather trench coat, but now she was a blonde. With a wicked smile, she pulled a chair over to George's bedside. She took off her coat, and folded it neatly over her arm before sitting down. She leaned in close as if to taunt him, so close in fact, he could smell the crisp, winter air on her skin.

"Mr. Orsini, so good to see you again. I mean that. Really. Bridgette sends her love. You should have joined us for drinks that night at Gottscheer Hall. So fun. Oops, you got a little drool there." She pulled a kerchief from her purse and dabbed at the saliva that had pooled in the corner of his mouth. He didn't even pull away. What difference did it make at that point? He was a dead man.

"They got you pretty good, huh? You really should've gone ahead and helped us with our little project. Things would've been so much easier."

"W-w-what t-t'fuck you w-w-wah?" he mumbled. He was ashamed of how feeble he sounded. He could only imagine what he looked like.

Ava laughed at him. "What I w-w-wanted was for you to st-st-stay away from the C-C-Countess, but you didn't listen. Ok, so what do you want first, the good news or the bad news?" George didn't respond. "Good news it is!" she cheered. "You're soon-to-be ex wife and kids are safe. We won't lay a hand on them. Somehow, the Countess got wind of what was going on and pumped the brakes. When I find out who opened their big fucking mouth, I'm going to split their skull like a pistachio."

In his head, George thanked God, but he remembered the bargain he'd struck. There would be a hefty price to pay for his sins. He felt the Society had already taken a pound of flesh. How much more did they want? Ava promised he would learn soon enough. "Brace yourself for impact," she said, before standing up and putting on her trench coat. "It's gonna' be a rough one. The Countess didn't intervene in time. You know how hard it is to stop a boulder from rolling down hill when you've already pushed it. Ta ta." She walked out and George never saw Ava Mcdowell again. Shortly after he left the hospital, he was arrested on charges of assault and rape. During the time it supposedly happened, he'd been in the hospital, but there were no records confirming this. He learned firsthand how easy it was to be falsely accused of a crime and convicted. He never saw his children again. He couldn't blame his ex for that. It took three years to clear his name and have the conviction overturned. Katia was one of the few people who believed he was innocent.

YiYi was so engrossed in George's story, she didn't realize they'd arrived at LaGuardia airport. The cab driver, content with the small fortune he'd earned, waited patiently. YiYi understood why George was leaving, but she wished they had just a little more time to talk. She had so many questions. She'd never seen him as more than Katia's pervy uncle, and she wished she'd gotten to know him better.

"YiYi, if I'd known Foxy was joining the Society, I would've never let it happen." She knew it was true and now she understood why George had put so much pressure on Katia to have the baby. He was trying to protect her. George reached into his pocket and handed something to YiYi. Her mouth fell agape as she took it in her hands. It was the key the Countess had given him all those years ago. When the Society sent their knee-breaking goons after George that night, they didn't know he was on his way to visit the Countess, or that he had the key on him. "You remember where to go, right?" he asked.

"Drucker's Electrical Knick Knack Company on 8th Avenue. When I see the blind tiger, run the other way," she recited. George didn't know how to use the key, or if it would even still work. He only hoped it could help in some way. YiYi bade him goodbye, wishing her own father could have been half as good a man. "Where will you go?" she asked, as he stepped out of the car.

"My nephew is going to be here soon. Can't miss that." He was headed to Puerto Rico to be with Katia. "What about luggage and all your stuff?" He smiled. "I'm old baby doll. Everything I need, I can get from a Walgreens." YiYi watched him walk through the automatic doors. She hoped he would look back one last time and wave goodbye, but he didn't. As the cab driver pulled off, she noticed George had left his jacket. She picked it up. The weight was off on one side and it made her curious. She rifled through the pockets and found a Ruger pistol. She knew it was no accident. That was George's way of looking back one last time and waving goodbye.

# CHAPTER 10

Dressed in a purple swing coat and an oversized scarf, YiYi stepped out of the cab just a block from Drucker's Electrical Knick Knack Company in Manhattan. Arm in arm, she and West made a dashing pair as they strolled down 8th Avenue. It was already dark, and the streets were becoming crowded with urban dwellers anxious to make the transition from Jekyll to Hyde. YiYi and West did not utter a word as they made their way down the cramped street. There was no need. Each knew the other's thoughts, and felt the trepidation weighing down their every step. The restaurant was nicer than expected. In a dimly lit room with exposed brick walls, couples snuggled on plush couches surrounded by eclectic artwork. YiYi brushed past the hostess, a professionally clad, bird of a woman, who knew better than to stop her. "Do you know where you're going?" West whispered. "Not a clue," she replied, forging ahead. A waiter assumed they were looking for the speakeasy, and pointed them toward the kitchen. Several others filtered in behind YiYi and West, and the whole group shuffled through the swinging double doors. The kitchen was immaculate, and the workers moved with the synergy of a Macy's animated Christmas display. No one stepped out of formation to address them. People continued to trickle in, and the line was bubbling with excitement about how cool it all was, but YiYi was getting irritated at being made to wait. There was one portly man in a striped apron, cutting vegetables at a table near the freezer. Occasionally, he would look up and call out directions to the rest of the crew. YiYi decided he was the one who would pay for them being ignored for five solid minutes. She was just about to rip into him, when a woman behind her tugged at her arm. She whispered in a flowery southern drawl, "Go ahead and say the password honey. It's whoopee." YiYi shouted it out and the man by the cooler lit up with a toothy grin. "My friends!" he shouted, "I almost didn't recognize you. It's always good to have fine people like you in our establishment." He asked everyone to back up just a little. With a metal pole that had been leaning against the wall, he banged on the floor three times. To the absolute delight of the patrons, the floorboard swung open and a man popped his head out. "Welcome to the Blind Tiger Room. My name is Alberto, and I'll be your tour guide for tonight's festivities. Please, right this way." He and the sous chef in the striped apron helped everyone down the ladder into a dusty corridor lit by lanterns. Smoky jazz music emanated from somewhere nearby. Alberto instructed everyone to latch onto each other and follow him. "Nobody's a stranger here, that is until the fuzz shows up." Everyone laughed. With the eager crowd in tow, Alberto began chattering on about the history of speakeasies.

West and YiYi waited until everyone had gone ahead. "Well love, there's the blind tiger. I guess we run the other way. Are you ready?" "I guess." He took her hand and they began down the dim hall. They walked for at least ten minutes before the path curved. YiYi nearly lost her footing on the uneven, pitted ground. Soon, there were no more sconces lighting their way. They stayed close to the wall and turned on their cellphone flashlights. Even though their palms were moist with sweat, YiYi would not lessen her grip on West's hand. Real or imagined, she heard things scurrying in the darkness. She kept envisioning a fat, squirming rodent impaled by the heel of her boot. It gave her the creeps. She could ask West to do a lot of things, but peeling a dead rat off her shoe was not one of them. YiYi noticed a subtle vibration beginning in the walls. Was it her imagination? It grew stronger as they continued along. "Do you feel that?" she whispered, cowering behind West, with her arms completely around his waist. "It's ok love. It's just the train. You know you're never far from a subway in this city."

The light from their phones pooled together and illuminated something in the distance. It was a door, but there was no visible handle or key hole. YiYi let out a frustrated sigh. "Oh my God, are we going to die here? What was I thinking? This key doesn't go to anything anymore." West shushed her and began feeling along the stone walls on either side of the door, carefully hovering his light above each section. There was a bell and without thinking, he pushed it. They could hear a sound that fell somewhere in between a buzz and a shriek ringing on the inside, alerting someone who was not expecting company. YiYi wanted to run, and she wondered if West felt the same urge. No. His body stood firm, and his breath was slow and even. He was confident that this was the way to whatever they were looking for. As quietly as she could, YiYi opened her purse and put her hand around the Ruger.

"Who is it?" came a man's voice over a speaker in the wall. He didn't sound surprised they were there.

"We're here to do an inspection," YiYi supplied, without missing a beat. West was always impressed at how quickly and easily lies rolled off her tongue.

"On who's orders?" came the man's voice.

"Who else would have us out here on a whim like this? The Countess of course."

The bluff worked. The person on the other end told them to standby to be searched. When the door pushed open, they were greeted by two men who seemed entirely comprised of muscle. One, the more attractive of the two, made sure they knew a gun was pointed at them. A big gun. And his finger was on the trigger. On the outside, YiYi had on her 90's supermodel nothing-scares-me-'cause-I'm-beautiful-face, but inside was straight Ringling Brothers. She was freaking. The other man, who was performing the search, was at least 6'6 and as wide as a bureau, with a deep scar running down the middle of his forehead like he'd taken an ax between the eyes. "You first," he grunted to West, before shoving him against the door and patting him down. He found West's gun, emptied out the bullets and tossed it to the ground. He then ran a device over him which YiYi guessed detected electronic bugs and recording devices. When her turn came, he was no more delicate, kicking her legs apart and putting his hands everywhere. Out of the corner of her eye, YiYi could see West clenching his jaw. She hoped he would be able to keep it together. Chivalry in this situation, would only make things worse. The man smirked when he found the Ruger in her purse. What the fuck is so funny about that? she wondered. Both of their cellphones were disabled and dropped into a bag. Finally, they were permitted into the room. After shutting the door behind them, the men resumed their posts, one on each side of the room, decorating the corners like gargoyles. YiYi and West were standing in a small, but well furnished office. She stole a glance at West, and he rolled his eyes toward the ceiling indicating she should look up. She did so as subtly as she could. Amid some exposed beams in the ceiling were two men dressed in all black, standing as still as dry paint. She didn't see any weapons, but there was no doubt they were armed.

The man they'd been speaking to was sitting directly in front of them behind a large mahogany desk. His sharp features rose up out of skin as dark and smooth as ink. He buttoned his waistcoat as he stood up, introducing himself as Mr. Saeed Molu Ishmael, the ward of the station. He had an accent, and his voice was deep and gentle.

"I know who you are," YiYi said coolly. "But let's give the Countess a ring so she can verify who I am. Obviously you need some convincing or else you wouldn't have let your executive guard dogs manhandle me."

Mr. Ishmael stroked his neat goatee and looked down his nose at the bossy temptress. Eventually, his lips relaxed into something resembling a smile. Got him, YiYi thought.

"One can never be too careful Ms.-"

"Veracruz," she supplied quickly. "And this is Mr. Preston St. James. Please, go ahead and call the Countess. We'll wait." YiYi turned her back to Mr. Ishmael and sat on the edge of his desk. West shot her a look, but he knew it was too late. They were already committed to this charade.

"There won't be any need for all of that Ms. Veracruz. If you and your associate are trying to pull one over on me, I'll just kill you. If you're here to do an inspection as you say, do not let me interfere with your work. Please, go on." He did a mock Vanna White impersonation, gesturing to a wide, metal door in the corner of the room. He then sat back down in his leather armchair, as if getting comfortable for the show. YiYi could see there was a keyhole, and at eye level, a small, black pane of glass. But there was also a control panel with all kinds of buttons on it. Her stomach was twirling like a drunken prom queen. What were the odds that the key in her pocket would fit? If everything went to shit, what were the chances she and West would get out of there alive? Mr. Ishmael was not a stupid man. He was playing along with her game, cautiously, but playing along nonetheless. She could stall no longer. The key felt so heavy in her hands. She took a breath and shoved it into the opening. It fit. She wasn't religious, but she wanted to rejoice like a Baptist. Hallelujah! Thank you Jesus! It took both hands to turn it. She heard a click and saw a tiny flash of light. What the fuck was that? She couldn't very well turn and ask Mr. Ishmael what it was. It didn't matter. She could feel the door was unlatched, but it was too heavy for her to open alone. West moved to help her, but the gargoyles urged him back.

"I see you haven't trained these big galoots of yours to do more than stand there and look pretty. A little help please?" Mr. Ishmael was both surprised and amused.

"I was afraid a woman as feisty as you might take offense at being offered help from a man. Bruno, do give this lovely lady a hand."

Bruno, the gargoyle with the cleaved skull, helped her open the door, and then stood with his back against it to hold it in place. YiYi fought to hide her excitement. What were they about to see? "Preston, we don't have all fucking evening. Move along." West took the hint, and followed closely at her heels as she waltzed through the entrance. With his eyes narrowed and his arms folded, Mr. Ishmael tagged along behind them. Who were these people, he wondered, and what were they up to? It wouldn't be the first time spies had descended upon his station, but never so brazen, and he couldn't remember the last time someone used a key for that door.

YiYi and West couldn't believe their eyes as they held tight to a newly painted banister, and descended wide stone steps. They were in a train station. The walls were covered in glittering mosaic tiles of tan, gold and blue. Old fashioned brass fixtures supplied a warm, dusk glow. There were people loading and unloading boxes onto the train. They moved swiftly and quietly. Several guards paced in the shadows. New York City held quite a few secrets within the winding subway tunnels. The most notable were track 61 beneath the Waldorf Astoria Hotel, the abandoned Brooklyn Bridge station and the unmarked public library just beyond the turnstyles of the Lexington Avenue 6 train. Occasionally, some bored journalist would write a tiny blurb about these hidden gems, most of which were closed to regular folk. Mr. Ishmael came up alongside YiYi and smoothly linked his arm in hers. "Perhaps you would like me to explain how this station works, hmm? Shall I expose myself to you?"

YiYi caught the double entendre. "Oh yes, and rest assured I know how to handle even the biggest secrets."

"Ahem. Might we get on with this," came an irritated West. It wasn't just that he hated watching YiYi flirt with other men, but he felt like Mr. Ishmael was on to them. They were in over their heads.

"Sorry, Preston. That was very unprofessional of me. Do go on Mr. Ishmael."

Mr. Ishmael was surprisingly candid. He told them that the station was one of many used to shuttle supplies to the facility. Workers entered through the freight elevators on 10th and 11th Avenues to load cargo. "Are these trains also used to transport people?" YiYi asked. West jerked his head around. Was she serious? They'd seen it, now they needed to get the hell out of there. What was she trying to do? Mr. Ishmael however, did not mind the question.

"It is necessary on occasion, but not usually. But you knew that, didn't you Inspector Veracruz? You know how the passengers get to the facility, don't you?"

YiYi smiled curtly. "It's been awhile."

West knew the time to go was now. "Well, we've seen all we need to. Thank you Mr. Ishmael for your time. Ms. Veracruz, let's go."

Mr. Ishmael pulled YiYi back. "But you've only just gotten here. I'm sure the Countess will expect you to do a much more thorough inspection." He turned to YiYi and leaned in so their faces were almost touching. "Isn't that right Ms. Veracruz? We wouldn't want her to be dissatisfied with your report, would we?"

YiYi swallowed hard as he brushed his lips against her cheek. Without warning, West elbowed the guard to his left and retrieved the man's gun, firing off a shot into his leg. The guard fell to the ground, yelping in pain. West rolled to his feet, but in seconds, every gun in the room was pointing at them. Even worse, someone was holding a gun directly to YiYi's head. Mr. Ishmael started clapping to mock West's failed heroism. "Very nice Mr. Bond, very nice, but not good enough I'm afraid." The guards laughed. West laid the gun down and put up his hands in surrender. YiYi stood horrified as he was savagely kicked and beaten to the ground. A shot rang out and she screamed, but it was only the man West had injured being put out of his misery.

"Well, that was fun," Mr. Ishmael remarked calmly. "I do enjoy a bit of role play. Now would you like to tell me who you really are?"

"I-I told you," she sobbed. "We're here to do..."

The look in his eyes told her to stop talking. He was done with the bullshit. "Pity. I was looking forward to some honesty. It's so rare these days. Take them to the interrogation room."

"No!" she cried out. She began to run after him, but was effortlessly knocked down. Her face hit the ground with a smack, and someone placed their boot on her neck. West was cursing and fighting, and pleading for her life. His face had already started to swell from being hit so many times.

"My sister! I'm trying to find my sister!" she yelled out as loudly as she could. "They took her. They have her."

Mr. Ishmael paused at the top of the stairs and put his hand up. The henchman backed away from YiYi and West. Mr. Ishmael walked slowly back down the stairs and stood over YiYi. "Are we to have our moment of honesty now?" She nodded, feeling shame in her weakness. He helped her to her feet and said they would go and talk privately.

"I'm not leaving him here with your goons. He's coming too," YiYi barked.

"You were just about to be tortured and killed on my orders, and now you are telling me what to do? You hear that gentleman? I think I just met my future ex-wife." The men all laughed. YiYi crossed her arms in a huff which only made them laugh even more.

"Now, now gentleman. We don't want Mrs. Ishmael to be angry with me. Come darling, let's go. Your companion will not be harmed further. I promise." YiYi looked at West, slumped over and bloody, with his eye half closed. Why had she brought him here? He wanted to wait, to plan, but she was always so impatient. "Go," he mouthed, and she felt like she would burst from sadness. Mr. Ishmael took her by the hand and led her through his office into another room. They would have more privacy there, he said. There were no cameras or recording devices and the walls were soundproof. Mr. Ishmael handed YiYi a cloth soaked in rubbing alcohol to keep near her nose before they went in. The room was dark, and ripe with a putrid odor. He turned on the light which flickered for a moment, before coming on and bathing the room in a grayish cast. There was a wooden table in the middle of the room, and drains on the ground. As YiYi stepped over a puddle of fresh blood, a chill went down her spine. There was definitely a finger or toe in the corner. She inhaled deeply from the cloth to resist the vomit churning its way up to her throat. Mr. Ishmael laid a towel over a bench and indicated she should sit. She shuddered at the thought of what kinds of human fluids were soaked into the bench. "Now," he said crossing his arms, "you have my full attention. I am very interested to hear your story."

It wasn't that YiYi felt she could trust Mr. Ishmael, but that she had nothing to lose by telling him the truth. And she did so, sparing only the details that would make her seem like a lunatic. He listened without saying a word. After she told him everything she asked, "Do you believe me?" He did. The light that flashed over her eyes when she was opening the door, was an eye scanner linked to the Society's database. Mr. Ishmael was surprised when the system identified her as Ming Young, status: quarantined. And then there was the key. No one used physical keys anymore. These things made him curious enough to want to know more about what she and West were doing there.

"Quarantined? Does that mean she's sick?" It was difficult to know for certain, Mr. Ishmael said. The term was sometimes applied by the facility to obscure a person's whereabouts. YiYi couldn't stop the tears from coming. The thought of Ming in some strange place alone, sick or dying, or worse, was too much for her to take. "I don't believe you!" she yelled, launching herself at him. They toppled to the floor together, with her on top of him. She immediately went for his eyes, but he grabbed her by the throat and slammed her onto her back. He mounted her, pinning her arms. Her eyes blazed as she struggled to free herself. She wanted to kill him.

"Calm down!" he shouted, "listen to me!"

He tightened his grip, and bore down upon her with his full weight. She wrenched her knee loose and brought it up swiftly between his thighs, just missing the intended target.

"Ms. Cash, please! I don't want to hurt you. I want to help you. Let me help you."

YiYi stopped fighting. "You want to help me?"

"Yes," Mr. Ishmael said, and feeling confident she would not attack him again, released her.

Even as YiYi allowed him to help her to her feet, she eyed him suspiciously. "Why do you want to help me?" He didn't respond right away and her temper flared. "Answer me! Why do you want to help me?"

"Because you're doing what I could not!" he fired back, so loudly it startled her. "You have grown up in the United States. Is that correct?" She nodded. "You are very blessed. You have no idea what it is like to grow up in a country torn apart by civil war. After we watched our parents hacked to death with machetes, my sister Nabeelah and I were taken hostage. I was nineteen. She was fourteen. We were taken to a camp to work and warned that as soon as we were no longer useful, we would be killed. We endured the worst of men, things no child should ever know one person can do to another. We fell asleep at night to the sounds of people screaming, and awoke to the same. One day, a man came to the camp to purchase some of us. He wanted all of the young ones, and was paying a large sum of money. We were taken to a safehouse in France. There were many of us, all young, all former prisoners of war. They gave us food and shelter. They treated us with kindness. Can you imagine how we felt after all we had been through? These people were our saviors. We did not question their intent. They told us we were special, that we had been chosen to take part in a revolution. That was my introduction to the Society of Names."

Through a program of intense physical training and daily indoctrination, the youth were taught the principles of the organization, the most important being sacrifice of the self for the greater good. Several of them were chosen to go to America, Nabeelah and Mr. Ishmael among them. While Nabeelah went to the maison d'amour, Mr. Ishmael lived outside of the complex, and was trained as a courier and an interrogator. As the years went on, the siblings settled into their new lives with ease. They saw each other from time to time, and spoke on the phone, but Nabeelah preferred the intimacy of writing letters. She wrote her brother every week and sometimes sent pictures. Just a young girl when they first arrived to America, ten years had turned her into a beautiful woman. She thrived as a courtesan, and everyone who met her adored her. Mr. Ishmael wasn't surprised when Nabeelah told him she'd met someone special and wanted to leave the Society. She was ready to begin a new chapter of her life, maybe even have children.

"But they told her she could not leave, that she was too valuable to the program. She seemed to take it well. She always looked on the bright side." Shortly thereafter, Mr. Ishmael left on an intelligence mission to Germany. He was gone for six months. When he returned there was only one letter from Nabeelah. It was a postcard telling a story of how she'd run away to be with the man she loved. He spoke with the Countess who confirmed the story, but Mr. Ishmael knew in his heart it wasn't true. The courtesans were outfitted with state of the art tracking software, and an attendant accompanied them everywhere. Nabeelah couldn't have disappeared without a trace. Someone knew where she was. But what could Mr. Ishmael say or do? He had no authority.

"Ms. Cash, I will help you as much as I can. Just please, try to find out anything you can about Nabeelah. I have accepted that she is probably deceased, but my soul cannot rest until I know what happened. I just want to know. I cannot imagine why someone would want to harm her."

YiYi's eyes were filled with tears. "I promise you, I will look for her as if she were my own sister. Nabeelah Ishmael, right?"

"Yes, but everyone called her Bella."

YiYi whirled around at the name. "Bella? Your sister's name is Bella?" He nodded absentmindedly. And then she finally noticed the similarities, the smooth, dark skin and sharp cheekbones, the eyes that sparkled with mischievousness. She couldn't believe it. It had to be the same woman. Teak kept a picture of her in his wallet.

"Mr. Ishmael, I'm so sorry to say this, but your sister is dead." The words struck him like a hammer. "But I know someone who knew her, and loved her. He can tell you everything."

Was he going or not? That was the question Dylan Young asked himself as he stared at the formal invitation. It had been hand delivered a month ago, wrapped like a scroll, and bound by a seal bearing the image of a coiled snake with three diamonds on its head. Inside it read: Be honored because you have been chosen. Please check your electronic mail for further instruction. Part of him had wanted to tear up the letter and throw it in the trash, but that wasn't the part of him that loved his wife. Seconds after he read the email, the computer froze and shut down. He knew enough to know it was a Blip virus designed to do just that. When he powered it back up, all traces of the email were gone. Right, he thought. They're going to drag this shit out to keep me on the hook. So far, it was working.

The whole thing began when he was contacted by a man named Barret Groh, who wanted to offer him a catering job at more than five times his normal rate of service. Dylan was intrigued and agreed to meet him in person so they could talk further. Mr. Groh attempted to portray himself as a gentleman. He wore a finely tailored suit and a cravat, and his pocket square matched his tie, but Dylan could see he was nothing more than a thug.

"Tea? Coffee? Something stronger?" Mr. Groh asked. Dylan was irritated at being searched and patted down yet a third time after the lengthy trip to Mr. Groh's home on Long Island.

"No, I'm good, thanks."

The living room was full of fancy furniture that was more for aesthetics than functionality. Dylan sat down on a poufy, rose colored chair. There was a button digging into his ass. At least Mr. Groh was swift to the point.

"The organization I work for is looking for an executive chef. We thought you'd be perfect." Dylan was a little confused. He ran a catering company. He'd never had any formal training or even worked in a restaurant. Why would they want him?

"That's why you'd be perfect Mr. Young. You have experience with volume and that's precisely what we're after. You understand the logistics of feeding a few thousand people. You needn't be concerned with cooking skill. The place is sprawling. You won't have time to boil water. That's what the underlings are for." Mr. Groh continued, knowing that Dylan would have left by now if he wasn't interested. If Dylan accepted the job, he would have to live in the company's compound. Outside contact would be limited, surveillance would be 24/7, and should he need to leave for any reason, salary would be forfeited in total.

"And how much is that?" Dylan asked, without even a subtle change in tone or expression.

"More than enough money to make you think twice about leaving."

Dylan only had one other question. How had Mr. Groh stumbled upon him? Surely it wasn't a coincidence.

"No, no. I don't believe in coincidences. Your estranged wife is in our employ. She recommended you."

And there was the bait, the woman Dylan was still hopelessly in love with. He still wore his ring. He just couldn't bring himself to take it off. Her nickname was Foxy. He'd given it to her. It was a private joke between them, until he'd accidentally called her by the pet name in front of her coworkers. It spread like wildfire. She was furious at first, but eventually grew to love it. She even got a tattoo on her hip of a fox, peeking through the brush. He loved how prissy she seemed in public, with her demure blouses and black rimmed spectacles. No one knew what a freak she was behind closed doors. His bad girl. She loved to get spanked, and would bend over and push her ass high in the air so that it stuck out beneath the ruffled skirt. The thought of it still excited him. They'd been happily married for six years. No, happier than happy, wild about each other like lovesick teenagers. And then, she began to change. He felt her slipping away, but didn't know what to do. She started behaving irrationally, disappearing without calling, avoiding him, ignoring him. He wasn't surprised when she cheated, but it didn't make it any less painful. He didn't blame her though. He knew something was wrong. He begged her to get help, but she refused. He forgave her for everything. He'd even been willing to raise the child as his own, but she didn't want forgiveness. She wanted the blemishes expunged from existence. There would always be people in the world who knew she'd fucked up, she said. She got rid of the baby and got rid of Dylan, the constant reminders of her mistakes. Just like that, she walked out of his life. She wouldn't see him or talk to him. He still called her, sent emails, gifts. He just wanted her to know he was thinking about her, and that she could always come home. She sent her sister to serve him with the divorce papers. He remembered how YiYi's hand shook when she laid them on the coffee table. Her eyes were full of pity as she glanced around the meager bachelor pad, with its mismatched chairs and antiquated appliances.

"How is she?" he'd asked.

"Depends on your perspective, I guess. She's seeing a psychiatrist now. It's weird though, some rando she met on the subway, claimed to specialize in childhood trauma. But she quit her job and is still banging strangers."

YiYi had never been one to sugarcoat things. He appreciated that, but he wasn't signing the divorce papers, no matter how bad things looked. His wife would come to her senses and when she did, he would be there waiting like a faithful dog. It hadn't been easy though. His sadness made him more desirable to women, and thwarting their advances was a constant battle. Only once did he give in, allowing himself to fall for someone else. Alexia made him want to forget all about his vows, and start anew, but he couldn't, not until he knew for sure Ming no longer loved him. If he went to work for the Society, maybe he would get a chance to talk to her. At the very least, he could find out how she was doing.

"Thank you for the offer Mr. Groh. I'll need to think about it."

"Absolutely. You have some time before the next induction. I'll have someone deliver the ordination dossier to your home. Should you wish to accept our invitation, just follow the instructions."

Now the time had come for Dylan to decide. Was he going or not? More than anything, he wanted to see Ming, but he couldn't shake the gnawing feeling in his gut that something was off about this whole thing. His wife hadn't spoken a word to him in over a year. Why would she suddenly recommend him for a job? It didn't make any sense. Could she be in trouble? Was this her way of reaching out to him for help? His mind started reeling. He hadn't spoken to his sister-in-law in a while. It had just gotten too hard to see her, but maybe it was time for a family reunion. He took out his cellphone and called her. The number was out of service. Naturally. YiYi changed cell phones like underwear. The best way to reach her was still yiyicash@hotmail.com. She'd had the same email address forever.

"This is heaven. You sure you don't want a taste brother?" Teak called out to West from the window seat of their luxury loft at The Paper Factory, a hotel in Long Island City.

"Uh, no Mr. Martin. That's all you," West replied, shaking his head.

"Alright brother, but you is missing out." Teak carefully pushed back the blonde locks of the girl who was working feverishly on his knob. He watched with delight as she took almost all of him into her mouth. The tip of his cock danced and jerked in the recesses of her throat. Teak groaned as she rose slowly, swirling her tongue and swiveling her head. He caught a glimpse of the saliva dripping down his member, thick and slow like honey on a window. She increased the horsepower, and he felt his knees go weak. "Aye, dat's it!" he exclaimed as she extracted every last drop from him. Her tongue rolled out like the loading dock of a spaceship to reveal the reward she'd worked so earnestly for, and then quickly retracted.

"Woo, you is one nasty jezzy, sweetheart. Nas-tee! She just drank me up brother." He opened his wallet and pulled out several bills for the girl. She was sitting on the floor eyeing him seductively. Apparently, she wanted a little more.

"What about me? I could use a bit of that foreign tongue. She patted her inner thigh and slowly licked her lips.

Teak burst out laughing. "Are you serious? You want me to eat that? Dat's like gettin' sushi from a gas station. None for me thanks." He threw the money at the humiliated girl and began buttoning up his pants.

"You're a fucking dick!" she shouted, furiously gathering her belongings.

"You hear that West? Guess that means the wedding's off."

West didn't laugh. He didn't even crack a smile. He apologized to the young woman and taking her by the hand, escorted her into the bathroom so she could freshen up. "Sorry about that love. He's a bit rough." He handed the girl an extra two hundred dollars. She took it and smiled sweetly.

"I would rather have been blowing you anyway. Would you like that?"

"Next time," he said with a wink, before shutting the bathroom door.

When he returned, Teak had poured him a glass of scotch, his way of apologizing for being an ass. There was a knock at the door. The hooker answered it and let herself out while YiYi, Dylan, and Mr. Ishmael filtered in.

"Whoever that was leaving had all your towels and toiletries stuffed into her purse," YiYi giggled.

"Yes, that was uh, housekeeping, "Teak replied, doing a double take when he noticed YiYi's skin tight red dress and fur hood.

"The dog's bollocks! If it ain't me favorite Mother Goose story, Little Red Ridingwood. Can I please be the very big, and very nasty wolf who eats her pie?"

YiYi couldn't help but laugh. She'd known Teak for years now, and his raunchy humor was harmless, but she could see by the look on Mr. Ishmael's face, he was not amused. "Come on. Stop goofing around. This is Mr. Ishmael, Bella's brother."

Mr. Ishmael nodded cordially to both men, and then settled his gaze on Teak. "Are you Mr. Martin?" he asked, hoping there was another man in the room he hadn't yet seen.

"In the flesh, mate."

He looked Teak up and down, taking it all in-- the messy hair, the five day old stubble, the amphetamine stare. He found it hard to believe that this was the man his sister had fallen for, the man with whom she'd wanted to raise children. Suddenly, there was tension in the room.

"Maybe we should give them a little time to talk," Dylan piped up. "Dinner?"

"Yes!" YiYi and West exclaimed in unison.

After they'd left, Teak broke the awkward silence by asking Mr. Ishmael if he would like a drink. "Please, and make it a double."

When Dylan, West, and YiYi returned to the room, they were surprised to find Teak and Mr. Ishmael laughing like old college buddies. The scotch helped, but it didn't take long for Mr. Ishmael to realize how much Teak had adored his sister. Talking about her made them both feel connected to her once again. It was hard for Mr. Ishmael to hear how she died, but it confirmed the suspicions he'd carried all along. He was finally able to get the closure he so desperately needed.

Great, YiYi thought, now that everyone's getting along we can get down to business. The reason they were meeting was to start formulating a plan to rescue Ming. Mr. Ishmael's role in all of this was crucial. He could give them a glimpse inside a place where they otherwise would have been flying blind. He warned that some of what he knew might be outdated or incomplete, but he would do his best. They all gathered around the table. Mr. Ishmael pulled out a hand drawn map detailing the interior of the Society, and laid it on the desk. It was a partial sketch he'd done from memory. He'd only ever been there once, many years ago.

"How do you know it's still the same?" YiYi asked.

"It's not exactly the same. They have added to it, but it is an underground complex. You never tear things down because it risks the strength of the structure, so everything on this map is still there in one way or another."

Dylan moved in for a closer look. He asked about a line on the map that lead from the kitchen into the other buildings.

"It is a service tunnel," Mr. Ishmael said. "It is how they get food to the other buildings. Have you accepted Mr. Groh's offer to be head chef?" Dylan nodded. "Watch it. They are planning on using you for something. Maybe to manipulate your wife in some way." Dylan had already thought of that. In fact, he knew it was the only reason they were bringing him on board.

"If this is just a partial sketch, this place must be enormous. How will we find Ming?" West asked. "She could be anywhere in there."

YiYi turned to Mr. Ishmael. "She was listed as being quarantined on your computer. Where is that?"

His face became downcast. "I'm afraid it will not be that easy. Even if she is in one of the medical buildings, there are hundreds of rooms. You will not have that kind of time. And remember, sometimes quarantine is a code for... other things."

YiYi winced. Other things. Like death, she thought. West shot Mr. Ishmael a nasty look. Why the fuck would he say something like that and get YiYi all upset?

"But we don't have to worry about that," Dylan said firmly, putting his hand on his sister-in-law's shoulder. "She's ok. They wouldn't be bringing me in if she wasn't, so let's get back to it. Mr. Ishmael, is there a faster way to find out where they're keeping her? A computer we can get to?"

Mr. Ishmael thought for a moment. They wouldn't be able to access any of the computers and asking someone would only rouse suspicion. Then he remembered the logbook the Countess kept in her office. It was a detailed account of each of the girls, with notes on everything from hair color to disposition. Whenever a girl made a special request for an item, the Countess would call Mr. Ishmael to ensure it was separated from the rest of the cargo. She had strict instructions that the girl's first and last name be marked clearly on the package, along with their room number. She often referenced her ledger for this information. She even joked with Mr. Ishmael about how meticulously organized it was. All of the packages went to the Countess anyway, but she wanted to make sure there was never any confusion as to who got what. There had once been an incident where a Kristy Jones and an unrelated Kirsty Jones, nearly got into a brewhouse brawl over a package of hair extensions. "The Countess knows everything about those girls. Wherever Ming was transferred will be in that ledger. But the real question is, how are you going to get it? The Countess doesn't have cameras in her office, but there is a reception area before you get to it. She has five or six assistants and at least one on hand at all times."

Dylan said he could get it, but Mr. Ishmael said it would be impossible. The culinary staff was not allowed beyond cooking and serving areas. Their sleeping quarters and recreation room were just below the kitchens. Guards kept watch to make sure they did not leave those designated areas.

YiYi hung her head in frustration and West started massaging her back. "Come on love, we'll figure it out," he said soothingly. "We're just working it out is all. It's not going to happen overnight."

Mr. Ishmael turned to Teak and whispered, "I don't understand. Are they a couple or not?" Teak took a sip of his drink and with a wry smile replied there wasn't a man in the world she fancied more.

"The girl you're sending in," Dylan began, "she'll have access to the Countess. All she needs to do is get a look inside the book, right? It's our easiest option." He picked up the map and studied it further. "Mr. Ishmael, if we find out where they're holding Ming, would I be able to use the service tunnels to get to whatever building she's in?"

"Yes and no. The doors are locked and require an access code for going in and coming out. Once you ring the bell, a staff member and a guard will come to escort you. Only authorized personnel have access codes."

West knew Teak could get his hands on all kinds of weapons and gadgets. It was after all, how he made his living. "Teak, is there anything we can use to see the fingerprints on the control panel? I bet we could figure it out from that."

"Of course brother. I can have that tomorrow. And if that's no good, I'm sure I can get something to hack in."

Mr. Ishmael was shaking his head. "I doubt it will work. There will be multiple fingerprints on it-- overlapping, smudged. It will be difficult to pick out one person's quickly. Then you'll have to try it many different times to get the right order. Each code is twenty two characters long, sometimes more. It would take hours to crack, with even the most sophisticated equipment."

A hopeless silence fell over the room. This was going to be more difficult than anyone had anticipated. There were so many moving parts and too much room for error. YiYi was devastated, but she tried not to show it. She knew they were trying their best, and she was grateful she didn't have to go through it alone. Teak poured everyone another round. "We're going to figure this out love. Don't you worry." YiYi smiled, appreciative of the kind words, but she wasn't so sure anymore.

West jumped up suddenly, a eureka moment upon him. "Mr. Ishmael, what would a code consist of? Is there any kind of pattern to it?" Mr. Ishmael said it could be a vast combination of letters, numbers or symbols, but there was a system to it. The first letter denoted the position of the person. The next two letters corresponded to a name.

West was visibly excited. "I think we've got a code." He rifled through YiYi's purse and emerged with the notebook.

"Uh, what are you doing?" she asked nervously. She hadn't yet told anyone else in the group that she thought her kidnapped sister was communicating with her telepathically, and she prayed he wasn't about to. She could just imagine the looks on their faces. But West didn't say any such thing. He flipped the notebook open to a neat page where YiYi had organized some of her findings.

"Could this be a code?" he asked.

Mr. Ishmael picked it up for a closer look. "Wow. This is amazing. It's definitely from that facility. The letter A tells us this person is a doctor. His initials are XM, Dr. Xavier Marlowe. I've seen his name on packages from time to time. May I ask how you obtained this?"

"Oh, it just kind of fell into our hands," West replied casually.

"AXM8821919221##1919221," Teak read aloud. "That's a lot of numbers to remember just to open a door. I can barely remember my bloody gmail password."

"How do we know it hasn't changed?" YiYi asked.

"I would have heard something about it," Mr. Ishmael replied. "It's a big deal when that has to happen. Everything comes to a grinding halt. They send out an entire team to investigate the situation and make sure the request is not being made under duress."

YiYi began to feel hopeful again. This was the break they needed. The next hurdle would be getting around surveillance. There were cameras throughout the complex, but they were visible and not terribly difficult to avoid. Guards patrolled the floors constantly to maintain order, but they were more for show than anything else. They were never aggressive or unnecessarily forceful, and were not even permitted to carry guns in the main building where the girls lived. When things became particularly obstreperous, they used tranquilizers and tasers to restore order. The real problem Mr. Ishmael said, was the Godseye, the hardware surgically installed inside of all non-essential personnel. It had several functions, one of which was audio and visual recording capability. The data was monitored by an offsite surveillance team.

"So that's what was hanging from the back of Bella's head?" Teak asked.

"Yes. And that was years ago. The technology has greatly improved since then." Mr. Ishmael did not have one himself. He began at the Society as a courier, a job that required much of what he did remain unseen. Instead, he was outfitted with an Omega chip. Should he be suspected of espionage, the device could be detonated remotely and a toxin would flood his system, killing him instantly. For this reason he begged that they never mention his name within the walls of the complex, or ever again for that matter, once they concluded this business. The Society had eyes and ears everywhere. There was no place they could not reach.

"If everything is being recorded, then there's no way we can even do this," YiYi said. Not true, Mr. Ishmael replied. With all of the data recorded each day, there was no way for the surveillance team to personally view it all. They instituted a sifting program that worked much like a web crawler. It isolated key words, phrases, and activity that might need further investigation. The Countess also reviewed footage of the girls to gain a better sense of their personalities. It was a part of how she decided who to cut and who to keep. As long as Dylan and the recruit stayed off the radar, they would be ok. They simply needed to watch what they said and stay out of any drama. The technology had other flaws too. Should Dylan and the recruit need to talk privately, loud music directly in the ear would buy them a little time. Once inside, it would not be hard to request an iPod and a pair of ear buds. "The music will interrupt the audio recording for a few minutes, but it will eventually adjust and continue recording your conversation. I know you will have at least three minutes." An oculus was hidden in the left eye. One needed only to hold it closed to stop the camera.

As for West, YiYi and Teak, Mr. Ishmael suggested they pose as warehouse workers. He could provide them with the uniforms and give them passage on the train under the guise of guarding an important parcel. The uniform, a pair of burgundy coveralls, had a number emblazoned on the chest pocket. Everyone carried a communication device called a pock comm that corresponded to that number. It was similar to a cellphone so when they wanted to talk to each other, they would simply need to dial the person's assigned number. Of course, even those channels would be monitored, so they would have to be careful of what was said. The only problem Mr. Ishmael foresaw was when the workers plugged in at night to go to sleep. They would have to go to great lengths to hide that they were not equipped with a Godseye. If they were discovered, they would be treated as spies. The crew spent the next few hours going over possible scenarios. It was exhausting. Progress was slow, but at least it was happening. With Mr. Ishmael's help, they had a chance. There was a possibility they could actually pull this off.

It was 2:00am when they finally decided to call it a night. They would meet again in a few days. As per Mr. Ishmael's instructions, everyone left separately, with at least an hour between each departure. West and YiYi were the last ones in the room. He came up behind her chair and began massaging her back. He always knew what she needed. He pushed her hair aside and began applying a light pressure to the base of her neck. He could feel her muscles relaxing, and it gave him the utmost pleasure.

"Have you told Alexia yet?" he asked.

YiYi sighed and laid her head on the desk. It was refreshingly cool against her cheek. "I've been working up to that. Oh my God, West, that feels amazing. Wow."

West had to work not to get distracted by her moaning. "What did you tell her about Ming?" he asked.

"Oh God, that feels so good, West. Right there, yes." The massage stopped. She knew she was in for a lecturing. West spun her around to face him. "You know how I feel about you YiYi. You can do no wrong in my eyes, but this is madness. If you don't tell Alexia the truth, she's useless to us. You've waited too long now, and we've got too much at stake. If she says no, we've got fuck all. What? Are we going to keep Teak here for another six months while you find another girl? You know he's a wanted man. And how long do you think Mr. Ishmael is going to be able to help us? He's putting his life on the line. We all are."

She felt like a kid in the principal's office. She knew he was right. She'd just been hoping she would be able to find someone else to do it. "I like her West. I really like her. I don't want anything to happen to her and it be my fault."

"I know you do love, I know, but her part in all of this will be minimal. We'll figure it out. We'll keep her safe love. No worries."

# CHAPTER 11

It was nearly a week before I saw YiYi again. I felt a sense of elation when I heard the snap, snap, snap of her shoes. Today's fashion statement was Jane Fonda vs. Galliano. She was wearing a black leather bodysuit, leather legwarmers, and a fringed, bolero jacket. She hugged me tightly, and I inhaled her sugary scent. Once again, she'd brought me a gift. Honestly, I hoped it was another cupcake. She told me to close my eyes and when I did, she slipped something around my finger. "Open your eyes babe," she whispered. It was a ring, gold and shaped like a snake. Its eyes were green stones, and its head was adorned by a line of little diamonds. "It's, it's beautiful." I extended my hand to admire the piece of jewelry. It was probably worth more than anything I'd ever owned. "But-" She placed a finger over my lips to silence me. She would hear none of it. There were no strings attached to this gift, she said. She simply wanted me to have it, making me swear to never, ever, pawn or sell it. She asked me to have dinner with her again. As wonderful as hot food sounded, I didn't exactly have dinner attire and besides, I had to work. I had a very prestigious marketing job handing out promo flyers to drunk kids. It paid next to nothing, but I didn't care. I told her all about my plan to get on my feet. She scoffed. According to YiYi Cash, girls who looked like me didn't have to work that hard. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I knew what she meant, and I had no interest in blowing Robbie Rando in an alley for $20.00, or running for my life when he threatened to cut my throat. Her delicate features wrinkled up at the gruesome image. She wore colored contact lenses, blue ones in fact, that gave her a doll-like appearance. I wondered what she looked like without them. Foraging in the sleek leather bag on her lap, she emerged with a wad of cash. Three hundred dollars was mine if I would be willing to spend an evening with her being wined and dined. She was no Robbie Rando, and that kind of money would put me months ahead of schedule. Still, I was uncomfortable entering into this kind of arrangement. I hated the idea of someone owning me. She flashed an understanding smile. She promised a night that would respect my limitations. With that, she kissed my cheek and slid the money down my shirt into my bra. Her fingers grazed my nipple. It wasn't an accident. So much for respecting my limitations. What had I gotten myself into? I glanced down at the ring. Was it real gold? The snake's eyes had an ominous glow. On the underside was an inscription that read: vous avez été choisi. What the hell did it mean?

After a delicious dinner at Bowery Meat Company, YiYi and I headed back to her luxury high rise on Manhattan's Upper Eastside. "Ms. Cash," the doorman acknowledged, as we made our way to the elevator. The lobby was decked out in floral furniture and gold embellishments. A huge chandelier hung from the ceiling above a bronze sculpture of a partially clothed woman. In strict opposition to the antiquated lobby, YiYi's apartment was severely modern with stark, white walls and hard corners. The furniture jutted out from the floor, angular and unexpected. The decorations were sparse but meticulously placed, creating a mechanized feel. It wasn't comfortable or warm or inviting. It reflected the mind of someone who feared being out of control. That didn't seem like YiYi. It was so different from the image she projected that it made me curious. Who was this woman?

We made ourselves comfortable on the white leather couch and I eagerly removed my towering heels, the final touch to the hoe- couture ensemble she'd leant me. An easy rapport coupled with several glasses of wine made chatting with her effortless. She made no secret about how badly she wanted me. She took me by the hand and led me to the bedroom. I was a bundle of nerves. I only hoped she didn't feel me shaking. As though reading my mind she whispered, "I promise to respect your boundaries babe." Her bedroom was just as uncomplicated as the rest of the apartment, a uniform placement of black and white with an occasional splash of gray. She directed me to a black leather tub chair which she pulled to face the front of the bed. "All I want you to do is watch the show," she said and began unbuttoning the black corset that restrained her curves. I'd always loved tits-- big, small, perky or jiggly-- it made no difference to me. There was something so primal about them, so basely animalistic that even just a glimpse would ignite my lust. I watched as the enormous breasts finally came into view. She gently massaged them, lifting each to her lips to flick her tongue over the pert, pink nipples. She loosed her hair, letting the dark tresses spill out over her shoulders. There was a purple teddy bear on the bed wearing a bowtie and a goofy grin. Lying on her stomach with her ass facing me, YiYi placed the stuffed animal between her thighs and began methodically grinding against it, a moan escaping her lips now and then. She was really giving it to Mr. Bear, aggressively mounting his fuzzy face again and again. As her ass humped vigorously, her skirt crept up inch by inch, revealing a little more skin each time. I was desperate for a peek at her pussy. Why was this turning me on so much? I sat up in my chair, disturbed by the primitive ache between my thighs. Done with her furry friend, YiYi grabbed something from under a pillow and crawled down to the edge of the bed so I could get a closer look. Her eyes gleaming with desire, she separated her toned legs, and lifted the skirt above her thighs. I heard myself exhale as she carefully spread her slit with two wet fingers. The other hand emerged with a pink dildo that looked more like a weapon for assault. I was literally on the edge of my seat now, gripping the sides of the chair like I would fly away if I let go. YiYi winked at me before plunging it in to her wet haven. Her lips pulled hungrily on the tool, wanting it deeper, harder. Each time it reappeared drenched in the silky nectar, I found myself wanting to taste it. Perverse? Maybe. She lay back onto the bed and began working the object with abandon, crying out each time it reached the most titillating depths. Her hands could not keep up with the demands of her desire. Her moans were exhausting my senses, cries of help begging me to rescue this damsel by taking over the instrument and finishing the job myself. I lurched from my chair, but her voice cut through the air like a knife, halting my movement instantly. "Sit down!"

It felt like a blow to the cheek. My panties were soaking wet. As I retook my seat, I felt that the moisture had seeped onto the chair. She continued with her performance and I, thwarted by my lover, only pined for her even more. I watched as her willing vessel sucked the pink rod, the intensity building with every thrust of her hand. With the other hand, she teased and pinched her nipples, occasionally raising them to her mouth. I couldn't take it anymore. I unbuttoned my pants and slid my hand beneath the lacy panties. I let out an involuntary moan as my fingers massaged my begging peak. I couldn't take my eyes off of YiYi. It was my own private porno. Her hand had made its way to her clit and her hips rocked wildly as the toy filled her up again and again. Her body began trembling and with her feet pointed as gracefully as a dancer's, she released a final, passionate cry before falling back exhausted. I consumed the final details like a death row inmate savoring his last meal: the beautiful splayed legs, the limp arm ending in a gentle curve across the belly, the pearls of moisture still clinging to the pink folds of skin. I felt the intensity building to a dizzying crescendo until I erupted like a fountain. When I opened my eyes, YiYi was on all fours like a panther ready to pounce, her tongue swishing hungrily across her ruby lips. "You are so sexy, Alexia," she purred. "You almost made me forget we have business to take care of." She hopped down off of the bed and began throwing on her clothes. I was confused. What business was she talking about?

After we settled onto the couch, YiYi carefully refilled our wine glasses, which were as black and shiny as onyx. The coffee table, constructed from recycled newspapers, was chicly designed in a checkerboard pattern, with alternating squares of printed words and pure black. I couldn't help but notice how neat the place was, not a dish in the sink or a scuff on the wall. The white couch had not a blemish or a tear. The floor gleamed with the newness of a fresh polish. I'd seen a huge silver bowl on the floor of the kitchen with the name Mouse inscribed in bold lettering. Judging by the size of that trough, there was a hefty beast around here somewhere who dined on fresh kills, but the pristine dwelling did not attest to it. "Do you have a dog?" I asked, hoping it wasn't in the hospital or recently deceased. I would hate to have the evening end with my host in tears. YiYi didn't strike me as the emotional type, but the more I got to know her, the more of a mystery she became. She chuckled at this, and slapping her thigh called, "Mousy, Mousy! Come to mama!" I was curious but also a bit afraid about what kind of creature would come skulking out of the shadows. "Don't worry babe," she remarked, noticing my uneasiness. "He's harmless." She called to him again, this time in a more soothing tone. A door on the far side of the apartment, which I'd assumed was simply a closet, pushed open and slowly, a very handsome older man sheepishly walked into view. He was about 6 feet tall, athletically built, with a deep tan that accentuated his remarkable blue eyes. With his strong jaw and three-day old scruff, the ageing pretty boy would have looked like he'd just stepped out of a soap opera, had it not been for the uh, costume he was sporting. Around his neck was a thick, spiked collar with a four foot leash dangling from it. A pair of tiny black shorts accentuated a nice sized cock, which at that very moment was standing at attention. My jaw was on the floor.

"Come on baby. Come to mama," YiYi encouraged, extending her hand to her pup. Mouse got on all fours and eagerly galloped to his mistress. As she pet him, he licked and kissed her hands affectionately. "You're a good boy aren't you Mousy, Mousy?" she prattled, grabbing his face playfully. He responded with pitching whines and whimpers, nuzzling his face into her lap. Suddenly, Mousy let out a loud yelp, and scrambled to the other side of the coffee table at my feet. I was so lost in this bizarre play, I nearly forgot he wasn't actually a dog. He lay at my feet whimpering and clutching his genitals. I looked up at YiYi absolutely bewildered. What should I do? Pet it? Spank it? Fuck it? It turned out, Mousy had a shock collar attached to his balls. His snuggling had ended up a little too close YiYi's goodies. The price was a level nine zap. "Would you like to give it a whirl?" she asked, waving the remote control at me like it was a box of Mike&Ikes. I decided to pass. Zapping the balls of a man pretending to be a dog would have to remain on my bucket list.

Mousy's real name was West Aldale, a former investment broker who was worth a couple million at least. He spent his time traveling and courting beautiful women, but nothing pleased him more than playing slave to YiYi. He cleaned her apartment, kept the fridge stocked with her favorite foods, surprised her with expensive gifts, and otherwise waited on her hand and foot. Sometimes she wanted to be fed ice cream while she watched television. Other times she might just want a hot bath and a massage. Mousy prided himself on knowing what she wanted before she did, and would come undone on the rare occasion he got it wrong. Should YiYi wish to role play, her partner was eager to act any part which exploited his subservience. The small room which held his cage had a host of other gadgets and costumes to make each experience more real. What puzzled me most about this relationship, is that it didn't involve sex. Crossing that line, YiYi said, would ruin it. It would become something else entirely. Not to mention, she had little interest in him sexually. In fact, Ms. Cash had never slept with any man. While she found many of them attractive, it was more in the way one appreciates a new car or a piece of art. None had ignited in her the fire she felt just anticipating intimacy with a woman.

As Mousy continued his campaign for pity at my feet, I could not help but notice how gorgeous he was. Oddly enough, I found myself petting him. Dear God. YiYi insisted her beloved pet tell how he got his name. I had just assumed it came from his docility, submissiveness and desire to be completely dominated. No, no, no. As crazy as the whole damn thing was, how could I be so foolish as to think it would be so simple? I was shocked to hear such a deep voice and (gasp), a British accent?

"I'm called Mousy" he began with the awkward discomfort of a child forced to perform in front of the class, "because I drive pussy crazy." At this, YiYi clapped her hands and laughed like one does a joke they never tire of. "Would you like a sample?" she asked, with all the tact of a vacuum cleaner salesman. "I think he likes you. Don't you Mousy, Mousy?" He nuzzled his face into my palms and rubbed his head against my legs. Perhaps it was the wine, or the intrigue, or maybe the fact that once I left here, I had nothing to return to, but I decided to give Mousy a whirl. YiYi was tickled by this. She showed me to another bedroom in the apartment she referred to as the 'Red Room', where I would wait for my um, date. Like any good host, she politely excused herself to check some emails, and assured me Mousy would be along in a moment.

The Red Room room was quite different from the industrial, stripped down feel of the rest of the apartment. The walls were painted bright red and above the headboard were three framed pictures of things exploding. On either side of the bed, a yellow vintage lamp hung above a trunk that had been repurposed as a nightstand. The window had a heavy curtain of red and gold artfully swept to one side, and held in place by a cluster of black feathers. Above the dresser was a mirror in a woven metal frame. "Knock, knock," came the voice of my very own British chamber boy. His accent was delicious. Thank God he'd removed his alternative paraphernalia, and was wearing a simple pair of white linen pants. He hopped onto the bed and extended a bottle of water to me. "Thought maybe you would like some water. Your wine glass was still quite full. Was that the right call?"

I stood there looking at him blankly, unable to rap my head around this man who just moments ago was pretending to be a dog. "Oh, yes, definitely the right call," I sputtered, uncapping the water and taking a big, lengthy guzzle. Mousy insisted I call him West now. He wanted to give me some insight into what I'd just witnessed. It wasn't as odd as it seemed, he said. His relationship with YiYi afforded him the luxury of vulnerability, without revealing the most intimate parts of himself. "Imagine," he said, "going to the emergency room for an injury. The doctors and nurses know some basic facts about you, but they don't really know you, yet you allow yourself to be weak and exposed in front of them. You take off your clothes, trust them with your body, allow them to do whatever they deem necessary. What YiYi and I do is no different." His voice was as soothing as a cup of chamomile. He asked me questions about my family, my fears and what I valued most in the world, and hung on to my every word like a journalist who'd finally landed that career- making interview. West was winning me over. He was warm and genuine, and eerily intuitive. "Arms up," he directed, and slipped off my top in the manner one undresses a baby for a bath. Gently laying me onto my stomach, he began massaging my back and shoulders. His touch was divine, effectively turning my muscles into liquid. "Alexia, do you trust me?" he asked. Did I answer 'yes' because the massage had me as lazy and flexible as a cup of pudding, or did I really trust him? I wasn't sure. "I want you to submit to me, Alexia, completely. Will you do that for me?" I agreed, feeling a bit uncertain, but wanting to explore. "Good," he replied sweetly, and the next thing I knew, he was tying my arms and legs to the bed posts. "Hey!" I protested. "What are you doing?" This was exactly what I wanted he said, and I'd better knock off the bullshit. It was and I did. I tugged at the restraints. They were definitely real. Inside, I was panicking but I did my best to play it cool. Being afraid West said, was a part of the experience. "Fear confirms that you value your life." He sounded so sadistic. Even the tone of his voice had changed. "You went out tonight dressed like a slut, didn't you? Did you like all those men looking after you?" I didn't know what to say. When I didn't answer, he wrapped my hair around his arm and yanked my head back. I yelped out in pain. He asked the question again. "Yes, yes, I liked- I liked them looking at me, yes." "Very good," he lauded, and stuffed a small candy into my mouth. I didn't want it, but feared the consequences of spitting it out. He then asked if I had ever made an effort to arouse a man without any intention of sleeping with him. My denial was met with a hard smack across the ass. He asked the question again, and still in shock from the blow, I sputtered out the same response. His hand struck my bottom again, and then a third time with more force. "Yes! I did it!" I received another candy and I swear to you, I was grateful for it.

West then forced me to share a story detailing my evil deeds. I reluctantly told him about my treatment of Mr. Cordero, a neighbor in Arizona whose house I would clean for ten bucks a visit. I would arrive at his home armed with purposeful conversation, and wearing the skimpiest outfits in my teenaged arsenal. I had indeed waged war on Mr. Cordero. Once inside, I would put on my headphones and dance seductively, while I bent and stretched to tend to every nook and cranny of his home. He was so easily drawn in. The lust filled his eyes and tempered his judgment. He would follow me from room to room, pretending to accomplish imaginary tasks as he took in my performance. Afterward, we would chat over a beer. He was always impressed by how much we had in common, not realizing that everything I knew about him I'd gleaned from snooping through his home. Yes, I was guilty of seducing Mr. Cordero. I didn't just want him to lust after me, I wanted him to adore me. But I would've never slept with him. Never. After this admission, I felt such shame. My face grew hot and I could feel the tears coming. This display only succeeded in increasing West's cruelty. He commanded that I finish the story immediately, or suffer the punishment. The bad girl in me wanted to play. I could not help but force his hand. I told him in a quivering voice that I had nothing else to say. A smirk crept across his lips as though he had been hoping for my refusal, and in the next instance he was tying a blindfold around my eyes. Now, I was truly terrified. My senses were heightened and I felt too aware. Sounds came from every direction. I kept turning toward them, trying to surmise exactly what was happening. I could feel heat when West came close, and the distinct scent of leather. What is he doing? My breaths were so shallow, I thought I might pass out, but there was no denying how turned on I was. I could feel the silky elixir pooling between my thighs. My mouth was forced open and a candy placed on my tongue. Why had he given it to me? Had I done something good? Was I a good girl? Suddenly, something large was being pushed inside of me. It was too big and West was forcing it. It was too much. My squirming and whining only resulted in a series of stinging slaps across my ass, followed by another candy stuffed into my mouth. "Pleasure and pain are not mutually exclusive Alexia. Wouldn't you agree?" "Yes," I moaned, backing my body onto the object to take it deeper still. He began pounding away at my soft core with the mysterious object until I was humping and writhing in delight. "Is this what you crave, Alexia? To be used like a whore? To be brought low and humiliated?" West had climbed onto the bed and was straddling me. He was naked, and very excited. "No!" I shouted defiantly. "You're a bloody liar," he whispered in my ear and in the next second began to choke me. I tried to struggle, but with the restraints and the full weight of his body on my back, I couldn't move. The terror was amplified by the fact that I couldn't see. When he finally released me, the air rushed into my lungs. I was light headed, and still catching my breath when he repeated the question. I don't know what came over me, but I still did not want to answer the question truthfully. His hands were at my throat again. When I was finally free to gulp in the precious oxygen, I confessed that I did indeed want to be treated like a whore. Then it happened: I held my mouth open for a candy and was disappointed when it did not come. Had I been a bad girl? No, I had done something good so I deserved a treat. Finally, the flavored square landed on my tongue and quelled my anxiety. Again, West began pounding away with the unidentified object. He asked me if I wanted him inside of me. I did. "Good, then beg for it." And that is what I did, begged him to fuck me. I heard a condom being opened, a notable sound, right up there with a can of soda being popped. A foul chemical was placed under my nose and I was told to breathe in and hold it. I did so, and instantly felt woozy, but relaxed. Again, I was ordered to inhale the chemical and hold it. My head was buzzing. A cool, tingly gel was applied to my bottom and West was slowly pushing his way into my virgin ass. The sensation was interesting. I couldn't decide if I liked it or not, and then, I was certain. I loved it. I wanted to feel every punishing inch of him deeper inside of me. As he filled up my ass, he continued grinding the object into my pussy. It was incredible, like being right at the threshold of climaxing, but for the entire time. I knew I couldn't last another second. The flood gates opened and I came crashing down. West climbed off of me and I lay there shaking like a rain-soaked dog. I was a congealed mess of sweat and makeup and tears. Yup, I said tears. I felt the toy being slid out and the restraints coming undone. Our game was over. I was too exhausted to move. West lifted the blindfold, and with the most pleasant smile asked, "How are we doing?" like I was a patient who'd just come out of surgery. "I can't even think. You may have literally fucked my brains out." We both laughed. He sat down on the bed beside me and began stroking my hair. My favorite thing. It was so relaxing. I was losing the battle to stay awake.

"Well, how was it?" YiYi boomed from the doorway. She'd waited until all the hubbub had died down to make an appearance. I dropped my eyes bashfully. West remarked that he thought I was quite satisfied, a definite understatement. YiYi's eyes suddenly flashed with anger, and it was directed at West. He dropped to his knees and crawled to his mistress. He groveled at her feet, promising he hadn't defied her command. He had not climaxed. She smiled and extended her hand to him. He nuzzled his head against her thigh, while she clucked baby talk to him. They were so fucking weird. "We'll talk business in the morning babe," YiYi said, securing Mousy's collar around his neck. She blew me a kiss, which I caught, and then she and her pet retired to their own affairs.

I tried to sleep, but I kept tossing and turning. My mind couldn't let go of the evening. So much had happened. I wondered what business YiYi had to discuss with me. I found myself fiddling with the ring she gave me, twisting and turning it, rubbing my finger across its etched scales. During dinner I asked her what the inscription meant, vous avez été choisi. It was French for, you have been chosen. Who wouldn't want to be chosen? The sun would be out in a few hours. I figured I had better try to get some sleep before light came pouring through the blinds.

I was having an incredible sex dream where someone was licking and fingering me. I was wiggling like a salmon headed upstream. When I woke up, Mousy was diligently working between my legs and I had a firm grip on his leash. With his fingers, he probed deeply into my soft interior, while his tongue expertly strummed at my peak. The pressure was building below and I was about to blow. Good Lord, was this all they did? A girl could get used to this. I was pulling at the leash, holding him in place. Feeling my body tense up, he increased the intensity of his motion like a machine. At the last second, he angled his fingers upward and as I came, I felt a stream of liquid gush out of me. What the fuck? Had I peed on him? I quickly sat up and apologized to Mousy. How embarrassing. "Relax," YiYi broke in. I hadn't even noticed her sitting in a chair in front of the bed. "Mousy did that. I taught him how to make women squirt. Isn't it hot?" I glanced at Mousy who, judging by his ravenous eyes, agreed that it was indeed 'hot'. YiYi tapped her thigh, and the pet reluctantly obeyed his mistress, climbing down from the bed and coming to rest at her side. YiYi told me to grab a shower and meet her in the living room in a half hour. Mousy would lay out some clothes for me and prepare breakfast. Really? Mousy was going to do all of that? Oh Lord. I shuddered at the thought of what clothes would be waiting for me. I hoped they weren't from YiYi's closet. I just couldn't pull off leather the way she could. After my shower, I returned to the bedroom to find a pair of skinny jeans and a long sleeved white t-shirt laid out on a chair. This guy was amazing because it was my style all the way. Where did they come from? I threw the clothes on and did my best to arrange my mess of a mane in the mirror. There was a picture stuck into the corner of the mirror, a Polaroid. I hadn't seen one since I was a kid. I pulled it down for a closer look. It was YiYi, but without the colored contacts and the big hair. She wore a crisp white blouse and glasses. Her hair was in a messy, pencil bun and she was sticking her tongue out at the camera. On the bottom was written: I'm heads, you're tails, love Foxy. I wondered what it meant. Who was Foxy? I replaced the picture so it looked undisturbed and headed out to the living room.

The unmistakable aroma of bacon and eggs made my heart sing. Mousy was in the kitchen wearing a French maids outfit of course, cooking and singing as though it were the best day of his life. I sat down on the couch next to YiYi, who was very overdressed for, well, for anything other than dinner with a drug lord. She had on a leather cocktail dress with a front cutout that dipped all the way to her belly button. Covering the excess skin were strands of pearls. And of course, no YiYi Cash ensemble would be complete without the glossy lips, and messy, just-got-fucked hair. As Mousy served us breakfast, which was delicious by the way, I could see the voltage device firmly attached to his balls. Geez, did the game ever stop with these two? While we ate, Mousy stood in the corner with his hands behind his back and eyes forward, patiently waiting to see if we would need anything else. I couldn't help but giggle at the sight of his junk hanging below the hem of his French maid's costume. After we finished eating, he happily cleared the dishes, and YiYi dismissed him. Finally, we could talk about this mysterious business.

YiYi had a proposal for me. She wanted to offer me a job where I would make loads of money, travel the world, and be treated like a princess. I looked at her skeptically. It sounded too good to be true. She put her hand to God that what she was offering was very real. The Society of Names, as it was called, went to great lengths to conceal its existence. Whoever was running things made damn sure you couldn't just google it. The women recruited into the program received special training, molding them into superior companions in a league all their own. They were then contracted to wealthy suitors, and not just the usual whorehouse client list of actors, athletes, and desperate celebutantes. YiYi said they catered to the most powerful people in the world, the ones who could shift a country's economy with a shopping spree, and dictate global policy over poker. That kind of power. While in the company of these suitors, the women were treated like royalty, and showered with all the accoutrements of a lavish lifestyle. At the end of every contract, they were paid a handsome sum of money. YiYi definitely had my attention. "Now, how handsome of a sum are we talking? Leonardo Dicaprio or Shemar Moore?" I asked, only half kidding. "Definitely Shemar Moore," she giggled. She asked me if I was interested. I tried to act nonchalant, like I was mulling it over, but my mind was made up. Inside, I was doing somersaults. This would be a complete change of fortune for me. I knew she wasn't simply doing it out of the kindness of her heart. What did she want in return? We would talk about that later, she said. That worried me, but sometimes you have to take a risk.

I started spending a lot of time at YiYi's place. I liked her, and it felt good to have someplace to go. When we weren't having sex, we talked, watched TV, and sometimes went out. She was pretty geeky for a dominatrix. She liked documentaries, and chess, and preferred museums and art galleries over clubs. "I don't know why anyone would waste a good high in a shitty nightclub," she joked once. I couldn't have agreed more. West was no longer on the menu for me. She made it perfectly clear I was not to sleep with him again. He was to be our house boy and nothing more. "Sure," I said, "that's fine." And it was. I never asked why. Maybe it would make her jealous, which was nuts. I mean, she practically sat me on his dick when I first met him. What changed? Maybe now we were in a relationship or something. They still interacted the same way, with their games and rituals. He waited on her like a slave. Don't get me wrong, he waited on me too, but there was a limit to what he would do for me. He knew who he belonged to and didn't want to piss off his mistress. I found it all fascinating really. We were just one big happy family. I still made sure to see Myra. I went with her to the soup kitchen a few times a week. It wasn't so bad, and it gave us a chance to catch up. I told her all about YiYi and West, even the weird stuff. She thought it was funny. All that stuff had been going on for years, she said. People just weren't so secretive about it anymore. She noticed I'd gained weight. "Looks good on ya' Miss America. You look like a woman now." It wasn't a surprise. West was always cooking. I think he really enjoyed it. When he wasn't there, YiYi and I ate out. I don't even think she knew how to turn on the stove. Myra had been in the hospital again, for three glorious days. She said her feet had swollen up, but I think she just wanted someplace warm and comfortable to sleep. I asked her if she was happy. She gave the typical old person answer that she was tired. I felt so bad for her, not wanting to go home, and having no place else to go. YiYi said she could get her into a nursing home. I knew that was something I'd have to talk Myra into. She liked her freedom. I'd have to talk to her about it before I left for the Society, but I had some time until then. Why do today what you can put off until tomorrow?

After hanging out with Myra, I headed over to Central Park by the Alice in Wonderland statue, just to sit and people watch. It was always crawling with children. When I was little, my grandmother gave me a leather bound copy of the Lewis Carroll tale. It was printed in 1929. It was so old, the pages were tanned and crumbling, but I would read it again and again. While other children imagined how fun it would be to visit that land of nonsense, I saw it as a cautionary tale. I was terrified of the White Rabbit, and all of those strange creatures Alice meets along the way. What would I do, I used to wonder, if I ever got stuck there? How would I survive? How would I escape? I stayed in the park for a couple of hours, until someone's manny started hitting on me. I couldn't get away from Jeremiah the bowtie-wearing hipster, fast enough. I was on my way back to YiYi's house when I heard someone calling my name. I wouldn't have turned around, but most people didn't call me Lexi. It was Ian, my mother's old boyfriend, making his way through the rush hour crowd. He was smiling, but I detected a hint of anxiety on his face, as though he was worried I might bolt at any second. I wanted to, but curiosity kept my feet firmly in place. Ian was kind of like family. Kind of. He hugged me with fatherly affection. It was nice. Growing up, Ian never gave off the pervy I'd-fuck-you-if-I-could-get-away-with-it vibe I got from most older men.

"It's so good to see you," he said. "Where are you off to? Do you have time for a bite to eat?" He nodded his head toward the Grays Papaya across the street. He remembered how much I loved their hot dogs and cheap tropical drinks. How could I say no? You don't sit at Gray's Papaya, you stand, but luckily everyone was getting their food to go, so we had plenty of room at the bright yellow counter.

"Alexia, I'm so glad I ran into you. I just wanted to say how sorry I am about, well, everything." I nodded and tried to look attentive, but I was much more concerned with whether I should have gotten three hot dogs instead of two. I hadn't started on my second one yet, but they were just so delicious. "You know I would never hurt you," he said, searching my eyes to see if I believed it. But I knew that was the thing people said after they'd already done something to hurt you. What they really meant to say is, 'the pain I'm going to cause you in the future will not exceed this threshold.' Ian could have been talking about any number of wrongs: getting involved with my mother while he was married, knocking her up and hitting the road, abandoning us in a city we'd only moved to because of his bullshit promises. His apology mattered as much as closing a door does in a house with no walls. "It's just that your mother wasn't going to let me claim the baby. Julia can't have kids you know." Julia was his wife and no, I didn't know, nor did I realize it was my responsibility to care. "She was going to cut me completely out of his life, which was insane." Was it, Ian? Was that really the insane part in all of this? "So, I lashed out with the only leverage I had. But I would've never gone through with it, Lexi. Never. I was bluffing. And she knew that." He took a breath, finally free from the demon of guilt. Now, I was all ears. What wouldn't he have gone through with? What was he talking about?

"Ian, I totally understand," I lied, hoping he would elaborate. He glanced at my empty paper plate and chuckled. "I forgot, you're a starving college student now. I'll grab you another one. What are you doing home anyway?"

What now? College?

He saw the confused look on my face. "Oh no. You dropped out. Was it the money? I knew it. I knew your mother needed help. I am going to fix this, Lexi. Mark my words."

"Ok, Ian, you got me. I don't know what the fuck you're talking about. I was never in college. I've been living on the street. I haven't been home in years."

His brain would not process my words. I thought his face was going to explode with all the blinking, and tics, and twitching. He just couldn't understand. As I told him the whole story, he kept looking around like he was waiting for a camera crew to appear and tell him he was being pranked. He adjusted his glasses several times, something he used to do whenever my mother yelled at him.

"This is all my fault," he muttered to himself. "Listen to me, Lexi, you have to go home. Do you understand? You have to go home." He was holding me tightly by the shoulders. "You've got it all wrong, Lex. It's not what it seems. You're mother loves you so much. Wow. I fucked everything up because I'm a selfish prick. I would've never gone through with any of it. Do you understand me?"

"What do you mean? What's going on?"

He adjusted his glasses again. "It's never been my story to tell. You have to talk to your mom. Do you have her number? Oh my God. You... I—you need to go home right now. Will you promise me? Will you go home right now?"

"Yes."

He kissed my forehead and repeated another chorus of apologies. He would come with me he said, but he desperately needed to see his sponsor before he ruined eleven years of sobriety. Watching him go was actually kind of sad. Kind of. In that moment, I wished he really was my father so that he felt some obligation to stay, and help me figure out what to do next. I wanted so badly to go back home and have everything be the way it was, but that wasn't possible. What tragic revelation lay in wait to turn my world upside down? The chaos you know is easier to deal with, than the chaos you don't know. I decided not to go home, not yet anyway. Being homeless had made me incredibly strong, but also aware of just how fragile I was. My past sat in the distance, on a road that had long been destroyed. Even though I couldn't get to it, I took comfort just knowing it was there, exactly as I'd left it. I finished my papaya juice and hit the street. YiYi would be wondering where I was.

# CHAPTER 12

The Society of Names would begin the induction for a new round of recruits in a couple of months. According to YiYi, we had a lot of work to do. I needed to learn how to transform myself. It was a part of being a woman, she said. I needed a major beauty overhaul, but today would just be a little introduction to the world of face paint, self tanner, and hair removal. "Mousy and I like the natural look, but the rest of the world likes it high and tight. Know what I mean?" She was pulling no punches as we made our way into Atlantis Day Spa, a place that looked like Willie Wonka took over Ceasar's Palace. Amid the sparkling lights in the ceiling, sheets of chiffon ribboned down to the floor creating unnecessary curtains. I wondered how long it would be before I tripped on one. Fish tanks were built right into the walls, filled with brightly colored marine life. I went close and tapped on the tank to see if they were real. They were. Sushi mermaids lounged on long, slender tables, smiling as people picked at their delicacies. Tables that looked like blooming coral held rows of assorted chocolates in little paper cups. I grabbed several of the cups as we passed by and YiYi slapped my hand. "What are you a camel? Don't take more than you can eat." An enormous palm tree made out of iridescent glass held court in the middle of the floor, elegantly extending glasses of champagne to the guests. All the staff wore Grecian garb with metallic sandals. We approached the concierge desk, and were greeted by a young man wearing a full face of makeup. I mean a full face, kabuki. Antonius was his name. He welcomed us to the spa and air kissed YiYi on either side of the face. "Isn't she beautiful?" YiYi bragged, pulling my hair out of my face to give Antonius a better look. He went mad for me, patting my skin and running his hands through my hair in admiration. "Gorgeous, honey! As soon as we get rid of these raggedy blonde ends, she'll look like a Brazilian supermodel." I wanted to tell him I wasn't Brazilian, but it didn't seem like it would have made much difference. "She needs everything Antonius. The gamut. And don't forget that little something extra."

Anonius ushered me to the back of the salon, promising that I would emerge a star from head to toe. After two murderous hours of plucking, waxing, electro-something, baking, steaming, boiling and several other torturous treatments, I made it to the massage parlor. In a cozy, candle lit room, the scent of Japanese cherry blossom and a soundtrack of crashing waves, promised a more soothing experience. I hoped and prayed it would be a relaxing massage, not some hefty woman named Helga, performing wrestler-style elbow drops on my back. I hung my robe on the door as instructed, and collapsed onto the table. A few minutes later, the loveliest voice greeted me. Her name was Ashara, a gorgeous black girl with smooth brown skin. She had a jet-black bob that shined like patent leather, and ended in a curtain of thick bangs. She poured some oil into her hands and began tenderly massaging my neck and back. Every bone in my body disintegrated. I was so relaxed, you could have scooped me off the table with a soup spoon.

Ashara helped me get onto my back, and after ensuring my comfort, began massaging my breasts and stomach. She pressed her lips to mine for a teasing kiss, chasing my tongue with her own, sucking at my bottom lip. I was surprised but delighted when I felt her warm mouth on my nipples. She went back and forth between my breasts, flicking her tongue, sucking and nibbling, until my back arched into a near circle and my face flushed pink. At the same time, she placed her hand between my thighs and gently approached the silky new skin. She inserted her fingers and moved them in a "come hither" motion, caressing the sensitive rooftop hideaway. "That's it. Just let go," she urged, as I gyrated on her fingers. Wow, this was some day at the spa. As my bliss came to fruition, my moans threatened to eclipse the artificial nature soundtrack. "Oh my God!" I cried out, gripping her hand between my legs. When I opened my eyes, Ashara was patiently waiting for me to... recover. I was a bit put off by her curt professionalism. I thought we were both enjoying ourselves. Ashara helped me into my robe and escorted me down to a place called the Unveiling Station, where I would get some finishing touches and be taught how to apply makeup. We entered the room, and it proved even more overdone than the rest of the spa. There was an elaborate shipwreck depicted in the middle of the room, complete with sunken treasure, and a giant sea creature to guard it, but just like the tree, it was a festive way of holding champagne. The ceiling was made of interwoven wooden slats that spiraled round and round like a nautilus shell. I sat down on a comfortable chair at one of the stations and nearly did a double take. My chaotic hair had been transformed into Botticelli-esque waves, and there was no more blonde. My brows had been plucked into dainty arches, and my skin was glowing. I looked like a different person. "Fabulous!" Antonius exclaimed, rushing over to admire the handiwork of his staff. "Remarkable!" agreed a member of his entourage. I had to admit, it was the most beautiful I'd ever seen myself, and they hadn't even applied the makeup yet. An hour later, lashed, blushed, and bronzed to the hilt, I could've made Adriana Lima self conscious.

Antonius held my hand as he walked me back out to the lobby. "Glamadonnas, Monroettes, and Snatch Queens, feast your eyes on this!" he announced. I felt like a show pony being led around the ring. He'd put me in a black dress, and a pair of stilettos so high, they should've come with a parachute and binoculars. I tried to appear graceful as I walked out for the big reveal, but I looked more like a baby deer in an ice rink. YiYi stood up when she saw me, her mouth agape as she looked me over. "Wow," she said, as Antonius made me do a full pageant spin. She took my hand and stared into my eyes, then pulled my face to hers for a passionate kiss. Antonius fussed about my makeup getting ruined, but when the entire room burst into applause, he had no choice but to join in. As we left the spa, YiYi placed her arm around my waist. She wanted the world to know I was taken. Within seconds after getting into the cab, the dress was up around my waist and her hand was exploring my smooth slit. "You're nice and wet for me babe. You must have had a good time in there," she murmured, as she fingered my pussy. She was just about to pull me onto her lap, when I noticed the cab driver's beady eyes in the rearview mirror. He seemed very into our little show and we were still parked. "Sorry," started the humble Nigerian. "You never tell me where you going. You just start loving and I don't want to bother you." YiYi and I burst out laughing. "96th and 3d please."

Back at YiYi's apartment, we scarcely made it through the door before we pounced on each other. After making love in the Red Room, we relaxed into the laziness of the day. YiYi sat cross-legged on the bed checking emails. I was posted in front of the mirror, admiring my new look and dreaming of my new life. YiYi had given me some makeup and a small bag to store it in. I emptied out its contents onto the dresser and began experimenting with the different products. The photo of YiYi caught my eye again, and I pulled it down from the edge of the mirror. I'd been meaning to ask her about it. In the picture she was outfitted like a Prada geek- stylish glasses and a conservative bun.

"When did you make the switch to Lady Leather?" I joked.

After a pause she said, "It's not me. It's my sister Ming. We're twins."

Well I wasn't ready for that twist. When she'd referred to her 'older' sister, I didn't know she meant older by a few minutes. Now I understood the inscription on the back: I'm heads, you're tails. They were opposite ends of the same coin.

"This is actually her apartment," she revealed. "She decorated this room for me, so I'd know I always have a place to go. Isn't it cool? Quirky and sexy, just like me."

So that's why the rest of the apartment looked so...stiff. I mean, I'd seen YiYi walk down 5th Avenue at high noon in a latex gown and cape. She was anything but drab, so you can see why I was surprised when she said Foxy was Ming's nickname, not hers. It was based on Foxy Brown she said, a sexed-up blaxploitation film heroine from the 70s.

"Because of the way she looked, people didn't expect Foxy Brown to be such a tough, ruthless adversary. It's the same with Mingy. She looks so reserved that no one ever sees it coming, but my sister's a bonafide badass, Alexia. You have no idea. She's tougher than I'll ever be, and that's saying a lot." I asked her where Ming was now. "She joined the Society of Names. To get away from everything." I pushed even though I could see she didn't want to talk about it anymore. "Get away from everything like what?" I asked.

The words seemed to drip down her lips one by one, as she told me about her sister, her mentor, her best friend. Ming balanced out her craziness, she said. She was the angel on her shoulder telling her to do the right thing, and the shoulder to cry on when she didn't. She was independent and fearless and bulletproof, and drove YiYi to be the same. "But life just got the better of her," she continued in a strained voice. "She made some mistakes and couldn't forgive herself." It was like a switch had flipped in the buttoned-up, uber-responsible plain Jane. Overnight she became wild, reckless and self indulgent. She gave up a promising career, a devoted husband, and the belief that she deserved anything good out of life. "She just broke into a hundred little pieces and I couldn't put her back together."

Given the things YiYi had revealed to me about their childhood, I wasn't surprised her sister had a breakdown like that. I mean, they went through some fucked up shit. It had to leave behind some serious battle scars. When Ming was scouted by the Society of Names, it was the first time in a long while she was excited about something. The old Ming would have never considered doing something so unchaste, but the new Ming saw it as a chance to start over. "I tried to be supportive but really, I never thought she would go through with it." YiYi dropped her head and started to cry. It was strange to see her so vulnerable. I walked over and sat on the bed next to her, hoping I would sense what to do when I got there. I placed my hand close to her and she accepted it, lacing her fingers in mine, and resting her head on my shoulder. "I can't lose her. That's why I had to do all of this. That's why I need your help." I could tell there was more she wanted to say, but she stopped herself. I thought about my little sister Esme, the only person in the world I would do anything for. I could feel YiYi's pain.

Contact between the Society's new recruits and the outside world was severely limited. There were no cell phones, internet, or television. After a length of time, the girls were permitted email access, but there were restrictions on that too. YiYi hadn't heard from Ming in awhile and was worried about her. She wanted me to make sure she was ok, and maybe even convince her to come home. "Of course I'll do that for you," I said, smoothing her hair back from her face. "Whatever I can do." I had never been in love before, but I'd heard people say you'll know when it happens. That never made much sense to me. Did I love YiYi? Did she love me? She leaned forward and began to kiss my neck. I closed my eyes and turned my head slightly, leading her supple lips to mine. She bit at my bottom lip teasingly, before devouring my kiss, her tongue whirling around mine, determined to dominate. In seconds, our clothing lay in a heap on the floor, leaving us naked and perfect before one another. She pushed me back onto the bed and straddled me, pinning me with a hard kiss. My hands explored her body with such wonder. I was absolutely mesmerized by her. I sucked and nibbled up and down her neck, over her throat, behind her ears, desperately wanting to brand each part of her skin. She sat up and slid one hand down her stomach, and spread herself apart. I knew what she wanted, what she was aching for. I opened myself up, my swollen peak beckoning to her. I moaned softly when I felt her delicate sweetness mount my own. Arching her back, she began a slow, seductive grind, our dewy petals clinging at each lingering caress. I squeezed her plump, round ass, guiding her movements as she humped at my slit. I pulled her forward and began suckling her tits, squeezing the nipples between my lips, circling them with my tongue. Her breath became short, rhythmic pants as she climbed higher and higher. She bit her lip and whimpered as her body tremored. I pressed her to me, thrusting hard against her mound, the sticky moisture dripping down our inner thighs. "Fuck!" she cried out, as her body released the last of its praise to the gods of desire. She lay against me spent, her heart fluttering like a hummingbird's wings. I held her tight, languishing in this new feeling. I could not yet put it into words, but I knew that I had changed somehow, we had changed. I didn't want to leave the we behind. Had it not been for YiYi's concern about her sister, I wouldn't go. Fuck the money. I'd been surviving on little to nothing thus far. She'd fallen asleep on my chest.

As I listened to the sound of her breathing, my mind wandered to the clandestine assembly I would soon become a part of. The Society of Names scouted its recruits through a series of interviews and background checks. YiYi's friend Katia had been selected, but couldn't do it for personal reasons. The golden ticket was nontransferable, and only someone who could pass for Katia could snag the seat. Lucky for me, we looked pretty similar. She was almost a decade older than me, but YiYi said it wouldn't matter. The selected candidates were invited to a field house where they were evaluated further, based on performance. What went on there was shrouded in mystery. It all seemed a bit, well, crazy. How could no one know a thing about this organization? No conspiracy theories floating around the net, or grainy, washed-out footage on YouTube?

YiYi was still fast asleep when her phone chimed alerting that a new email arrived. She groaned, not wanting to wake up. She kissed me and rolled over to check the message from her laptop. "Shit," she muttered under her breath. "What is it," I asked, not even bothering to move. It was a message from the Society. The induction date had been moved up. Instead of leaving in a couple of months, I'd be leaving in a few days. I popped up to read it for myself, but the computer had already shut itself down. It was due to some kind of virus they installed to preserve anonymity, but YiYi said even if we could track the email, it would most likely lead to a dead end. I started freaking out. I wasn't ready for this. Who was I supposed to be again? I couldn't even pronounce the last name of my new identity, let alone spell it. And where was I supposed to be from again? Someplace in Brooklyn? No, Queens. Oh God. YiYi had been drilling me on the details of Katia's life for weeks, and I thought I had them down. Nothing like a little panic to empty out your brain. Make that a lot of panic. What if they found out I wasn't Katia whoever-the-fuck? And I hadn't even had a chance to tell Myra I was leaving, or mention the nursing home thing. She was not going to be happy.

"I'll take care of Myra babe, just like we talked about." YiYi had a friend who was going to get Myra into a nursing home using a recently deceased person's identity. It all seemed terribly morbid, and how did YiYi even know these kinds of people? I mean, was she hanging out at the Illuminati Bar and Grill? I was worried because Myra could be...difficult. She wasn't going to go to that nursing home willingly. That's why I wanted to be there with her, to explain everything. YiYi threw her hand up motioning me to hush at once and said, "Babe, she'll go. Do you think she wants to live on the street? Why do you think she likes staying in the hospital so much? Trust me. She'll go." Fine. I tried to quiet my mind, but the way YiYi was acting wasn't helping. She was irritated and frazzled. She began frantically straightening the room in the most inefficient manner. She looked so lost. "Do you want some help?" I asked. She didn't respond. Instead she started organizing the things on the dresser. I grabbed her arm to stop her from ignoring me. "Hey, are you mad at me or something?" She looked away. "No, of course not. I'm just... I should've told you everything from the beginning, about Ming, about all of this." "OK well, tell me now." It was complicated, she said. I tried to put my arms around her but she pulled away. "After I tell you everything, you might not want to be near me." She was right.

# CHAPTER 13

Before Ming joined the Society, the twins had never gone a day without speaking at least once. When the emails from Ming stopped, YiYi knew something was wrong, but she had no way of contacting her and had no idea where she was. She began an exhaustive search for her sister, even going so far as to hire a private investigator. She even delved into the dark net, the ugly underbelly of humanity. She combed through enough child rape sites to make her want to kill herself. Apparently, Society is a popular moniker. No one had any information that could help. She was at the end of her rope. Oddly enough, her friend Katia Saulveil had also been recruited by the Society. Pregnant with her first child, she gave up her ticket in the hopes it might be able to help YiYi find her sister. Katia suggested getting someone to go in and find Ming. In order to do that, they had to find someone who was not only willing to do it, but who could pass for Katia. When YiYi met me, she felt like she'd hit the jackpot. I looked just like Katia, and my day planner wasn't exactly full. I was the perfect mark. And just to make sure the big fish never got away, she slipped me a tracking device. I remember the day she presented me with two little tablets and said, "Take these. You'll feel like a million bucks." Of course I swallowed them right there because, who wouldn't want to feel like a million bucks? We kept running into each other, but I thought it was kismet, the universe pushing us together. YiYi's plan was simple at first: I would infiltrate the Society, report any findings about Ming's whereabouts, and go on about my business, but the more YiYi learned about the organization, the more she realized Ming was in serious danger. She now believed she had to get her sister out of there, so the plan evolved into some crazy, Ocean's Eleven type shenanigans. What she needed me to do was some top tier spy shit that was way over my head. After she'd told me all of this, I was so hurt and embarrassed that I couldn't stand to look at her. I had to get the fuck out of there. She cried and pleaded with me not to go. She said she'd developed real feelings for me and that if I didn't want to do it, it wouldn't ruin our relationship. Yeah, like she would keep fucking the girl who could've helped save her sister, but didn't. I was beyond angry. She seduced me, used me, and lied to me. She'd never planned on telling me the danger I was in, or that the Society had personally visited her home to tell her to back off. She was going to send me into the lion's den blind. What if I'd been hurt or killed? I guess that was a chance she was willing to take. I lay on a bench just a few blocks from her building, staring up at the starless Manhattan sky. The street was relatively quiet, save for an occasional taxi, or a tipsy couple returning home from a night out. I had no idea what time it was or how long I'd been there. I felt a drop of water on my face. And then another. It started to rain. I pulled my Eddie Bauer backpack over my face and crept off into the only safe place I knew. When you're homeless, you learn to sleep through just about anything.

When I woke up, it took me a moment to remember where I was. My clothes were a little damp, but it hadn't rained too long. I stretched my legs and felt something at my feet. I was alarmed to say the least. I popped my head up and saw someone sitting at the end of the bench, barely able to fit on the bit of ledge unoccupied by my body. It was a man. I couldn't make out much more than a hat and jacket, but I smelled weed. Most potheads are relatively harmless. I sat up and put my backpack on my lap, trying to give this stranger the proper space.

"Hey, sorry about that," I mumbled.

"No problem sweetheart," came the familiar British accent.

It was none other than West Aldale. He'd been out of town on business and I hadn't seen him in awhile. He slid down next to me, casually passing the blunt as if we were sitting on a couch in a frat house. Had YiYi sent him after me? After all, she could just pretty much just tap a button and see where I was.

"Of course she did love," he croaked, in that strained trying-to-keep-the-smoke-in voice. He finally exhaled and the smoke ballooned around him. "You're not going to tell me to bugger off too, are you?"

No, I wasn't. I was happy to have a shoulder to cry on, and West just had this way of making you trust him, love him even. I took another long toke of the blunt and passed it back.

"She fell for you right away you know? She tried to find someone else."

The weed was already kicking in. A case of the fuck-its was not far off. "So why didn't she?" I asked, trying to suppress the cough that had gripped my lungs.

"We ran out of time, love. But let me ask you this, if the roles were reversed, would you have done something differently? If someone you loved disappeared, what wouldn't you sacrifice to find them?"

A picture of Esme instantly popped into my head- the mop of blonde curls, the smattering of freckles across her nose. I missed her so much. I saw his point. "But what about the police? I mean, really pushing the police to get involved."

He smiled wryly. "You don't think she's been through all that? The detective on the case said he'd made contact with Ming and she didn't want to be found."

"And what, you guys don't believe that?"

"Not even a little. You don't know the depths of their bond, love. Foxy might run from the world, but never from her sister. Never."

Fine. But YiYi could have at least told me the truth and let it be my decision whether I helped her or not.

"True, but she'd tried that already. There was another girl before you."

He saw the look on my face and laughed. "Don't worry, they weren't shagging." He passed the blunt to me and I was alarmed at how much we'd smoked already. Good Lord, I was about to be fucked up.

"YiYi told her the whole story, and she backed out. We never saw her again. That's why we put a tracker on you. And that's why YiYi wanted to get to know you, so you would trust her. She didn't mean for it to become more."

"Are you sure you didn't spook the other girl by showing off your dog collar and maid's outfit? 'Cause that would send the average person running for the hills."

He affectionately mussed my hair. "Come on love, that's an intimate part of our lives reserved for honored guests."

We sat in silence for awhile, letting the high soak into our bones. My mind was empty and it felt wonderful. I felt myself rising off the bench but when I looked down, I was still sitting right next to West. This made me giggle, that is until I realized just how high I was. Was I too high? Panic came in the form of paranoia-- slippery figures disappearing in my peripheral, creeping gusts of wind that made rustling leaves sound like rattling chains. West noticed me going under, and presented a distraction to put me back into my right mind. He put his arm around me and pointed to the moon. He didn't say a word, but I understood. It was magnificent. We sat in silence admiring the moon, the sibling who graciously waited in the shadows each day for its chance to take the stage. West finally spoke, and his words floated up in thin strands of smoke for me to breathe in. "None of us are just one thing," he began, staring up at the sky. "A villain can be a hero. A liar can be a judge. A wise man picks up the box and views all sides, but still he knows that his perception is flawed." I had no idea what West was trying to say, if anything at all, and he didn't elaborate. I jumped when music started playing through the pocket of his blazer. Ringtones were so annoying. Thank God he answered it right away. I had never owned a cellphone, but to me ringtones reflected a desperate need for acceptance but ineptness at relationships. West stood up suddenly. "Alexia, I need to go. Something's wrong. Stay here." My brain was in a fog and I could hear myself talking slower than I intended. "What is it? Is it YiYi?" "I said stay here. I'll be back." That daddy act might have worked if I wasn't all fucked up, but I was, so I was coming.

West took off and I had to jog to keep up with him. The city lights danced by me in blurs of dripping paint. We arrived at YiYi's place a few minutes later, whizzing by the sleepy-eyed doorman and onto the elevator. I looked up at West hoping for an answer of some sort. He stared at the keypad, watching the numbers light up one by one as the lumbering beast reluctantly dragged us to our destination. When we got off the elevator, West pantomimed to me to wait there. Wasn't happening. I followed him down the hallway. YiYi's door easily pushed open. The lockset had been meticulously removed. There wasn't even a trace of dust on the tile below. I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach. West steadied me against the wall. "Wait here," he whispered, and headed in to search the apartment. This time I didn't disobey. Tears waited at the rim of my eyes, a useless overflow of regret. West returned and his face said it all. The apartment was just as it always was, save for the open window. YiYi never opened the windows. The gossamer curtains waved about like a beacon signaling surrender. YiYi was gone and there was no doubt as to who was behind it, but why? The room was tilting and turning and my thoughts evaporated like drops of water on a hot skillet. West was saying something, but I seemed to be floating away into a remarkable darkness. "Alexia!" he said sharply, pulling me to my feet and back into consciousness. "We have to go. It's not safe here."

Sometimes I forgot that West had a life outside of YiYi and I. He had his own home on 22nd street, a trendy, upscale apartment outfitted with strange art and one-of-a-kind furniture. In the foyer was a sculpture of a nude woman on all fours, shaped like a rocking horse. There were paintings of women with animal heads engaging in various acts of depravity, and the walls were splatter-painted with bright colors. I lay on the couch tangled up in a ball. I cried myself soggy, replaying the events of the evening over and over again. I felt like it was my fault YiYi got kidnapped. West came over and set some food on the table in front of me. I had no appetite. He insisted I eat anyway. I took a few bites just to appease him, but I wished he would stop being so nurturing. No, that wasn't true. It was actually a comfort. Since we met, West had proven to be much more than a freak on a leash As I played with the food on my plate, he began gathering items into a duffel bag.

"So what do we do now?" I asked bleakly.

"We'll stay someplace for a few days, meet up with the others and stick to the plan. There's no other way."

I shook my head. No way. Was he fucking serious? There was no way in hell I was going.

A look of surprise came over his face, and he stopped loading the bag. "Wait, even with what's just happened, you're- you're not going?" I could hear the disappointment in his tone. I looked away. The silence was a third party in the room.

He folded his arms and thought for a moment. "Sweetheart, this won't work without you. I need your help." He knelt down in front of me. "They've got our girl, love. We have to do something."

We didn't have to do anything and I wasn't going to. It was a horrible thing that happened, but I wasn't a bounty hunter. "Does anyone care what happens to me? We don't even know if this plan is going to work. Why should I risk my life for that?"

"What life!" West exploded. "Is that what you think you've got going on? Waking up everyday not having to care about anyone, or feel anything, or make any decisions? How far do you think that'll take you?"

Kaboom. I was completely thrown. I'd never seen him angry, and it was scary. Why was he being so mean to me? Tears piled up in the corners of my eyes. "You- you're wrong," I stammered. "I do care."

"Right. Go on then. Get back to your very fulfilling life. I know you've got people counting on you. Wouldn't want to let anyone down."

The words were crushing. He wasn't wrong. I felt like a monster. Nothing in my life mattered more than what I could do right then. I had nothing to lose. I watched him zip up the duffel bag and throw it over his shoulder. He was leaving.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"What? Did you think I was going to wait around hoping you'd come to some personal epiphany? I'm going to see if there's any way I can help my friend."

"Wait!" I shouted. "I get it, ok? I'll do it. I'll go. There's just one thing I have to do first."

What I needed to do first, was find Myra and tell her I was going. I felt terrible about leaving her. I mean, I know she didn't need me to take care of her, but we'd become sort of a team. I got lucky. Normally she'd be at a shelter and it would have been impossible to find her, but today, a restaurant in Brooklyn called the Lobster Joint, gave out their leftovers to the homeless. She lived for it. The lobster sliders were so good, she'd gone in and paid for them a few times. Everybody there knew Myra. After she got her doggie bag of seafood, she would come back to Penn Station to enjoy it in peace. I found Myra sitting in the walkway that led to track 15. I knew she'd be there. It was the least used at that time of night. She'd already started digging in. Her face lit up when she saw me.

"Miss America, where the hell you been? You just out there breakin' all the rules, huh? Go head girl."

I wasn't in the mood. I sat down on the ground next to her. "Myra listen," I began, my throat already getting dry and tight.

"I know, I know," she interrupted, "you goin' away someplace. Maybe make a lot of money, and you want me to go to the nursing home." I looked at her wide-eyed. "Yeah, your little Asian girlfriend already talked to me."

"When?" I exclaimed, grabbing her by the shoulders.

"Girl, if you don't get off me like that..."

"Sorry," I said, lowering my gaze to the floor.

"Musta been a week ago now. She gave me this." Myra pulled out a cellphone. It looked so strange in her hands.

"Mr. Raoul is going to call me when a bed comes up." She took a bite of lobster. I wanted to cry and scream and laugh, all at the same time. The fact that YiYi had already taken care of this, meant so much to me. But why did she go behind my back and do it? I guess she knew I would wait until the last minute.

"Myra, I'm so scared," I cried.

"Aww honey, come here," she said, putting her arm around me.

"What are you scared of?"

I wanted to tell her everything, the whole crazy story, but I didn't. I couldn't. I just told her I was about to do something that could be dangerous, and that I wasn't sure if it was the right thing to do. "I see," she said with a sigh. "Well, if you don't do it, would you spend the rest of your life wondering what would've happened if you did?" I would. "Well baby girl, sounds like you best get to it. Remember, you got to focus on what you want, not what you're afraid of." I was still repeating the mantra in my head as I made my way to the hotel to meet up with West.

West, his friend Teak, and I, would spend the next few days preparing for my departure at the Hudson Hotel in Hell's Kitchen. Although it looked like an upscale correctional institution, it was still nicer than any place I'd ever stayed. I expected it to be brimming with wide-eyed Midwestern families and grinning foreigners, eagerly anticipating their first Broadway show, but I was wrong. Apparently, the hotel catered to the who's who of the criminal underworld. Teak said we'd be safe there. They'd let us know if anyone was coming for us. The scheme YiYi had put together was far more elaborate than I'd imagined, and that was only based on the few details I was privy to. West thought it would be better if I didn't know everything. My part in it sounded simple, but it wasn't. They needed me to steal a ledger that contained information about where YiYi and Ming were being held. The ledger was in the office of Countess Veronique des Valentines, the woman in charge of the courtesans. As a new recruit, I'd be scheduled for a one-on-one meeting with her. West thought that would be the best time for me to make my move. How exactly, he didn't know. I'd have to figure that out once I saw the layout. I was flattered they had so much faith in me, but terrified I would fuck it up. I just needed to create a distraction, Teak said, or an excuse to go back into her office when she wasn't there. There were no cameras in her office, so that would make it a little easier. If I got caught, the worst thing that would happen is I'd get thrown out. Once I found out where they were keeping the girls, I would deliver the information to a contact in the kitchen. It was guarded, and its staff were only permitted in limited areas of the complex. I would have to figure out a way into the kitchen, and the contact would find me. The next issue was the surveillance equipment that would be installed in my head . It was called a Godseye. It would be difficult to work around, but not impossible. To stop the camera, I only needed to shut my left eye. West suggested taping it shut. The audio could be impaired by playing music through headphones, but the effect would only last for a few minutes. Eventually, the audio would readjust itself and be able to pick up our conversation. This was a lot for me. Could I do this? Could I really do what they were asking of me? Focus on what you want, not what you're afraid of, I kept saying to myself, but my courage only lasted the span of the phrase.

Before I knew it, the induction day was upon us. The instructions in the last email were very specific, with a warning that should I deviate from them in the least, I would not be picked up. West and Teak would follow me for as long as they could, using the tracking device that was still floating around in my body. That made me feel a little better, but not much. I arrived at the Westway Diner on 9th Avenue at 11:02pm. I wasn't supposed to go in until 11:10, so I waited outside, wondering who among the seemingly casual urbanites was one of them. Once I sat down at the first booth in the middle, I was to order a cup of coffee and a slice of cherry pie. I started panicking, wondering what would happen if they didn't have cherry pie. Would that be it? Game over? The waitress returned with my order. "Nice and warm for ya'," she said. That pie looked so good. It even had whipped cream sliding down the crust, but the instructions didn't say to eat it. Damn. The waitress had also brought the check. I turned it over. It was blank. I guess she was in on it too.

At precisely 12:05am on the diner clock, I was to walk to 8th Avenue and get on the C train, and sit in the first car. When I saw a man dressed all in white, that was my cue to get off. I sat down, vigilantly watching the doors for the mystery gentleman. There were so many people getting on and off that it was difficult to see all of them. What if I missed him? I decided it might be better to stand up. Before I could even fully get out of the way, another passenger slid into the bright orange seat. Jesus. I grabbed onto one of the metal poles in the middle of the car. Someone was watching me, an older professionally dressed woman with red hair. Was I being paranoid? The further we went Uptown, the more the crowd thinned out. "Stand clear of the closing doors," the automated voice bellowed. Still no sign of the man in white. Now I was certain, the red haired woman was watching me. I tried to calm myself down. The next stop was 116th Street. When the train came to a stop, the red haired woman ran off just before the doors closed. I watched her through the glass, walking briskly down the platform. She had an Eddie Bauer backpack just like mine. I looked down at my feet. She'd snatched it! Was she with the Society, or had I just been targeted by a random thief? Wait, what was I thinking? Of course she was with the Society. A decent thief could take one look at me and know I had nothing of value. The train lumbered down the tracks toward 145th Street. Before it came to a complete stop, I saw an older gentleman on the platform dressed to the nines, all in white. It was him! I could have jumped for joy. He and I walked right past each other, but he avoided eye contact with me. The train station emptied out quickly, and I was one of the few people left. There was another girl who'd gotten off the train when I did, young, pretty. With her blonde bob and peacoat, she looked a little out of place for the neighborhood. Was she here for the same reason I was? She looked so scared, chewing her fingernails all to bits, and glancing around skittishly. I wished I could've said something to her, but the Society's instructions forbade it. She was staying pretty close to me, almost walking beside me. As we started up the stairs to the exit, we shared a meaningful glance. I saw the longing in her eyes to communicate. Any word from me would have probably been an enormous comfort to her, but I couldn't risk it. I didn't know who was watching us, or how. When we reached the top of the stairs, without looking at me she muttered, "You're braver than I am. Good luck." She ran across the street and entered the subway headed back downtown. I wanted to call after her, to say something, anything. A companion would have been nice in all of this. How many other girls had started on this journey and backed out. The next part of the instructions had me walking three blocks, and waiting in front of an apartment building. Christ. Was all this really necessary? I mean, couldn't they have sent a car for me or something?

The hood was alive with its usual festive atmosphere. The catcalls and ruckus didn't bother me; I was grateful not to be alone. The red and yellow blinking lights of the bodegas lit up the streets. Junkies sat on stoops telling tales of who they used to be, and the dealers were out, slick-tongued and slippery-eyed. When I was a kid, I asked my mother why people would risk so much to sell drugs. She said it was because Wal-mart didn't pay enough and the dollar wasn't worth shit anymore. She had the heart of a hippie and an impassioned hatred for 'the Man', constantly droning on about government oppression and what she called, 'The Great Societal Sleep'. When it was time for the sex talk, she stressed the importance of safety, but told me I should have fun and explore my body. I did. Her number one rule for choosing who to bed? Never screw anyone you can say more than three negative things about. It hadn't steered me wrong yet. If I'd followed the rule with Henry, I never would have slept with him. Wait, I'd forgotten about Dylan. He'd been the only exception. I'd known him for months, and hadn't come up with a single negative thing to say about him and he turned out to be a dud.

The neighborhood changed suddenly, and I was on a dark and desolate street. It was lined with parked cars, but they didn't have license plates. None of them. I saw a boy on a bike up ahead, but he quickly disappeared around a corner. I heard a scream in the distance. And then another. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. Someone was behind me. I couldn't bring myself to turn around. I could just make out the sound of shoes on the pavement. Was it West? No, of course not. He would have said something. My legs broke into a run, but I seemed to be moving in slow motion. The footsteps picked up, and the person was gaining on me. I opened my mouth to scream, but someone was on me instantly, covering my mouth and holding me so tightly, it hurt my ribs. Something was shoved in my mouth, and a sack was placed over my head. I was fighting as hard as I could, but I couldn't budge. Again I tried to scream, but the sound only echoed in my head. Saliva pooled in my throat, choking me. That was the last thing I remembered.

# CHAPTER 14

"Rise and shine," came my grandmother's melodic voice. My siblings and I stayed with my grandparents for a few weeks every summer. They always woke us up early for breakfast. We usually had pancakes. Afterward, we would join them in the garden. Specifically designed to attract butterflies, it was a magical place to me. I could stay there for hours. "Rise and shine." I opened my eyes only to realize, I'd been dreaming. The voice was coming from a speaker, and I was staring up at a ceiling decorated with fat cherubs. The walls were the color of pinched cheeks, and sparkled from gold flecks mixed into the paint. To my right was a wooden nightstand with a rose colored lamp. On the other side of me was an enormous, antiquated armoire that seemed much too large for the tiny room. I looked down and saw I was covered in blankets, as pink and fluffy as cotton candy. Pink, pink, pink, everywhere in various shades and tones. Of course I thought of Esme. It was her signature color. Where the hell was I? A hotel? Martha Stewarts bedroom? I lifted up the blankets. Yup, stark naked. The voice over the speaker began again with its greeting. I could hear faint cries coming from beyond the door. Was I dreaming? When I sat up, I noticed something pulling at the back of my neck. I assumed my hair was caught on something but when I reached back, I felt a cord attached to my head. What the fuck? I tried pulling it out but it was on good and tight. I was afraid if I pulled it too hard, I might rip my skin. And then a boy appeared at my bedside. He had shoulder length black hair and the most unusual eye color I'd ever seen, a rich, fiery amber. He was... beautiful. Model beautiful. Out of my league beautiful. He was wearing a uniform of some sort, navy blue with AVI embroidered on the pocket. We just kind of stared at each other for awhile. There was something calming about his presence. I instinctively knew he wouldn't harm me. "Don't scream, ok?" He had an accent I couldn't quite place, rhythmic and choppy. He reached behind my head, and with a loud click, separated me from the cord. I felt the spot on the back of my neck. There was something under the skin. "It's ok," he said with the most divinely perfect smile. "You are here now." "Here," I echoed like a foreigner learning a new word. I finally realized 'here' was the Society of Names. I was in. "I'm here!" I threw my arms around the boy. He had a slim frame, but solid. When I pulled away, I saw he was blushing from the affection, and trying hard to be respectful of my nakedness. Judging by his features, I figured he was young, eighteen or nineteen. I became distracted by all the noise coming from the hallway.

"What's going on out there?" I asked.

"It's other girls. They are waking up just like you. They get very scary."

"Scared," I corrected.

"Yes princess, they get very scared." He extended his hand for a formal introduction. Adorable, considering he'd already seen me naked. "I am Avi, your attendant. I will be your advisor." He could sense my skepticism, and I felt bad. I didn't even know where the fuck I was, yet had the audacity to question his help.

"Now princess, this thing in your head is called a Godseye. It monitors your health and regulates sleeping. Do you understand?" I nodded. I remembered West and Teak explaining it to me, but I didn't know it did more than record what I was up to. "Every night at bed time, we must plug in. Or, if there is some emergency and they order a lockdown, we must plug in. Never disobey this. Never. Do you understand?"

"Yes, got it." I looked around. No other beds. Had he been sleeping with me? "Where do you sleep?" He pointed to the floor. "You sleep on the floor?"

He shrugged. "In a sleeping mat. It's no problem for me. There are people going through much worse." He picked up my hand from my lap and kissed it. My whole body tingled. "I'm here to make your life easier. You are my only concern." Well, I was sold on Avi. It was like getting a brand new puppy.

The loudspeaker started up again. "Welcome recruits. Be honored because you have been chosen!" I could hear people whooping and cheering. "Be kind to your attendants and listen to all they have to teach you. They will help you navigate the road ahead. From this point on, everything is a test. Let me repeat that. Everything is a test. Get dressed and be down in the Ela Elap Hall in one hour." The woman finished the announcement and music began playing.

"What time is it anyway?" I asked, looking around for a clock.

Avi flashed his wrist to reveal what looked like an old school digital watch. "This is how we keep time. I've already set it. We've got fifty eight minutes left."

"But what time is it? I'm just curious."

"I don't know. No clocks, no watches. Time is different here. You will get used to it, but now we have to hurry. You're wasting shower time."

"What? There's plenty of time. I don't need fifty five minutes to shower and get dressed."

He smirked. "Just trust me princess."

The bathroom was teeny tiny but clean and nicely decorated. And it was my private bathroom. Well, mine and Avi's. I splashed some water on my face and brushed my teeth. Avi said that's all we would have time for. "You are going to look so wonderful princess. I cannot wait for myself to see." Neither could I, because I sure as hell didn't have an extra outfit with me. He opened the wooden armoire which was stuffed with all kinds of clothes. My mouth fell open. "These are for me?" "Yes princess, all for you. I picked them myself." Damn. I couldn't believe it. I really did feel like a princess. Growing up in a single parent household with three other siblings, new clothing was a rare commodity. When I was a freshman in high school, I found a bag of my mom's old clothes from when she was in high school. I felt like I'd hit the lottery.

Avi said I would have to wear something formal for this event. It was kind of like my big debut. He pulled out a white mock neck gown with long sleeves. There was an opening in the front that went from the neck to the floor revealing a mini dress underneath. "This is Halston Heritage. Do you like it?" "Like it? I'm ready to marry it and bear its children." Avi looked confused which made me giggle. "Yes Avi, I love it." I'd always loved fashion. It was only due to a lack of funds that I'd become a jeans and t-shirt kind of girl. After I'd gotten dressed, Avi sat me down at the vanity and showed me to a collection of makeup. He was impressed when I said I could do it myself. I was so glad YiYi had taken me to that salon and bought me the tools to practice with. Otherwise, I wouldn't have known the difference between the various tubes of liquid spread out on the table. Avi insisted we pin my hair up to really show off the dress, and somehow he managed to sweep it into a messy/sexy bun with only three bobby pins. It would've taken me at least half a pack and it wouldn't have looked half as good. While I finished my makeup, he continued dressing me, slipping on my jewelry and shoes. I stood up to look at myself in the full length mirror on the back of the door. Avi came up behind me. "Breathtaking, princess. You look so beautiful." I think he would have stood there for another few minutes, had I not reminded him we had to go. We had thirty two minutes left. "Oh, yes of course princess. Forgive me." "Wait Avi, what did that woman mean when she said everything is a test?" "It means you have not yet been accepted. You still have to prove you belong here. For the next three weeks, you will be under observation, but you can be thrown out at any time." My face fell. He lifted my chin and looked into my eyes. "You don't need to worry. Trust in me. I will get you through." There was an undeniable spark between us. I wanted to be close to him, that much I was certain of, but how could that be? I'd only known him for an hour. "Come princess. We must go."

Now I understood why we needed the extra time. I was in no way prepared for the hallway. It was like being trapped in a Salvador Dali painting. From floor to ceiling was every color and pattern imaginable. Every few seconds, the walls would shift vertically and horizontally, and there were large, image-distorting mirrors randomly placed. To make matters worse, the lights were flashing like a disco strobe. I wasn't sure, but the floor seemed to be spinning. It was fucking mayhem. Girls were everywhere trying to get their bearings, while their attendants tried to guide them. Some leaned helplessly against the walls, holding their heads. Others stumbled and fell over one another. I felt like I was going to puke, which was further spurred on by a girl next to me hurling her guts out. She was one of many. I should never have doubted Avi. He was as calm and steady as a mortician. He slipped an alcohol pad under my nose, and a piece of spearmint gum in my mouth. I instantly felt better. "The whole place is a maze", he said. "It was built before cameras and designed to keep people from wandering around where they shouldn't be. But now it is a game to see who will give up and who will go on. It is all about focus."

I could hardly hear him over the screaming and groaning. He directed my attention to a blue light on the wall at the very end of the hallway. "No matter what happens around you, only look there. When it turns red, you stop moving. Yes?" "Yes." "Now, sync your eyes to the strobe. You blink when it blinks. Yes?" "Yes." It was difficult at first, especially with the taffeta carnage all around me, but eventually I was able to block out everything but the blue light. When it turned red, we stopped walking. Out of my peripheral, I noticed the designs on the walls shift. They begin spinning in opposite direction to the floor. Several girls became frightened and dropped to their knees. A few even announced they were going back to their rooms. "Fuck this shit!" I heard from the crowd. I turned my head slightly to investigate. "Focus," Avi said sharply. It seemed like the blue light was moving further and further away, but finally we made it to the end of the hellish passage. We rounded the corner and there were dozens of girls and their handlers heading down a long, winding staircase. At least three dozen more had made it over the threshold and were filtering in behind us. In spite of the crowd, there was no pushing or unkind words exchanged. In fact, it was rather quiet compared to the chaos we'd just left. Perhaps they were as scared as I, of the guards posted everywhere. They wore uniforms similar to the attendants, but instead of navy, they were black with a band of red along the shoulders. They wore fitted hats and had guns holstered at their waists. As we passed by them, they did not move a muscle. "Don't worry," Avi whispered, "they're tranquilizer guns. No bullets allowed in this building." He'd read my mind. We descended the staircase into a grand ballroom with marble floors and high ceilings. There was a fountain in the center, and crystal pillars extending from the floor all the way up to the ceiling. Murmurs of awe spread through the crowd like a wave.

We finally made it to the Elap Ela Hall. The huge wooden doors were held open by two guards, and we entered the stunning dining room. The walls were draped with sheets of black and purple velvet. The table was narrow and seemed to go on forever, interrupted only by bouquets of Queen of the Night Tulips, Black Dahlias, and a flower Avi said was called a Bat Orchid. Tiny gemstones were scattered about the table, and brocade chandeliers floated above our heads. There was a chair at the head of the table that looked like it was meant for a King, with a high, pillowed back, and ornately carved arms. Beyond that was a stage with stairs in the center, but it was steeped in darkness. I wondered if we were going to see a show. Avi led me to our place setting and instructed me to stand behind my chair. I was so nervous, I just stared down at the plate in front of me. Not a peep was heard in the room for nearly five minutes. Finally, a church bell began tolling so loudly, I jumped. I looked around, but couldn't discern where it was coming from. It seemed to echo all around us. Again, I wondered what time it was. A hulking and truly hideous man came down the stairs, and stood to one side of the chair at the head of the table. He had tattoos or something covering his whole face. He was wearing a nice suit, but that did nothing for his appearance. I asked Avi who he was, but he shushed me. A spotlight illuminated the stage. We heard the clicking of heels before we actually saw anyone, and then a woman walked out onto the stairs. "Hello ladies," she said. It was the same woman from the loudspeaker, her dusky, sensual tone filling the air from a mic clipped to her chest. She wore a single-sleeved red gown, and her neck was draped in a diamond choker that extended over her ample cleavage. She was striking. As she descended the steps, there were audible gasps around the room. The spotlight followed her every move like she was a Broadway performer. "Arthur, Emanuel, it's time. Shut the doors." The two guards tried to do so, but a commotion started as more girls clamored to get in. Their attendants tried to stop them, but this only made them rowdier. "Silence!" the Countess boomed. Everyone was stunned, and the girls at the door froze like God himself had pressed pause. I grabbed Avi's hand just as the Countess stormed by in a fury of chiffon and six inch heels. "You are late! This is a business just like any other. It runs on results, not excuses. Step back from this fucking door, or you will regret it." The grumbling did not stop, but the women stepped back, and the two guards began closing the doors. "I came all the way from New Orleans you fucking bitch!" someone jeered. "I'm sure they'll be thrilled to have you back," the Countess fired back, without so much as a glance over her shoulder. "What will happen to them?" I asked Avi. "Nothing bad, but they will have to leave." Wow. It was that easy to get thrown out of here? All you had to do was be a few minutes late?

The Countess returned to her post just as gracious and pleasant, as if nothing had transpired at all. "Welcome darlings. I am Countess Veronique des Valentines." For some reason, I started clapping. It was awkward before Avi joined in, and then the whole room broke into applause. The Countess put her hand to her chest and bowed, as though she were truly touched. "Thank you my darlings. You are too kind. I can already see you will be a wonderful group of women. Please be seated."

I didn't realize how hungry I was until I sat down. I hoped it wasn't some reality show set up, where we got served envelopes or jewelry. I needed meat and bread. Out of nowhere, people dressed in black and white suits emerged and started pouring water and wine. They reminded me of penguins. They were so quiet and gone so quickly, I wondered if they'd gotten to everyone. I looked at the wine glass wondering if I should. "I'm not twenty one yet," I whispered to Avi. He looked at me strangely, and then smiled. "It doesn't matter here. Have some, but don't get drunk. Never get drunk. You must know when to stop. Every time you finish your glass, they will refill it. Remember, everything is a test. Yes?" "Yes." When I looked around, I saw some of the girls downing the wine like it was spring break. The penguins instantly reappeared and refilled their glasses.

The Countess stood up and asked for everyone's attention. She had a few things to go over with us. She explained that the next three weeks were simply for us to become acquainted with one another. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours," she joked with a wink. Everyone laughed. "We want to see if you're the right fit for us and us for you. Isn't it always better when it fits nice and tight?" Her bawdy humor greatly eased the nerves in the room. "So I want all of you to really have fun. Don't be afraid to explore the facility. And each other perhaps?" The crowd snickered at the suggestion. I looked around at the sea of beautiful faces. It was an all you can eat buffet of delicacies from around the world. "Your attendants have been selected according to your personality profiles. They are here to help you. Listen to them." During the three week trial period, we could pretty much fill our days with whatever we wanted. The only things that were mandatory were medical checkups, psyche evaluations and one- on-ones with the Countess. We were not permitted outside contact of any kind until the trial period ended. That meant no cellphones, email, internet, or current TV shows. Some of the girls groaned. None of those things had any value to me. If we made it through the trial period, we would be promoted to courtesans-in-training, and would receive a weekly stipend. We would also be allowed email access, but these communications would be edited by a surveillance team to protect the facility. Anyone found trying to disclose even a single detail of our activity, would be discharged. "And rest assured," the Countess added, "your letter will never reach the intended recipient." Should we wish to leave the premises at any point, we were free to do so. We simply needed to let our attendants know and they would take the necessary action. If we had any questions, we were to speak with our attendants first. When it was necessary, they would notify the Countess. "Now, one final thing before we eat, my darlings. It is of the utmost importance to me to have peace and order in our little community. I will not tolerate bullies, bitches or bad attitudes. If I see even a hint of that kind of behavior, you'll be suspended and most likely, terminated. There's a decent person hiding in all of us. Let's allow her to see the light of day for once. Take action instead of whining. Make friendships but not cliques. Admire but do not envy. Lift each other up and see each person as an extension of yourself. And remember ladies, I am always watching. Everything is a test." I found that rather contradictory to the whole 'just have fun' spiel. Which one was it? "Now, let's eat," she said, sitting down on her throne. The spotlight hovered over her, and she looked every bit the part of royalty.

Within seconds, the penguins came out of the shadows with steaming hot trays of all kinds of sumptuous goodies. There was steak, lobster, roasted veggies, stuffed mushrooms and a grain dish called quinoa. I just about died. I thought of Myra, who would have undoubtedly been stuffing things into her purse. There was even a tray of fresh fruit. I'd never had strawberries so red and sweet. Everyone was in great spirits, eating and drinking and chatting about how amazing it all was. I struck up a conversation with a few of the girls around me and we shared a little about ourselves. One was named Aliyah and she was from Texas. The other one, Oma, from Spain, had a little girl who needed an expensive surgery. She hoped she would be able to make the money this way. I hoped so too. Her attendant's name was Kiefer, an arrogant and handsome alpha male. "Of course she'll do it," he said. "She's got the best help available. Well, except for maybe this guy." He held up his wine glass in Avi's direction. "This guy makes us all have to work a little harder." Avi bowed his head sheepishly. "Hey, what about me?" balked Aliyah's attendant, "I'm friggin' dog meat over here?" We all laughed. "No," replied Kiefer matter of factly, "but your brain goes to shit when the rut comes."

We talked about a little bit of everything. The attendants were very skilled at making conversation. There was never a lull, and everyone was included. I wondered if they were trained for that, or chosen because of it. All the way from one end of the table to the other, everyone looked so happy. We quieted down a bit when we noticed the Countess walking around the room, her eyes scanning judgmentally. It was hard not to be intimidated. "What's she doing?" I asked Avi. "Just looking. Don't worry. You will be fine." She settled behind a girl wearing jeans and a t-shirt.

"Rachel, do stand up for me."

We didn't have name tags on like the rest of the staff. I wondered if she'd already learned our names, or if this was a special case. Rachel, an attractive girl in her thirties, stood up and waved to everyone. Her attendant Dietrich, stood up too. It seemed like the roles were reversed because her attendant was gorgeous. She had these big, doll baby eyes and even through her uniform, you could see she was stacked. But she was visibly embarrassed at being singled out, and I felt bad for her. The Countess put on a plastic, anchorwoman smile to accompany a sing-songy tone.

"Darling, do tell me about your choice of attire for this meeting today."

Rachel shrugged nonchalantly and I could see Dietrich cringing. "I don't know. I just wanted to do something different, something that would stand out."

"Mmhmm. Did Dietrich tell you this would be a formal event?" Rachel nodded.

"And did she make a suggestion of what you should wear?"

"Yeah, but I knew everyone would kind of have on, like, the same things. I don't like to do what everyone else does. I got your attention. I think that should count for something."

The Countess let out a sigh of disappointment. "You should have listened to Dietrich, sweetie. I had such high hopes for you. Manny, get rid of her."

Before Rachel could protest, a tranquilizer dart hit her right in the neck. Gasps sounded off around the room in stereo. Someone even screamed. Rachel was already wobbling when she reached back to feel for what hit her. Just before she slumped over, a guard grabbed her, and she was quickly carried off behind the velvet curtains. Dietrich scurried after them. It was like some horrible dinner theater. We all glanced around nervously, whispering to one another in stilted, frightened voices.

"Relax ladies," the Countess said. "She hasn't been hurt, only settled. That's how we take out the trash around here. It's quiet and fast. You'll get used to seeing it and soon, you'll stop noticing. Now, I would love each and every one of you to make it, but the reality is you won't. Something you will learn is how and when to break the rules. Valencia lovely, stand up for me please." Valencia was Guyanese, or so the tattoo on her shoulder announced. The tan bombshell with a pixie cut was practically shaking as she rose to her feet. The cocktail dress she was wearing looked like a sculpture. I honestly don't know how she was sitting in it, but there was no doubt as to its futuristic cool. "This is an Iris van Herpen dress," the Countess said, "a very bold choice, but doesn't she look fabulous?" We all agreed and Valencia finally took a breath upon hearing the praise. "Ladies, you can choose to stand out, and you can choose not to give a fuck, but don't stand out for not giving a fuck. Not here. Carry on darlings."

The Countess continued to walk through surveying the landscape. She stopped to chat here and there, and sometimes I saw her do the throat-slash motion, indicating someone needed to be removed. It was nerve wracking. I prayed she didn't stop to talk to me. Avi told me to try not to be distracted, but it was hard. Some of the girls had clearly overindulged in the alcohol and one by one, they were tranquilized and carried off. Finally, the Countess announced she would be leaving. She said she had to get back to work. What kind of work, I wondered. What did she do all day? She bowed once more and we gave her another round of applause. She blew a kiss to her court before making an exit from the stairs on the stage. I'd forgotten all about Mr. Tattoo face. The brawny beast followed after her like he was on a leash.

"Avi, who is that man?" I asked.

"Head of her personal security. His name is Ezra. He's a good guy."

"What's on his face?"

Avi stifled a laugh. "You are very to the point. He was raised with Maori people. It is an honor to wear this. It tells his own story. Up close, it is very beautiful."

The applause died down and everyone started to mingle again. Avi encouraged me to go around and introduce myself as some of the others were doing. I was nervous but a short, doe-eyed blonde and a pretty black girl with cinnamon colored twists, invited me to go with them. Their names were Dahven and Honor, and they were both from Manhattan.

"I'm Al— uh, Katia." For just a moment, I'd forgotten my new identity.

"Alakatia?" Dahven echoed.

"No, just Katia. Katia Saulveil. From New York. Queens."

"We're from Queens too!" two girls sang out from across the table in perfect harmony.

And that's when we met the Geverelli twins, walking amphetamines. They looked as glamorous as Hollywood starlets, but they had all the charm of shit on a shoe. Much to the irritation of their attendants, they made a big production of crawling under the table to get to us.

"Where in Queens?" they asked, again acting as one unit. "I bet you she's a Bayside girl. Are you from Bayside? Did you go to Bayside High? I dated this lame who went there. Ugh. Remember him Mo? Anyway I'm Lana, pronounced like father, not banana. I hate when people call me Lana Banana. Ah, Ah, Lana. And this is my sister Mona, not short for Ramona, Monica or Monique, ok? It's just Mona."

Dahven, Honor and I tried several times to join the conversation, but there was no stopping the Geverelli twins. "I love your hair!" Mona squealed to Honor. She reached out to touch her locks, but Honor ducked out of the way, politely declining the offer to be pet. Mona cooed an apology, and was onto the next subject, which happened to be Dahven's breasts. She wanted to know if they were real, but instead of waiting for an answer, she just honked one. I mean, hand right down the front of Dahven's dress, honk honk. It all happened so fast, Dahven didn't have time to react. The Geverelli twins talked so much and so quickly, the three of us hardly said ten words. They hugged us before taking off to spread more of their energetic love.

"Wow," Honor exclaimed with a giggle. "Girl, can I get a little bump of that?"

"I don't think they're on anything," Dahven countered in a serious tone. "Drugs aren't allowed in here. This implant thingy also checks for illegal substances."

Avi came up behind me and politely excused me from my new acquaintances. He wanted to get started on a tour of the facility. It would take a few hours. I again found myself wondering what time it was. Just then, another girl was taken down and carried behind the curtain. I'd seen her earlier. She didn't seem drunk or even buzzed. What had she done? Maybe she violated one of the three Bs, or wore white after Labor Day. Jesus. How long would it be before I was on the chopping block? Even with all of this going on, I hadn't lost sight of the real reason I was there. I needed to get into the Countess' office and get to that logbook. She'd mentioned we would all have a one-on-one with her, but who knew when that might be? If I had a chance to get to the logbook before then, I was definitely going to take it. In the meantime, it wouldn't hurt to get to know my surroundings a little better. A tour sounded perfect.

# CHAPTER 15

Avi hadn't exaggerated when he said the place was a maze. Building one, where we lived, was easy enough to get lost in, but it was only a minor part of the estate. The buildings were separated by long hallways. Caddy cars were on standby to serve as shuttles between them. We hopped in a four seater, with another girl and her attendant in back. Building two was designated for beauty and wellness. The ceilings were so high and there was sun streaming through the skylights. It reminded me of a mall. There were spas, hair and nail salons, and a gym. There were a couple of clothing stores, a drugstore and fast food vendors with things like hotdogs and crepes. "Do we have to pay for this stuff?" I asked. "Good question," the girl behind me piped up, "I'd hate to unknowingly run up a tab and find out I owe them a kidney." Her name was Cassidy and I liked her smartass sense of humor. Probably because it reminded me of YiYi. Avi said any goods or services we bought would be deducted from our earnings. A chip in our wrists acted as a debit card. When we wanted to buy something, we simply swiped our wrists across a scanner and the money would be taken out. But since we hadn't earned any money yet, it wouldn't work. "Holy 666 mark of the beast," Cassidy whispered in my ear, "I'm gonna' end up selling my soul for some bagel bites." I busted out laughing. Cassidy received a stern warning from her attendant about inappropriate comments, and remained quiet for the duration of the tour. It wasn't like I wasn't thinking the same thing though. I mean, a chip in my wrist? Wasn't that what all the Christian propagandists had been shouting about for the past fifty years?

As we continued on, I couldn't help but be struck by how normal it all seemed. People were everywhere, most carrying on like we weren't even there. It was like being on a tour of the Serengeti and watching the animals in their natural habitat. "Avi, who are all these people?" It was a mixture he said, of recruits, attendants and courtesans. Courtesans. It sounded so much better than 'prostitute' or 'hooker'.

"Where do the other girls live? I mean the ones who are... courtesans?"

"Most are not here. They're intentionally scheduled out during the recruitment weeks, but their dorms are on the other side of the main building."

Other side? There was more to that building? Good Lord. I noticed a couple of people in tan uniforms fixing things and painting. Before I could even ask, Avi told me they were part of the cleaning and maintenance crew.

"You will see them everywhere, princess. Always be kind to them. Sometimes you can thank them for their hard work."

"Why do they have numbers instead of nametags?"

His face became downcast, and my instant reaction was to comfort him. I placed my hand on his leg, which he promptly covered with his own. It all happened so naturally.

"They give them numbers so we feel superior to them. Every system of government seeks to separate people, because there is weakness in division." He stopped himself from saying more and smiled sweetly. "But this is not for my girl to think about. Look around at all of this. This is your new home." For the rest of the tour, our hands remained intertwined.

Building three was solely for recreation. There was a mini skating rink and a bunch of girls were having a blast dancing to techno music. They waved to us, and some of them greeted Avi by name. Either he didn't notice, or he pretended not to. There was also a basketball court, a tennis court and a wall for rock climbing. Behind that was a swimming pool. Our final stop on the tour was the medical center, featuring a hospital, a dental practice and (drum roll please), a plastic surgery clinic. Boy, they didn't mess around. It was one-stop shopping. After we returned to the main building, the Countess made an announcement over the loudspeaker about the day's events, including a carnival where we would be able to meet our teachers.

"Really? Teachers?" I asked.

"Yes princess. The training to become a courtesan is very extensive, like a college. Classes all day, tests, homework."

"So I have to go to prostitution school?"

This made him laugh. "You will learn a lot from these studies, about life and the world. They are very insightful."

The classes covered everything from the erotic arts to philosophy. There were even courses on math and money management. I was actually excited about it. I'd never minded school as a kid, and I loved to read and learn. Avi suggested I go up to change into something more comfortable. "You just want to see me naked again," I chided, and he blushed so badly, it made me blush. I froze when we got to the funhouse hallway. I'd forgotten about it. Ugh. I'm telling you, this thing was like the worst acid trip ever. Without even realizing it, I'd started swaying back and forth with the walls. "Every time will be easier princess, and soon it will be nothing. Remember, no matter what is going on, keep your focus." On paper, I'm sure those words were very encouraging. I ended up not doing too badly, at least compared to the other girls. Most of them were really struggling. Some even tried to crawl through with their eyes closed, but then parts of the floor would spin, and they would get all turned around. Their attendants knew the same tricks Avi did, but I guess it just wasn't sinking in. "Should we help them?" I asked. He looked at me thoughtfully. "We are not allowed to help them here. It is a test. If they cannot get through this, they won't last very long."

Once we got to the room, Avi told me to look through the clothes and choose something fitting for the event. Hmmm. What does a hooker wear to a carnival where she's meeting her future professors? I pulled out a black turtleneck and skinny jeans. Avi gave it a thumbs down. "Too safe," he said. I rummaged around a bit and pulled out a teal, sleeveless maxi dress which Avi also gave a thumbs down because it work well for the rides. I went back in and chose a red romper with front pockets. It was perfect, and I got a thumbs up. "I would've worn it anyway," I said snarkily. "I know, princess. I like that about you." He loosed my hair and helped me get dressed. I turned around so he could zip up the romper. "Do you like girls? I mean, to have sex with?" I asked, instantly regretting my habit of getting too personal too quickly, but Avi didn't seem to take offense. "Yes, I like to have sex with women. Why do you ask this?" I shrugged. "I don't know, you know a lot about fashion and you did my hair and all." He frowned. "Princess, smart girls must not say silly things like this. Only a gay man, he can know about fashion? Only a straight man, he can build a house? It's no good thinking. We must not limit each other's potential. Yes?" I nodded. He gently turned my face to his and looked into my eyes. "No hurt feelings, right? We will be honest with each other, right?" "Right. No hurt feelings." I was telling the truth. I wasn't hurt or embarrassed, but moved by his sensitivity.

"Avi, where are you from?" I slipped into a pair of red sandals with cherries dangling from the straps.

"I thought you would have guessed by now," he said solemnly. "I'm from the future."

I stared at him, my eyes wide with awe. "The future?" I whispered.

He suddenly burst out laughing. "No princess, I'm joking but I like that you're so easy to believe me."

I smirked and rolled my eyes. "Gullible. The word is gullible."

He was still laughing so I grabbed a pillow and clubbed him right in the face with it. He picked me up and tossed me onto the bed. I gave him another smack with the pillow and it wasn't long before we were wrestling. I was winning at first, but he was a lot stronger than I thought he'd be. He soon pinned me. "Do you give up?"

I pretended to be thinking about it, but I just wanted to look at him. With his long hair mussed and that mischievous grin, he was the sexiest thing I'd ever seen. Ever. "Is it hard? This job I mean, being around so many beautiful women all the time?"

He touched his forehead to mine. "Very, but only when I meet someone I want."

I could feel his breath rhythmically in sync with mine. His lips were so close. Lexi, take it down a notch, I thought to myself. The last thing I wanted was to be the stupid girl who falls for her attendant and can't keep her head on straight. But I couldn't stop myself from wanting him. The desire took hold long before I knew it was there. Thank God the loudspeaker started up again, repeating the details of the carnival.

"Come princess. We need to finish getting ready. Now remember, you need to mingle and look like you're having fun. You'll have a chance to talk with the teachers, but they also watch how you interact with other people. Let them see your personality."

What was my personality? It seemed to change with the seasons. What if they didn't like me? Or I said the wrong thing and got tranqued and dragged out of there? I started to get cold feet. "I don't want to go to this. It's not mandatory, right?" I sat back down on the bed.

"Princess, you don't mean this. You're just scared."

The fact that he knew that irritated me, so I flared up over the stupidest thing. "Stop calling me princess. It's annoying."

He laid his head on my knee and looked up at me like a sad puppy. "Ok, I'm sorry Ka-chee-ah. It's correct?"

He wasn't being funny and he looked so cute. I couldn't resist touching his face. "Not, chee. T, like teacup." He repeated the name, emphasizing the t to comedic heights. "Almost there," I encouraged, trying not to laugh. "Now say 'Cot' then 'ya', but fast."

He looked puzzled. "What happened to 't' like 'teacup'? I don't think you know how to pronounce it either. Maybe princess will work best." I gave him a playful shove, and soon we were wrestling around again like kittens. This time, he didn't let me win at all, quickly and effortlessly pinning me beneath him. He wasn't even breathing heavy when he started talking. "Princess, listen to me. Be here or don't be here, but don't cheat yourself by hanging in the middle. Why come all this way to try only a little?"

My heart was beating wildly, and I didn't know if it was from the wrestling, or the fact that his skin was touching mine. Whoa, Lexi. Down girl. I had to again remind myself these feelings weren't real. It was his job to make me feel special. He was just doing his job. "I want to be here, Avi. I'm all in."

"Good. So am I."

I hadn't been to a carnival since I was seven or eight. They went to great lengths to make it look authentic with hay on the ground, rides and games. A sweet smell filled the air, and the roller coaster made a distinct clickety, clack as it neared its peak, before swooping down over the auditorium. Two girls walked by with cartoonishly high ice cream cones. No matter what else happened today, I was getting one of those. One of them noticed me salivating over the treats, and waved. In the real world, she would've probably asked me what the fuck I was looking at, or the group would have whispered and pointed until they'd successfully trampled my self-esteem. It's amazing how nice people can be when it's the only option.

"You guys should come with us," one of them said, motioning us over. "Not yet my friends," Avi said. "She has to get tickets and meet the teachers. But soon, ok?" "Whatever you say Avi," one of them said, and they scampered away, giggling and glancing back at him. There were lots of gorgeous men and women every which way you turned, but Avi just had that extra something that made him stand out. Women were constantly staring at him, flirting, waving. He was always polite, but never engaging. This only seemed to entice them. "You've got quite the fan club," I teased. He pushed his hair back from his face and avoided my gaze. Color began to rise to his cheeks. He was uncomfortable. "For many women, it's the first time they can be free with their sexuality, that's all princess." Did he have any idea how beautiful he was, with his high cheekbones and honeyed complexion? And those eyes-- that 24-karat stare that made him look almost supernatural. I was a goner.

The teachers were gathered underneath a striped tent around a long table with balloons on each side. A banner hung in front announcing: Get Tickets! Meet the Faculty! in colorful type. "Ok princess, this is your chance to chat with them. You can ask a question or tell them about yourself, something to make interest, but don't try too hard. Yes?" "Yes," I repeated obediently, with all the confidence I could muster. He ran his hands over my shoulders to calm me. "Princess, you have survived tragedy in your life, terrible things, and still here you are. You will not be taken down by an interview." He was right, it was just an interview.

Avi hung back and chatted with a few of the other attendants while I waited on line. It moved pretty quickly. Most of the girls asked expected questions, like who was the most famous client, or if it was possible to get a Pinkberry. The staff was polite, so it was hard to gauge how they really felt. Honor came up to me with a spool of cotton candy as big as her head. We chatted for a bit about what we'd been up to for the past few hours. I really liked Honor, but I didn't quite know what to make of her. She talked like the girls from the movie Clueless, but she was anything but. After the tour, she went right to the library. She and her attendant had a thing for Tennessee Williams, so they'd spent the last few hours acting out scenes from his plays. That sounded so boring to me, but she was raving about the subtle nuances of something or other. She hadn't wanted to come to the carnival either, but her attendant insisted.

"Girl, have you seen him?" I hadn't. Some attendants hovered over their wards like they were guarding the crown jewels, and others kept a safe but watchful distance. Honor was a confident, free spirit. I didn't imagine she'd care to have someone under her feet every second. She summoned him with a wave of her hand and he quickly made his way through the crowd. "Wis this is Katia. Katia, Wis." With the loveliest smile, he extolled how wonderful it was to finally meet me as though he'd been waiting all day for the chance. These boys were so well trained. Before he could say another word, Honor dismissed him on a corndog errand. And she was right to brag; Wis was gorgeous. "He kind of looks like-" She was far too excited to let me finish. "Like Jin Kazama from the Tekken videogame? I know!" She was squealing and bouncing up and down. That wasn't who I was going to say, but I wasn't about to interrupt her happy dance. "Girl, I have to fuck him. Like, as soon as this shindig is over, I'm going to ride that train to the last stop. I hope he's got a suitcase, not a satchel. I've been too afraid to check. I don't want to be disappointed. I'm into him and everything, but like, I've got standards. I'm a Gansevoort Street girl, you know what I mean? A card carrying member of the MMM." I hadn't the slightest clue what Honor was talking about. "Katia, aren't you from New York? Gansevoort Street is in the Meatpacking District. What I'm saying is, I like a nice boy with a big toy." After she explained it to me, I thought it was fucking hilarious. Meatpacking District. Got it. A suitcase, not a satchel. Got it. I liked the way she spoke in puns, and gave the word 'girl' so many different intonations. Didn't get to ask what 'MMM' was though. Man Meat Mafia? No idea.

"He's really sexy, Honor. And he's making us look bad. We're all decked out and he's stealing our thunder in coveralls." She laughed a bit too loud, but no one around us minded. "Girl, he's like everything I never knew I wanted. The Countess is like, an Eharmony pimping genius or something." We were beside ourselves now, laughing and giggling. Avi motioned for us to take it down a notch, and Honor made a face. "Ok, so like, normally Katia, I would not allow a man to shush me, but Girl, Avi is so fine. O.M.Jesus, like, if he told me to kill myself, I'd have to be talked out of it. He's like a young Jason Momoa." "Jason who?" I asked blankly. "Girl stop. I'm personally offended by your ignorance. My heart can't take this right now." "The Dothraki King? The Red Road?" someone chimed in from behind me. It was Cassidy, the girl I'd met on the tour earlier. She gave me a friendly squeeze and I introduced her to Honor. "You've never seen Game of Thrones?" Cassidy asked. I said no and Honor did that Catholic, sign-of-the-cross-thing. "Girl! Where have you been? How have you not seen Game of Thrones? I promise we will fix that, but right now I really have to pee. I'll see you guys later." Cassidy also abandoned me to flirt with some chubby girl who was pouring out of her clothes. Guess I wasn't her type.

Time seemed to speed up in this place. I'd only been here for hours but emotionally, it felt like days. I didn't understand this dynamic where we were supposed to be both attached and unattached. Why did the Countess want us to feel so close to each other so quickly? Why would she go to such lengths to choose suitable matches for us? Although, Avi hadn't been chosen with me in mind. What would that mean down the road? I closed the door on my thoughts and found my turn before the panel had come up. "Earth to Katia," the Countess teased. I stood there dazed, blinking like an idiot. "It's ok," Cassidy whispered. "Just say 'hello' and tell them how many tickets you want." I was grateful for the little nudge.

"Uh, sorry," I began. "I'm kind of spazzing. You guys are like celebrities." They seemed flattered. "We are a pretty fabulous bunch," said a woman sitting on the edge of the table licking an oversized lollipop. Her nametag read Mrs. Shugga Wonmelt, as in sugar won't melt in her mouth. It took me a minute to get it. In a puffy mini dress and pigtails, she looked so adorable, I wanted to put her in my pocket. So that's what I said. She feigned fainting by putting the back of her hand to her head and said in an exaggerated southern drawl, "be still my achin' heart. I do believe I have been won ovah'. You hear that Countess? Score another one for team tranny. You are not the father." The table erupted in laughter and Mrs. Shugga summoned me over for a hug. She smelled like candy. "Watch this!" she boasted to the table, twirling her lollipop like a wand. "Sweetie, what subject do you think I teach?" She struck a pose so I could take it all in. Oh Jesus. I didn't even know how many options there were. I looked over and noticed how pleased Avi looked that I was getting so much attention. I didn't want to let him down. The rest of the faculty, while outfitted in their own eye catching attire, still looked tame in comparison to Mrs. Shugga. The girls in line behind me were yelling out answers to help me, but none of them seemed right. Her outfit had a lot going on, but there was balance in the chaos. Her shoes matched her hair. The sparkly fabric belting the dress was also featured at her wrists. Her creativity was limited by things needing to make sense, this equals that. "Math," I blurted out before I was even done deciding. The teachers all cheered and Mrs. Shugga gave me another big hug. "Very impressive Ms. Saulveil," the Countess added. She handed me several strings of tickets. "Do you have any questions for us?" asked Mr. Berring, a handsome older man in a crisp white shirt and sport coat. "Yes, actually I do. I was wondering if anyone would like to go on the rollercoaster with me?" Everyone raised a hand. The Countess looked around dismayed. "Well we can't all go," she said, "the line is full. Fine. Berring you can go. Age before beauty." My date and I took off arm in arm. When I looked back, Avi gave me the thumbs up.

# CHAPTER 16

YiYi woke up in a dimly lit cell, unable to remember a thing. Was she in county? No, if this were a New York City jail, there'd be filth, cockroaches, and an angry mob battling over one bench. She was in a bed. She looked down. Her clothes were gone and she was wearing a hospital gown. What the fuck? She felt a soreness at the back of her head. The area was bandaged up. She knew what it was. A sick feeling came over her. There was a toilet enclosed behind a curtain and next to that, a stainless steel sink with a mirror above it. She crept out of the bed and went over to the mirror. Everything was still intact. As she stared at her reflection, she suddenly remembered the kidnapping. When she'd heard someone trying to get in that night, she thought it was Alexia returning. When Alexia didn't come into the bedroom, YiYi panicked. Maybe she was still angry with her, and had only come back to get her belongings. She went into the living room and found the window wide open. "Alexia?" No answer. She knew something wasn't right, but it was too late. The assailant came up behind her and kicked her feet from beneath her. She landed on her back with a thump. A cloth was held tightly to her face, full of a stinging chemical. That was the last thing she remembered. She hoped Alexia and West were ok. Why the fuck had she dragged them into this? And Ming. She couldn't bear to think about her. She'd failed her. She walked over to the bars of the cage and peered out at the room she was in. It was pretty much empty, aside from some minor office equipment. She had to find a way out of there. She checked to see if any of the bars were loose. No such luck. Maybe there was something from the bed she could use as a tool or a weapon. She lifted up the mattress, but the frame was constructed of one solid piece welded to the floor. She checked the mirror. It was just a thin, metallic sticker. There has to be something in here, she thought. The door opened and in walked a rotund man with a red beard. He was wearing a lab coat and holding a clipboard.

"Ms. Cash, you wouldn't be plotting my death would you?" he asked mockingly. "No. I was actually going over some last minute details for a dinner party I'm having. Tell me, do you think this cell will seat six?" He chuckled. "I've always enjoyed your wit." Why, she wondered, did he say 'always'? He rolled a chair a few feet from the cell. It creaked as he sat down and his face flushed with embarrassment. She wrinkled her nose at the pungent scent of bleach that wafted in. "Sorry about that," he said, "I'm a bit of a germaphobe." "Jesus. Ever heard of Purell?" He cleared his throat. "My name is Dr. Bragg. I'm sure at this precise moment you're wondering where your sister Ming is." "Actually, I was wondering if you could get through a single pushup without passing out, so, you weren't even close." "Ms. Cash, I know why you're acting this way. You think you've lost, so your next move is to cause as much destruction as you can to make yourself feel better. But you're wrong. You haven't lost. I assure you Ming is alive and well." YiYi moved to the front of the cell. "Where is she? I need to see her." He nodded. "Of course you do. And you will, provided you're willing to cooperate with me." "Well then I guess I'm fucked." Dr. Bragg shrugged. "Suit yourself." He got up from the chair and took a moment to gather his things before heading toward the door. Just as his hand hit the knob, YiYi recanted. "Ok, ok! I'm open to negotiations. Can we talk?" "Of course we can Ms. Cash. I knew you would have a change of heart. You've always been the more reasonable one."

The carnival was winding down so Avi suggested we head back up to the room to shower and change before dinner. That sounded heavenly, especially since I didn't get one in the morning, but I knew I had to start making some headway with the mission. With everyone distracted by the carnival, I thought it might be a good time for some recon. "When will I have to go for my private meeting with the Countess?"

Avi put his arm around me and tousled my hair. "You're so curious about everything princess, like a cat. I like this about you. We won't know before it happens. Someone will just come for us."

"But where is her office? Can I see it?" He looked at me strangely. I couldn't tell what he was thinking. Had I made him suspicious?

"Why do you want this?" he asked. I looked down at my twitching hands.

"I don't know. Because I'm curious. Like a cat."

His face broke into a lopsided grin. "Ok, we will go."

It felt like we were going around in circles. Everything started to look the same. I tried to remember which ways we were turning, but eventually I lost track. "Up there," Avi said, pointing to another staircase. There were two guards at the top on either side of the mezzanine. Just like the head of the Countess' security team, Ezra, they were wearing suits instead of uniforms. They didn't have tattoos all over their faces, but they were still an intimidating presence. "Ma'am, is this ruffian bothering you?" one of them called out. I looked around to see who he was talking to. Avi laughed. "He's talking to you princess." I looked back at the man, not really sure of what to say. "Relax, I'm just kidding," he said. "We like to give Avi a hard time, but it's because we like him." Avi shot the shit with them for a few minutes while I stood there awkwardly, and then we made our way back to the room. This was going to be more difficult than I realized. If her office was always being guarded, there was no way I could just slip in there unnoticed. And I couldn't very well just swipe the ledger off her desk during my one-on-one. I glanced at Avi. I bet he could figure something out. Should I tell him? No, of course not. I just met this man, literally hours ago. I could do this. I could figure this out. I was smart and capable.

Once we returned to our room, I went into the bathroom for a shower. It was just big enough to turn around, in but I couldn't have cared less. I had privacy and only had to share it with one other person. No more birdbaths in fastfood restaurants under the judgmental gaze of disgusted patrons. I felt stupidly giddy as I climbed the two little steps to the shower. We were only allowed eight minutes before the hot water cycled off, but I could scrub, shave and wash my hair in half that. Not that it was easy this time around because there was a huge assortment of scented shower gels, body scrubs and shampoos to match every mood I'd ever be in. When I stepped out, Avi's jaw dropped. Usually the girls were still covered with soap when the cold water came on. They would have to wait another eight minutes before the hot water cycled back. I sat down on the wooden bench in front of the vanity and began the arduous process of combing out my hair. Avi was sitting on the bed watching me for awhile, then asked if he could do it for me. I thought it was odd but I agreed. He was gentle, carefully untangling my locks section by section. It feels so good when someone plays in your hair. He nearly lulled me into a coma. "All done. I will put it up so we don't have to dry it. Yes?" "Yes," I repeated, reluctantly opening my eyes. I didn't want it to be over. I decided right then and there he needed to comb out my hair every time I washed it.

I started applying my makeup. Instead of picking out my clothes, Avi just stood there watching me. I could see the gears turning, but what was he thinking? Something was troubling him and finally, he spoke. "You're a different girl than from the file." My heart stopped. I literally could not breathe. Was this it? Was this the fucking end? Don't panic, I thought. Calm down. Maybe he's not saying what you think he's saying. "What do you mean?" My voice came out an octave too high. He put his hands on my shoulders. He didn't say anything for a long time. "What I mean, is based on your profile, I was expecting someone very different. The opposite of you. And older." I laughed nervously. "I just gave them the answers I thought they wanted." He leaned down and kissed my head. "Yes. Of course. That must be it." That was the end of it. He went to the closet and started looking through the clothes. My pulse finally returned to normal. Ok, so he knew something was up, but he wasn't going to make a thing out of it. I didn't think I should tell him the whole story.

"Avi, how long have you been working here as an attendant?" "I came when I was nineteen so, four years." He was a little older than I thought. "Do they recruit the attendants the same way they do the girls?" "No. It's more complicated than this. I think the hot water is ready. I will take a shower." He slipped into the bathroom, obviously to avoid my questions, but why? What was the big deal? Maybe he was hiding something too. I wished he would've just lied instead of sending my brain on an Easter egg hunt. He'd hung a dress for me on the outside of the armoire. It was a long, black gown with a thigh- high slit. The material was so soft, I rubbed it against my face. I still couldn't believe I was living like this. The bathroom door opened and scented steam filled the room. Avi poked his head out and asked me to hand him one of his uniforms. There were dozens of them stacked on top of the armoire, identical and perfectly folded like in a department store. I grabbed one and threw it just short of the door so he would have to come out. "If you wanted to see me naked, all you had to do was ask," he teased. He stepped out with one hand securing the towel at his waist and did a set of goofy poses. His body blew my mind. He felt so lean when I'd hugged him, I hadn't expect him to be so cut. Every muscle was perfectly defined like he'd been chiseled from stone by a master sculptor. He was Adam in the flesh, the prototype of a passionate creator. I watched the water drip from his hair down into the grooves of his chest and stomach. After he finished parading around like an idiot, he asked me if I enjoyed the show. "Oh yes, especially that Broadway caliber choreography." "Ha, Ha," he said sarcastically, before snatching the garment from the floor and sticking his tongue out at me. He was so damn cute.

"But seriously Avi, you're in such good shape. Do you work out?" He said he worked out every day. The attendants woke up each day several hours before the girls. After they cleaned the rooms and did laundry, they had a little time for themselves. "Well don't count on that tomorrow morning. I'm a light sleeper." He pointed to the back of his head indicating the implant. "You forget the Godseye. It controls when you sleep and when you wake up." I had indeed forgotten all about it, not to mention the fact that it was recording our every word and action. Maybe that was why he didn't push the issue of my identity. And so much for my plan of trying to sneak around when everyone was asleep. Now what was I going to do? I'd noticed other girls roaming about without their attendants, but Avi didn't operate like that. I wouldn't be able to shake him so easily. It didn't matter anyway. I couldn't have found the Countess' office again if my life depended on it. The first thing I needed to do was learn my way around this place.

At dinner I sat next to Dahven and her attendant Hercules. I hadn't seen her all day and I wanted to know what she'd been up to. She looked miserable. She was ready to go, she said. "Are you serious? Why? This place is amazing." She shrugged. "I miss the internet. I miss my phone. I miss my puppy." "In that order?" Avi teased. "She's been in the dayroom all day watching old episodes of Wendy Williams," Hercules said. "It didn't help. It just made her think about everything she's missing out on." I couldn't understand how anyone could be sad or bored in this place. There was so much to do and plenty of people to talk to. It was always exciting and every hour brought something new. I couldn't wait to see what would happen next. And the food was to die for. Broccoli, cabbage and Brussels sprouts-- things I usually turned my nose up at-- were prepared so exquisitely that I wanted seconds. Growing up, my palate was grossly unrefined, longing for the tongue-singeing heat of a microwaved Hotpocket, or the starchy goodness of ravioli from the can. I used to break up chocolate chip cookies and eat them in a bowl of milk like cereal. I could never eat like that again. The penguin people emerged from behind the curtains, with dish after dish of culinary masterpieces. There were lobster tails, a salad with watermelon and feta, goi cuon, roasted portabella mushroom sandwiches, and penne pasta with curried zucchini. It was the possibility of one day being able to eat like this that changed my entire outlook on life. It made me wonder and want.

When my family first arrived in New York, I loved to walk around for hours and explore the city. There was a restaurant near Washington Square Park called Blue Hill, that I used to walk by all the time. Sometimes I would peer in before they opened, and watch the people zipping about preparing for dinner service. One day, a man came out and asked me if I was hungry. I told him I wasn't, and that I was just curious about what they were doing in there. Then he said, "Well, I'd like you to try something for me. You can tell me what you think. Wait here." He came back with a plate of food and sat with me while I ate. It was incredible, so unbelievably delicious. I'd never imagined food could taste like that. The flavors exploded in my mouth--- ripe peach, hazelnuts, ginger, with a sweet and peppery finish. Every bite told more of the story, a footprint of the origins. The man was delighted to watch me enjoying what he'd created. "Simple ingredients," he said, "fresh and natural. You can make this at home." He went inside to get me something to drink, but I ran. I don't know why. I never went back there, but the memory of that meal stayed with me. It haunted me. It was a puzzle I needed to figure out. Who was the woman that ate food like that? What was her life like? The future I'd once envisioned for myself involved working too much, having more kids than I could pay attention to, and an occasional night out at the Olive Garden. That's what my mother had done, and she seemed happy enough. But deep down, I knew that would no longer be enough for me. I wanted a life as satisfying as that meal at Blue Hill. Even then, I understood it wasn't about money or status, but what was it about? Sometimes I wondered if the real reason I ran away was to escape the inevitable cycle I'd been born into. We promise ourselves we won't make the mistakes of our parents, won't inherit their flaws and dubious shortcomings. Then one day we wake up, and it's like they've moved out of their lives, and we've moved in. It happens, as easily as the sun rises and sets. How do we liberate ourselves?

After dinner, the Countess announced there would be cocktails and live music in the lounge for anyone interested. I turned to Avi, with a look of awe. "There's a lounge here? With a bar?" He nodded. Apparently, it was on the same side of the building as our bedrooms. This place just kept getting bigger and bigger. The lounge was a decent sized space, dimly lit and elegantly furnished with a roaring 20s theme. There weren't any chairs, only plush leather couches, which forced an intimacy between all of us. The tables had petite apothecary jars upon them, full of colorful candies. They only served one kind of drink at the bar, a slightly sweet but strong concoction called bathtub gin. On a small stage with a bright backdrop, a band of sleepy-eyed musicians came to life. The music was upbeat and sad at the same time. How could that be? I sat with my elbows on the table, bopping my head to the jittery notes and chastising horns, oblivious to everything else around me. When the band finished their set, Avi was staring at me. "What?" I asked.

"You really like this music. I'm surprised."

"Well, it's interesting. It's more complex than it appears."

"Yes princess. This is true. So many things are."

Someone stood up and asked if anyone wanted to play strip poker by the pool and so, off we went to another adventure. That's where bathtub gin leads. Avi asked me if I knew how to play poker. I didn't. "Come. I will teach you. We will win." With Avi's help, I was kicking ass. The winner got to keep the clothes. I was already up a bunch of jewelry, shoes and gowns. "Hello recruits," came the Countess over the loudspeaker. I hope you've enjoyed your first day with us. It is now time for bed. Please return to your rooms. You will have one hour for nighttime rituals." Everyone groaned at the announcement. We were having far too much fun.

"Hey Kit Kat, since you've already seen me naked, I think you owe me a date," cooed a shapely Brit named Spencer. She'd been aggressively flirting with me all night-- kisses for luck, massaging my shoulders and otherwise staking her claim. "Tomorrow after lunch, let's meet in the dayroom. We can watch a movie together." She tipped my chin up and leaned in. I closed my eyes anticipating another kiss, but nothing happened. "I just wanted to make sure you were interested," she whispered, letting her lips graze my ear. "Down girl," her attendant Reicher barked playfully, sweeping her into a hug from behind. He was handsome, tall and very muscular with white blonde hair, but there was something about him I found unappealing. I couldn't put my finger on it. Maybe it was the way he looked at me. "Katia, I was hoping we'd get to see more of you tonight. I bet you've got an amazing body," he said. He pulled Spenser closer and kissed her neck, but never stopped looking at me. Avi stood up between us. I don't know if Reicher got the hint, or if the subject change happened naturally. "Dude, are you ready for the rut? This group is a handful. It's going to be intense." Avi didn't respond right away. He just stared at Reicher. Finally he said, "Of course. I'm ready for anything that comes my way." With that, we headed up to our quarters.

I was lying in bed recounting the events of the day when the final announcement came on telling us to plug in. I wasn't tired at all. This place was like summer camp for adults. Avi sat down on the bed next to me, and began attaching my headgear to the network module. "I'm not going to be able to sleep," I said. "I'm soaring right now." After the cord was attached, I felt a warm sensation start from my neck and spread throughout my entire body. I felt like I was high. My mind slowed down, and a therapeutic calm enveloped me. "Trust me princess, you will sleep." Avi lay down next to me and began caressing my hair. "My beautiful girl. Are you excited about this date tomorrow?" I was getting groggy. The words coming out of my mouth were thick and viscous. "Yeahhsss. Why? Arrrre you jeeealous?" "Not at all," he replied with such sincerity that it hurt my feelings. My thoughts were getting all twisted up, but I had one last question. "Whaaat is the riot? Noooo. I meeean the rut?" The rut he said, was the mating season. Soon there would be more hormones pumping through the place than oxygen. Everyone would have only one thing on their minds. I wanted to ask more, but I just couldn't stay awake.

# CHAPTER 17

The next morning, we were woken up before dawn for a walk on the beach. Our attendants didn't come which kind of scared me at first, but the people leading the excursion were so nice--like Portland Oregon nice-- so I relaxed quickly. I didn't remember meeting them before, but they knew us all by name. We were broken up into groups of about twenty or so. Our group leader's name was Nala, a modern hippie with long dreadlocks. She had us follow her out of a door in the main hall that led right onto the beach. How had I not noticed that door before? I must have passed by it a dozen times. There were no security guards anywhere, no maintenance people or housekeepers roaming around. Granted, it was super early, but it was eerily quiet. It didn't matter. I was standing on the beach and the weather was glorious. My group voted unanimously to sit at the water's edge and watch the sunrise. I was leaning back on my hands, and Honor and Cassidy were kind of resting their heads in my lap. We were silent for quite some time, perhaps in reverence of the mighty ocean. It curled and crashed against the shore, coming closer each time as if working up the nerve to confront us. What would it say if it could? Or had it been speaking all along, and we were only now just listening? A slight breeze filled the air with a familiar fragrance. It took me a few minutes to place it, but it was without a doubt, Ragged Rock Flower, a plant I'd only ever seen in Arizona. My grandmother used it as filler in her butterfly garden. The blooms weren't much to look at, but I'd always liked the citrusy scent.

"Nala, where are we exactly? I mean what part of the world?" She smiled and asked me if I was happy. "Yeah. I'm happy." "Then I guess you're where you want to be," she replied, without even a hint of sarcasm. One of the other girls broke into a song and everyone joined in. Some people were even clapping out a beat. I'd never heard the song before, at least not that I remembered, but somehow I knew all the words. We all did. It was probably a hipster tune from a Sprint commercial that had wormed its way into my subconscious. Nala built a fire and started preparing a meal with some items she pulled from a rucksack. "This is so amazing. I can pretty much die right here," Cassidy quipped, "but maybe after we eat, 'cause I'm pretty sure she's making Huevos Rancheros." "Girl, this makes me want to be a better person," Honor added. She sat up quickly, sending a flick of sand my way with her hair. "O.M.Jesus! Are you guys seeing this?" Everyone popped up from whatever they were doing to pay attention. There were dolphins jumping and playing beneath the sunrise. We were spellbound. "After we eat, we'll get on the boat and feed them," Nala suggested. "Nala, are you fucking with me?" Cassidy asked sounding as serious as a knife to a throat. "Cause if you're fucking with me about feeding the dolphins, this will not end well." We all cracked up. Nala smiled. "I'm not joking, Cassidy. I promise we'll do that, and so much more. This morning can be whatever you girls would like it to be. Let your minds roam free."

Since there were no clocks in the entire facility, the day was broken up by a system of cathedral bells and announcements. The attendants wore timers on their wrists so when we had to be some place or do something at a certain time, they would set them to count down. Spencer had asked me to meet her in the dayroom two hours after the first bell. I was excited and nervous and horny as hell. It'd been too long since I'd gotten any action. Well actually, it hadn't even been a week but it felt longer. "How do I look?" I asked Avi, giving a quick spin. I was wearing a white tank dress he'd picked out for me. It was simple, but it hugged all the right places. "You look like an angel. With a bad side."

He'd suggested we make my hair really big and messy, and it looked fantastic. I felt sexy and confident. I would have never had the courage to wear it like that otherwise. Growing up, my grandmother would often warn me about looking too ethnic. "This kind of hair needs to be tamed," she would say. I was five years old when she started dyeing it blonde. Afterward, she would blow it out pin straight. The whole process took hours, and she was a Nazi about it. The very second a dark root sprouted up, she instantly appeared with her paisley beauty smock and ever-growing arsenal of hair care products. My mother said it was because I was my grandmother's favorite. "It's her way of doting on you honey. She just wants to spoil you." Funny, I never saw it that way. I always felt she was ashamed of me, like she was trying hard to cover up the differences between my siblings and I. Eventually, I became ashamed of me. I loathed the sun and despised any form of humidity, because they were my kryptonite. A tan and a dip in the pool would expose my secret, a secret so great, my whole family was content to pretend it didn't exist.

As Avi and I made our way downstairs, I started feeling self conscious. Maybe it was because everywhere I looked there were wall to wall hotties, every different make and model. They were all so damn good looking. "Are you sure I look ok? Maybe this dress is too plain." He put his hands around my waist. "Princess, you look amazing, always. I would rather look at you than anybody here."

In spite of the adoration in his eyes, I needed to take another look for myself. Under the cruel bathroom lights, I looked like I had on too much makeup, so I tried to tone down the eyeliner. For the record, Avi had tried to steer me away from the eyeliner. The man knew a thing or two about dressing a woman. Who was he outside of this place, beyond the rules and regulations that made him my servant? Did he really like me? No, how could he? He didn't know me and I didn't know him. All of the attendants fawned over their recruits in the same way. It was just part of the system. When I came out of the restroom, Avi was in a conversation with one of the housekeepers. He was friendly to everyone, but this was different. The girl was incredibly attractive, even in her plain, industrial onesie. He was standing close to her, holding her hand the same way he always held mine. The girl did not seem happy though. Her face was expressionless and her posture remained indifferent to his appeal for affection. She stared ahead, like she couldn't wait for him to get out of the way. But Avi was not discouraged. He pulled an apple out of his pocket and her face lit up. After she'd placed it in her own pocket, her cheer immediately dissolved. He kissed her hand before stepping aside. She moved along, pulling her supply cart behind her like she'd already forgotten the interaction. I wished I could have dismissed it so easily. Was she an old flame or a potential love interest?

"Who was that?" I asked when he'd returned to me. "She is a worker. Remember, I told you we should be kind to them. She is a nice girl, but she's had a tough life." I really wanted to yell, "Well tell her to join the fucking club!" but I didn't. "Do you have a little crush on Miss 319?" I asked, giving him a punch on the arm that was harder than it should have been. 319 was the number sewn on her uniform. I understood now what Avi meant about the system separating us. It was eerily dehumanizing and created a natural caste among us. So far I hadn't seen anyone be unkind to them-- I doubted the Countess would have allowed that-- but they were treated with little regard like, they weren't even there. "No princess, definitely not a crush. I don't want anything from this girl. I care about her as a person. That's all." I was so angry for some reason, boiling over. The more I looked at him, the worse it got. "Well, she doesn't seem to give a shit about you. But you probably like it that way don't you? That's what men like you want." The sting was felt. He closed his eyes beyond the length of a blink, and then apologized. "Princess, I'm sorry for hurting you. This girl cannot replace you. No one can replace you. The way I feel for you is different." "Avi, I don't care!" I yelled. People turned to look. "Christ. Can we just go inside?" I didn't want to care because I didn't have the right to. I mean, I was going on a date in a few minutes. And this was the prostitution holy land. I didn't want to get attached to anyone, or experience the feelings that came along with it, like the one I was struggling with right then: jealousy.

The day room was kind of like a rec center- a couple of pool tables, some old school arcade games, and a buffet that provided food all day long. There were several cubicles set up with couches and entertainment centers so people could watch movies privately. I spotted Spencer in one of the booths and waved. Avi insisted on being in viewing distance of us which really pissed me off. I wasn't having it. "Princess, I don't want to be nosy. I don't care what you are doing with this girl, but you are my responsibility. I have to make sure you are fine always."

"No. You can stay right here. I know where to find you if I need you. You can see our heads from here. Or would you like to sit behind us so you can watch the movie too?" He sat down at the juice bar and his hurt was audible, crunching beneath my feet as I stormed off, but I quickly forgot about him.

Spencer looked amazing in a peach sundress that complimented her olive complexion. She had average features, but there was something about the tilt of her head, the purse of her lips, and the longing in her eyes, that lured you in to thinking you were the only thing that mattered. She pushed me down onto the couch, and sat on my lap with her back toward me. She leaned back and began writhing against me. Her hair smelled like pears. The warmth traveled up through her and into my center. I put my arms around her, refusing any space between us. Her head rolled back and I kissed the exposed flesh. But she was only teasing me with the promise of what was to come. "We'd better get to this movie," she cooed, "or else this won't be much of a date." Cat and mouse. Feminine energy likes to be chased. Masculine energy likes to pursue. Today, I felt like hunting. I pulled her back onto my lap and nibbled her neck. "No movie," I protested. All I wanted at that point was her. "Kit Kat," she purred, "a girl likes a little anticipation. It makes it so much better." She gave me a long, lingering kiss. "It's a really good movie," she said, slipping from my grasp, knowing I would do whatever she wanted at that point. "Do you like sci-fi?" It was a rhetorical question. "It's called Los Ultimos Dias. Avi actually recommended it to Reicher." She bent over to retrieve the remote, but really she wanted to show me she wasn't wearing underwear. "It's even got subtitles Kit Kat, so we don't have to wear headphones." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw legs in the air, one shoe on and one off. Another couple going at it. The rut. Mating season. It was all around us and this was only the second day.

Los Ultimos Dias was about the world being suddenly struck by a disease that keeps everyone from going outside. It was actually really interesting. I wanted to see what happened to the character we'd nicknamed Rambo CEO, but I was just too fucking horny. Spencer was on my lap now, completely naked with her perky little tits right at mouth level. She held my head to her breasts while she rode me hard. My hands were around her waist, guiding her thrusts and pulling her into me. I slid my fingers down her belly and entered her, and she started whimpering in my ear. I felt a different kind of rush, a sense of power that aroused me to my eeks and eaves. I knew exactly what buttons to push, precisely how to bring her to the summit and back again. I pushed her backward onto the couch. The desire in her eyes was real then, not the doll-like coquettish stare she used to taunt everyone. I spread her legs apart and crawled between them. I was going to make this girl cum hard. She closed her eyes and bit her lip, eager with anticipation. She ran her fingers through my hair as I nestled my face into the soft, blonde downy. I felt something brush against my ass. I ignored it at first, but then it happened again. I turned around to see Reicher standing at the edge of the couch with his utility suit off and his cock harder than quantum physics. I didn't know what to say. Don't get me wrong, Reicher was attractive in that All-American-frat-boy-Abercrombie-reject-might-be-guilty-of-date-rape- kind of way, but he didn't appeal to me in the other way, the way that science still couldn't explain. I just didn't like him. Spencer, realizing I'd stopped, opened her eyes. She smiled when she saw Reicher. "I told him he should join us. That's ok, right? Isn't he sexy?" I just kind of sat there. "I've wanted you since I first saw you, Kat," he said, stroking himself. "You're so fucking hot." He leaned down and started kissing me, but it felt more like the hose of a vacuum cleaning between the couch cushions. I tried to guide him, slow him down a little, but he thought this meant I wanted more. Spencer started rubbing my breasts. She pulled down the top of my dress and flicked her tongue over my nipples. It felt good. I started to relax a bit and enjoy the attention, but then Reicher took my hand and put it on his cock. I pulled away instantly-- it was a reflex-- and started kissing Spencer. It made no difference to him. I could feel his hands all over me, his mouth on my skin. Ugh. It was like waking up during an operation.

"Katia, let's go." Avi appeared at the entrance of the cubicle.

"She doesn't want to go Avi," Spencer whined. "She's having fun with us." She continued tending to me as though he wasn't standing there. I couldn't look him in the eye.

"Katia, let's go. Now," he demanded, taking a step forward.

"Dude, she's fine," Reicher said. He pulled me toward him for a kiss. I didn't stop him. "See, bro? She's into it. Stop being such a pussy. Join the fun or get back in the fucking closet."

Avi chuffed. "My friend, I will at least give you the respect of putting your clothes on before I break your jaw."

"What the fuck, bro? You really wanna' go there?" Reicher stood up. He was a few inches taller than Avi and outweighed him by at least thirty pounds.

"Tell him it's ok," Spencer urged me. "Don't you want to be here with me?"

The last thing I wanted to do was see Avi pummeled trying to save me. "Avi, it's ok. I'm good. You can go."

"Katia, I am asking you to come with me. Please. I don't want you to do this."

I knew Avi was giving me an out, trying to be the reason I had to leave because I was too weak to speak up for myself. But I ignored his generous act of chivalry. No, even worse. I spit on it. "Avi, don't be a prude. I said I'm good." The look in his eyes was crushing. How could I do that to him? He was only trying to save me from myself.

"See, bro?" Reicher said, giving Avi a pat on the shoulder. "You heard her with your own mouth. Nothing to fight about. We have to do what these lovely ladies want. Besides, you've got two strikes. I'm saving you from a third one."

Avi left the booth and I watched him the whole way, wishing he would come back and drag me out of there by my hair. I couldn't help but think about something West said to me once about people always rescuing me. Was I a victim, naively strolling through the world? A walking billboard sign advertising to both heroes and predators alike?

"That was so fun," Spencer squealed. "I need food now. Are you guys hungry? I made a request of the kitchen yesterday to add one of my favorite snacks to the buffet. Jam buddies!" Reicher rolled his eyes. "She talks about them like they're some mind blowing treat. They're just jelly sandwiches." He slipped back into his uniform. "You should come with us, Kat. Avi doesn't stay mad very long. He and I will be fine." I had no intention of hanging out with those two, but I did want to know how Spencer got a meet with the kitchen staff. I knew they weren't allowed beyond the serving areas. "I'm going to sit this one out guys, but next time for sure. Spencer, how'd you get to talk with the kitchen? I'd love to ask for some butter pecan ice cream." "Talk to the Countess' receptionist. She'll set it up for you." I was nowhere near getting my hands on the ledger, but it wouldn't hurt to find out the identity of my kitchen contact. I didn't get to meet him before my induction into the Society. West said the guy was worried about being followed, and thought it would be better if he wasn't seen with us.

But I would deal with all of that later. After a shower. I felt dirty and exposed. Unfortunately, it wasn't my body that needed cleaning; it was my psyche. The tears were building rapidly, weighing down my eyes, blurring my vision. When I came out of the dayroom, Avi was waiting for me, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets. He knew right away that I was on the verge of crumbling. "It's ok, it's ok princess. Don't cry here. Let's go to our room." As we passed people, it took everything in me to smile and greet them. I couldn't focus well enough to get through the obstacle course in the hall. I kept getting turned around and confused. Avi finally put me on his back and carried me the rest of the way. When we got to the room, I threw myself on the bed and started crying the tears that had waited so long to come. Avi lay down next to me and started rubbing my back. "Why do I feel like this?" I cried. "Because you willingly gave up your right to choose. It's worse than someone taking it from you." I started crying even harder. He was right. I was a victim, but of no one but myself. I'd been afraid of the weight of 'no', of how it would brand me in the eyes of the others. This was a highly sexualized atmosphere and I didn't want to be seen as the girl who couldn't handle it. After all, I was attending Hooker High, class of 2018. How could I justify not being down for whatever? Maybe I wasn't cut out for this after all. "Maybe not," Avi said, "and that's ok, but this is not about that. You cannot let what people think of you, be more important than what you think of you."

Dealing with clients he said, would not be like my experience with Reicher. The classes would change the way I thought about sex and relationships, and teach me how to be in control. The Countess didn't put girls in the field until she was confident they would be successful. That made me feel a lot better. I sat up to face him. "Sounds like you really want me to go for it. I bet you're just dying to get outside these walls." After a recruit was done with training, she kept the same attendant to accompany her on calls. They were pretty much treated to the same luxurious lifestyle as the courtesan.

"No princess, this is not true. I only want you to be happy. You could make enough money to do whatever you want with your life. This is freedom. As for me, I cannot go with you. You will have someone new to look after you." "What! Why?" I didn't want anyone else. "Special rules for me, I guess," he said with a shrug, "but don't worry. The Countess is very good at picking the right fit." I really wanted to tell him that she hadn't put us together, that it was just circumstance, but I didn't. I wanted to kiss him, but I didn't.

Someone knocked on the door. "Come in," I said weakly. It was one of the Countess' personal henchmen. His name was Tahaki and he had two different color eyes. "Avi, she would like to see you in her office. I'll need you to come with me." Avi didn't seem worried, but I was. Was he in trouble? He did almost get into a fight with Reicher, and I knew the Countess had little tolerance for turmoil within the tribe. I could explain things on Avi's behalf. "Should I come with you?" I asked. He kissed my forehead. "No princess. I will be fine. You should shower and get changed. We have an event in a couple of hours. Wear something casual but no jeans, and flats."

"You look beautiful today ma'am," Reicher bleated, as he and Avi sat down before the Countess. He wasn't kissing her ass. He meant it. He'd always found her incredibly sexy. He often wondered if the feeling was mutual. Everyone gossiped about the Countess and her sexual proclivities. There were rumors she kept men on staff just for servicing those needs. Today, she wore a pencil skirt and cleavage baring blouse. Her chair was pushed back from the desk and her long legs crossed at the knee. Reicher's eyes followed them down to the stiletto dangling from her toes, absentmindedly tapping out a beat. She's doing that on purpose, he thought. He had a foot fetish and she knew it. She was trying to entice him. It was working. He got all of her little signals. One day, maybe he would be chosen to work in her private stable. It was a thrilling prospect.

"Ma'am, you really do look lovely," he repeated.

"Reicher, enough. I heard you the first time. The sound of your voice is grating. It's like nails on a chalkboard. Do you think this is a social call? Do I seem like I'm in the mood to play with you?"

"No, ma'am." He was grateful to be sitting down so no one could see how much he enjoyed being berated by her.

"Gentleman, the surveillance team brought some footage to my attention. The two of you nearly got into an altercation this afternoon-"

"Yes ma'am," Reicher interrupted, "and I tried to tell Avi, since he has two strikes and all but-"

"Mr. Trilby, would you please shut the fuck up!" the Countess yelled. She took a breath and looked up at the ceiling, as though the deity of patience resided there. "Now I know I don't need to remind you boys that fighting is one of the fastest ways to get thrown out of here, and Avi, you have much more to lose than he does." Avi lowered his head to avoid her piercing gaze. She had taken a risk employing him as an attendant. The last thing he wanted to do was disappoint her. She'd been like a mother to him, only asking that he repay her kindness by staying out of trouble. Yet, here he was again. "You both know how important it is to maintain a peaceful and safe environment, right? I want love and friendship and all that hippy-dippy bullshit, because that's what makes a good product. People won't always get along, but we can resolve conflict without conducting ourselves like assholes. Wouldn't you agree?" The boys nodded.

The Countess pulled out her reading glasses and opened a folder on her desk. "Reicher, you said to Avi, and I quote, 'stop being such a pussy. Join the fun or get back in the fucking closet'. Would you care to explain those remarks to me?"

"Explain?" Reicher asked.

The Countess removed her reading glasses and set them aside. "Yes, explain. What did you mean?"

Reicher was confused. He looked at Avi who was equally befuddled.

"I'm not sure I understand, ma'am. I know I was out of line. We were both out of line."

The Countess was not satisfied with this answer, and repeated the initial question.

Reicher's leg began to shake. "Ma'am, I honestly don't know what you want me to say. I was being a jerk."

"Mr. Trilby, I'm only going to ask you one more time. Do you understand me? One last time. What? Did? You? Mean?"

"I guess I meant Avi was whining like a gir-- a woman, and...that he was gay... because he didn't want to participate. But I didn't mean any of those things ma'am. We were arguing. I was trying to get under his skin. They were just stupid insults."

The Countess sighed. "I see. And those were the most insulting things you could think of? So in your eyes, the worst thing a person can be is a woman or a homosexual?"

"What? No!" Reicher exclaimed, standing up, only to be forced back to his chair by the guard standing behind him. "Please ma'am, hold on a minute. You know me. I'm not like that. I don't think like that."

"Oh, but you do Mr. Trilby, you absolutely do. That's why you continued to have sex with Katia even though you knew by her body language she was uncomfortable."

Reicher's face went red. Was it embarrassment, anger, or a little of both? "That is not true, ma'am. She consented." He turned to Avi. "Dude, tell her what happened."

"Shhh, Mr. Trilby," the Countess said like she was soothing a colicky baby. "No need. I've seen the video. It was like watching someone get molested by an uncle. I know she consented, and that's why I'm not throwing you out of here on a rape charge."

"Rape! Are you kidding me? A rape charge? How can you even use those words? Ma'am, this is not fair. Can we get Katia in here? She'll set this straight. She was down with it. She was into it."

"Mr. Trilby!" The Countess was on her feet, and the folder landed on the desk with a smack. One of the guards flinched a little given the Countess' penchant for throwing things. "Interrupt me again Mr. Trilby, and you won't be able to raise your eyes in public without pissing on yourself. Is that clear?" Reicher nodded and sunk down in the chair, his eyes glued to his hands. The Countess waited a moment before continuing, to ensure no doubt, that Reicher had finally accepted his position. "Now, with the classes offered here, Katia will learn to get over her insecurities, but you Mr. Trilby? You've been trained and you know better. Your number one function is to make these women feel good about themselves. You're supposed to be lifting them up. Do you honestly feel your actions supported that?"

Reicher's face suddenly grew heavy with disappointment. "No ma'am." He was genuinely remorseful and the Countess seemed satisfied.

"You are good at your job Reicher. You always turn out a great product. That's why I'm not getting rid of you. You will however, be sent for counseling, which means you'll be out for the rest of the season."

"But what about Spencer?" he asked meekly.

"I spoke with her first about all of this. She's being reassigned and it was her choice. You should know dear, she only took an interest in Katia because you wouldn't stop talking about her. She was hoping if she got the two of you together, you would get it out of your system. So, not only did you make Spencer beg for your attention, you made her feel inferior to another woman. Bravo, Mr. Trilby."

The words cut deeply. He'd failed. "I'm sorry ma'am. I didn't know Spencer felt that way. I should've noticed she was unhappy. It will never happen again."

After the Countess dismissed the boys, she poured a glass of brandy for herself. And then another. The doe were already in heat and it hadn't even been a week. It was going to be a long season. The rut.

During dinner, we were treated to a show by a group called Le pain et La sal, a troupe of dancers who were blind and deaf. Wrapped in diaphanous kimonos, their lithe figures transformed the space as they spun a tragic tale of loss and heartache. They conveyed such passion. When I looked around, there wasn't a dry eye in the room. "Let's go freshen up," Honor whispered to me. "I look like a raccoon."

We chose the restroom at the far end by the library just for a few extra minutes of girl talk. She lamented about how much she missed her cellphone. I confessed I'd never owned one. "Girl, that's crazy. Even my grandma has a cellphone. Starving children in third world countries have cellphones. Why are you like, the last person on earth to get one?" I didn't feel like explaining all of that so I flitted on to another topic. Honor could pretty much talk about anything. She regaled me with a story about how she'd gotten lost for an hour when Wis, her attendant, went to pee. "O.M.Jesus. Like, I felt like someone's lost baby in Wal-Mart. I finally had to ask a guard. It was so embarrassing, but she was super sweet. But guess what? She told me to stay in one place and my attendant would find me. This neck-tech has a tracking system too. Can you believe that?" Honor was smart. She pointed out things I never would've paid attention to. If I wasn't in here playing Mission Impossible, I'd be perfectly oblivious to all of this place's little oddities. "Girl, there are like, three windows in this whole place. The rest are skylights. Isn't that weird?" She was exaggerating, but not by much. Windows were scarce and all placed too high to see out of at eyelevel. It was strange, but I could understand why they wouldn't want just anyone peeking into this place. Or out.
On our way back to the dining hall, we noticed a group of girls clustered around a door to a utility closet, snickering like five year olds. "Comb air and zee zis," a pretty redhead beckoned in the Frenchest French accent I'd ever heard. The shade over the window had been left up just enough for the prying eyes of girls with mischief on their minds. Honor and I crouched down for a peek. It was one of the Geverelli twins, bent over the side of a desk getting worked like a rental. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was agape, and her dress was bunched up around her chest. The man's hand was on her head, holding her in place. Every time he entered her, her body jerked and her face winced. I wasn't sure if she was enjoying it or not. Then she opened her eyes and was looking right at me. I was alarmed at first, until a devilish smile crept across her lips. I couldn't look away.

"Now who's going to tell me what's going on here?"

We all spun around to see the Countess standing there with hands on hips, and the steely-faced Ezra right behind her. We all stood there dumbfounded. She walked up to the door, bent down and looked for herself. Glances were tossed between us like a game of hot potato. She turned back to us with a cheeky smirk. We were so relieved she wasn't angry. "Well, it looks like Lana couldn't wait for dessert. I'm afraid to ask where her sister is. Let's leave them to it ladies. I'm sure your time could be better spent." Everyone began dispersing. Honor grabbed my hand so we could get the fuck out of there. "Uh, not you Katia. I'd like to talk to you." I pretty much peed right there. Would this be the moment she confronted me about my identity? No. She just wanted to chat for a spell. The conversation was pleasant enough. She asked me what I thought of everything so far, if I'd made friends, and how Avi and I were getting along. I tried to make my answers sound light and candid, but I was being very careful.

"And how is Mr. Orsini these days?" she asked. Thank God YiYi had prepped me so well. I knew George Orsini was like an uncle to Katia. He'd been best friends with her father Orris, and after he died, George stepped in to look after the girl. With a mother whose addiction superseded raising a daughter, Katia came to rely on George for the love and support she didn't get at home. Still, it was an odd question that hinted the Countess had some sort of relationship with George. YiYi never mentioned it to me. I was getting nervous.

"Oh, he's doing great. Keeping his head up."

"George and I were great friends once Katia. When your name came up during the vetting of another recruit, I was hoping to create an opportunity for he and I to reconnect. I never in a million years imagined he would allow you to come here." And there it was. The real reason Katia had been recruited. "He talked a great deal about you, Katia, as much as his own children. Has he ever mentioned me to you?"

Oh Jesus. I didn't know what to say. "Uh, well, you know George. He can be so private about things. So private."

The Countess realized the awkwardness she'd spilled between us, and acted quickly to change the subject. "But I'm delighted you're here. You're going to do well. I'll see to it myself. Tell me, what's been your favorite thing so far? Hmm? The clothes, the jewelry, the freedom?"

"The food," I blurted out without any thought. "Tonight, I ate a whole plate of shrimp by myself." What the hell was wrong with me? Why did I say that? The embarrassment quickly spread out over my cheeks. Perhaps I'd gotten a little too comfortable. Avi to the rescue. He came darting around the corner, irritation steeling his jaw.

"Princess, where have you been! You tell me you going to the restroom and thirty minutes later, I must search for you?"

The Countess took the blame, apologizing for keeping me so long. "I am truly sorry Avi. It won't happen again."

Avi hardly acknowledged her. "Let's go," he muttered and started walking quickly, his hand in the small of my back.

"Don't be too hard on her Avi. We're not even through the first week," the Countess called after us.

I couldn't believe Avi was so angry with me. It seemed a bit extreme, but once we were out of sight, he dropped the act. His face relaxed into its usual kind expression. "You were pretending to be mad?" I asked, pushing him playfully. He caught my hand and held it as we walked, a grin hovering over his full lips. "You're such a jerk Avi. I really thought you were upset with me. Why did you do that?"

"Honor said the Countess cornered you. She was worried, so I came to save you. I will always come to save you."

# CHAPTER 18

For over a week, YiYi endured hours of tests each day. Dr. Bragg was always thrilled with the results-- jumping up and down at some points, and congratulating the proctor as if he'd somehow contributed to the outcome. Each time she finished, YiYi hoped she would be taken to see her sister, but it never happened. Her patience had finally run out. Today, she was sent back to her cell and rewarded with a bowl of soup and some pineapple slices. She took the tray and flung it as hard as she could. Soup splashed across the wall, but the styrofoam tray fluttered to the floor, mocking her anger. "Where is my sister!" she hollered at the top of her lungs. There was no response of any kind. "Fine!" she yelled to the cameras she couldn't see, but knew were watching, "Let's see how much use I am to you if my brain is scrambled!" She started at the toilet and ran at top speed into the wall. The blow stunned her, knocking her backward onto the floor. She staggered to her feet, and in spite of the dizziness and wobbling, made it back to the starting point. Just as she was prepared to take another crack at knocking herself out, the electronic door whooshed open and a doctor rushed in, pleading for her to stop. He was young and scruffy, and looked like he hadn't slept in days. Sizing men up was her specialty. He was harmless.

"Wait! Ms. Cash, please stop! Ok? I um, have a message. From Ming. A message from Ming. For you. I'll read it, but- but please, just don't do that again." He walked toward the cell with his hands up in the official gesture of surrender. "So I'm just gonna' reach into my pocket and read it. Ok?"

"Don't bother," YiYi said. "How will I know it's really from Ming?"

YiYi had backed up to the toilet again, and the doctor was panicking. If she harmed herself, she would be placed in a solitary chamber just as Ming was. He didn't want to see anyone else go through that hell.

"Ms. Cash, wait! It's in your uh, your secret language. From when you were children. The language the two of you made up."

He had her attention now. She sat down on the bed. Now that the adrenaline was starting to wear off, her head was killing her. He pulled out a yellow post-it and read the message as best he could: "Ba bee dah? Kes mu no dada. Kes mu me sun. Jes pa ta tescu." YiYi couldn't help but laugh. She had never heard the language spoken by anyone but she and Ming, and he was pronouncing it wrong. But more importantly, she was overjoyed to know Ming was ok. That was all she needed to be able to endure whatever came next.

"I'm Dr. Xavier Marlowe, but everyone calls me Dr. Xavier. I don't know why, just sort of happened that way." He knew he was babbling, but it was the way she was staring at him that made him uneasy. "Ming and I have become friends," he continued.

YiYi raised an eyebrow. "Awww, have a little crush on her do ya? Sorry, but you're not her type."

Dr. Xavier swallowed hard. "What I'm trying to say is, I'd like to make things easier on you two. I want to be your friend too. If you get through one more week of the tests, I promise you'll get to see Ming. I swear."

"And then what? Will we be able to leave? Can we just walk out the front door?"

Dr. Xavier looked at the floor. "Well, eventually. Sure." He was easier to read than a book on tape.

"You're lying," she said. "We're never getting out of here are we?"

Dr. Xavier began fidgeting with his clipboard. "No, you are. You will."

"I want to talk to Dr. Bragg," YiYi declared, before lying down and pulling the blanket over her head. "You obviously don't have any authority here."

"I-I- I do have authority here. I'm Dr. Bragg's right hand man."

"Oh? So you're helping him do this to us?" she asked, without even removing the blanket.

"No, no. Well, not helping but... Ms. Cash, one more week of tests and you'll see your sister. I promise."

"Ok doc, one more week, but if I don't see my sister by then, it's going to be bad. And if I can't get my hands on you or Bragg, I'll get hold of someone. I promise. Is that clear?"

"Crystal."

"One more thing doc. Give my sister a message for me: Kes mu me sun. Kes nu ta jes pasagas. Kes ku echo je." It meant, 'I'm ok. I got your messages. I can hear you', but Dr. Xavier had no idea of that. He jotted it down, trying to work out possible spellings for the words. He'd seen footage once, of Ming and YiYi as children speaking the language. Given their age at the time, it was astoundingly intricate. Dr. Bragg was never able to finish translating it.

It was the last day of yet another week, and still no sign of Ming. YiYi lay in her cell thinking about everything. Did Dr. Xavier think her words had been a threat? He had no idea. When she had nothing to lose, the world had better watch the fuck out. What did Dr. Bragg want with the Cash twins anyway? Why were they special? Or were they? Maybe the whole goddamned place was full of other women in cages. Thank God Alexia had turned down the offer to come to this place. YiYiwouldn't have forgiven herself if the girl had ended up in the same predicament. She wished they'd had a chance to talk about things. She really did care about Alexia. If they'd met under different circumstances, their relationship might have lasted. For a little while anyway. Alexia was much too young for anything serious. She didn't know who she was yet, or what she wanted. Or if she was even truly into women.

YiYi's thoughts wandered to West. She wondered what he was doing right then. There was no doubt her disappearance had devastated him. He loved her. She hoped he wouldn't try to come for her. Without Alexia's help, it would be a suicide mission. Even if he and Teak put together a militia, they wouldn't get very far. She wished she could speak to him telepathically, and warn him to stay away. She laughed at the idea of it. How long would it take West to decipher the messages? Or anyone else, for that matter? Maybe people communicated telepathically all the time, but just didn't know it meant anything. Ming was still sending messages, but YiYi had no way of writing down the images and studying them for meaning. It was frustrating, but it was comforting knowing her sister was alive.

There was something that still puzzled her though. As a child, when she'd heard Ming plotting to kill their parents, the information just kind of came to her. She didn't experience the debilitating headaches, and the pain that made her black out. What was different now? What had changed? She was interrupted by a knock on the window of the room. She sat up and turned around. Were her eyes deceiving her? It was Ming! Ming and a guard were standing in front of the window. YiYi jumped up and ran to the front of the cell, pressing herself against the bars. She started crying instantly, and yelling her sister's name. Ming was crying too. Ming put her hand against the glass, and mouthed to YiYi that she loved her. Then, the guard ushered her off. "No!" YiYi screamed, clutching at the bars. "Ming!" She couldn't see her anymore. Where were they going? Why weren't they coming inside? Was that the meeting she had waited all of this time for? Five seconds? No, it couldn't be. She stayed at the bars, vigilantly waiting for Ming to reappear. They were coming back. She just knew it. Hours later, she slumped to the floor defeated. She felt as if her guts were being ripped out. She couldn't believe how weak Ming looked, so frail and thin. She was losing her sister and she was losing herself. Something had to change.

# CHAPTER 19

By the time we arrived to the dining hall, I was ravenous. I looked amazing in the gown Avi picked out for me, but the shoes were a whole different animal. For a girl who would prefer to walk around barefoot, four inch heels were crippling. "You're going to have to get used to them princess. They are part of your uniform." "Well aren't there some that won't make me feel like I'm balancing on the edge of a cliff?" I asked. Avi laughed. "No, not really. But it will help if you learn to walk in them. Come, I will show you."

He sat me down on a marble bench just outside the dining room and to my amusement, took my sandals and put them on. He then began strutting back and forth, while explaining how to move most efficiently in them. Even with his foot busting out of the front and back of the shoe, he still managed an elegant stride. "So you see, you must walk heel to toe, lean back very slight and take small steps." His little demonstration had garnered an audience, including the Countess and Mrs. Shugga Wonmelt. When he finished, everyone applauded. "Do you see that Countess?" asked Mrs. Shugga. "I can't even get my husband to take out the trash, and this one's got her man giving runway classes." The Countess threw back her head and laughed so hard, she had to lean on Mrs. Shugga to keep her balance. It was odd to see the Countess behaving like that. She was a woman that both frightened and fascinated me. With her hideous bodyguard in tow, she and Mrs. Shugga entered the dining room cackling like schoolgirls without a care in the world.

After Avi gave me back my sandals, I practiced walking for a bit since we had some time before they closed the doors to the dining hall. In the distance, I could hear the Geverelli twins talking a mile a minute, as loudly as if they were at a football game. I saw them approach the mezzanine in matching silver cocktail dresses, each holding a can of Redbull. Who the hell gave them caffeine? Their attendants were practically running to keep up with them.

"Katia! Avi!" Mona hollered from the railing. We waved back, which prompted them to do the traditional party girl scream and show us their tits. "I think we should sit with them tonight," Avi joked. I shot him a look. They were very entertaining. To watch. From afar. When I looked back, they were pretending to take selfies with imaginary cellphones. People passing by were instantly pulled into the faux photo session. Finally, Lana decided it would be a good idea to slide down the banister. She straddled it and lifted up her skirt, as her sister and a few other girls cheered her on. Her attendant was furious and fussed at her to get down. "Princess, let's go inside. Only five minutes left. Maybe we will really have to sit with them if there are no seats left." I shrugged Avi off. I had to see how this was going to end. Would Lana be tranqued and carried out? She had to be in violation of something. One of the security guards on the ground floor went over to the stairs and ordered Lana to get down. "I am getting down, but I want to get down this way," she pouted. Her attendant finally succeeded in coaxing her off the banister, but it was too late. A bullet ripped through her chest. And then another. Her body reeled backward and tumbled down the steps. I just stood there with my hands clasped over my mouth. Several more shots rang out, and two more bodies fell over the rail of the mezzanine. The hall filled with screams. Sirens began blaring and a voice over the loudspeaker ordered everyone back to their rooms.

Warning! Safety is of the utmost priority. Get back to your rooms and plug in at once! Warning! Safety is of the utmost priority. Get back to your rooms and plug in at once!

Security guards came out from everywhere and created a human barrier so there was no place to go but the stairs. I don't know where my mind went. It was like I was stuck in that moment. When I finally returned to the present, Avi was carrying me over his shoulder. Maybe I'd passed out. Somehow, we'd made it up the stairs before the dining hall cleared out. There were at least three bodies lying on the floor of the mezzanine, but I couldn't see who they were. The medical team had already surrounded them. When we finally made it to the hallway of our dorm, the obstacle course had been turned off, and the walls were lined with guards, ushering people into their rooms. Once we got inside, I just stood there, too stunned to say a word. Avi pulled me close to him, and tried to tell me it would be ok. I wanted to believe that, and there was a time when I would have. He picked me up and laid me on the bed, before curling up behind me. He put his arms around me and we lay there together, not saying a word, just listening to the commotion in the hall. It finally died down. All that could be heard was the shuffling of boots on the ground.

"Why did he do that Avi? Why did he kill them?"

"I don't know princess. Something like this never happened before."

I found that hard to believe. I sat up quickly. "I thought you said they don't use bullets. Were you lying to me?"

"No, princess, of course not. They never use bullets before. Only tranquilizers."

The announcement came over the loudspeaker again:

Warning! Safety is of the utmost priority. Get back to your rooms and plug in at once! Warning! Safety is of the utmost priority. Get back to your rooms and plug in at once!

"Princess, it's time," Avi said, his eyes pleading. I didn't move. I wasn't doing anything until someone told me what the fuck happened. Did they expect us to just ignore it? Sleep it off? I wanted answers. "Please princess, please. They will come for you and I can't protect you." I was alarmed at the fear in his eyes. What did he need to protect me from? For some stupid reason, I wasn't afraid. The announcement came on again, but this time the computerized voice alerted us it was the final warning. Avi was begging me now, intermittently glancing back at the door. "Princess, please don't do this. Don't make me force you." When I refused, he pushed me back onto the bed and climbed on top of me. His knees were pinning my shoulders. I started screaming and trying to kick, but I couldn't break free. He held my face to the side, while trying to lift the flap of synthetic skin, and affix the cord to the Godseye. "I'm sorry princess. I don't want to lose you."

The door swung open and two officers entered our room. "Times up Avi. Move out of the way buddy." Ok, now I was afraid. What the fuck was I thinking? Avi didn't budge. "We're plugging in right now. We had some problems, but now we're good." There was strength in his voice. He was not intimidated by them. "Avi, we're just doing our job buddy. You know we have procedures we have to follow. If you want, you stay with her until we drop her off. How does that sound?" Avi slowly put his hands up and carefully climbed off the bed.

"Thank God," said guard number two with a sigh, 'cause I did not want to deal with your crazy ass tonight."

"I told you," Avi said, "you're not taking her. Just let us plug in and get to sleep." I scrambled over the edge of the bed and scrunched myself into a ball.

"Avi? Buddy? Come on, if I have to tranque you, you know what that means. Do you really want to do this?" Avi didn't answer. His body language said it all. He did indeed want to do this.

"For fucks sake. Alright Rick, take him down."

Before guard number two could fire the weapon, Avi had knocked him to the ground. He got behind the injured man and hoisted him up just in time to serve as a shield for a tranquilizer dart headed his way. "Fuck!" exclaimed guard number two, when he saw the neon sliver sticking out of his chest. He was already feeling the effects of the sedative, and when Avi released him, he slumped forward onto his knees. In a move that would make Tony Jaa weep with pride, Avi stepped on the kneeling man's back, leapt into the air, and landed an elbow to the top of guard one's skull. I screamed. They hit the floor together, but Avi quickly sprang to his feet.

Several more guards appeared in the doorway. The one in front ordered Avi to get on the ground immediately, or they would exhort to more extreme methods of extraction. I couldn't let this go on any longer. I'd put Avi in a terrible situation. "I'll come with you. I'll come with you," I managed to choke out, but it made no difference. Avi had already decided I wasn't going anywhere. The first two officers went down like Bangkok tricks, but the last was able to match Avi blow for blow. Please don't let him get hurt, I prayed silently. I screamed when Avi took a kick to the chest that sent him careening backward onto the bed, but it turned out to be an opportunity for him to gain the upper hand. He grabbed a towel from the bed and sprung to his feet in one graceful motion. He wound the towel around the man's head and ran him into the mirror.

"Javier!" a voice boomed from the hallway. I looked up to see the Countess with Mr. Meanmug, and the rest of her personal security team. Avi released his grip on the towel, and the limp body dropped onto the steadily growing pile of victims. "Have you lost your fucking mind!" she thundered. Avi dropped his head like a boy being scolded by his mother. The Countess stepped into the room, a look of complete horror on her face as she took in the aftermath. When she noticed me cowering in the corner, she closed her eyes and put her hand to her head, as if the scene was a bad dream that could be blinked away. She turned to a member of her team, a square- jawed, Nordic looking guy with a buzz cut, and handed him the reigns. "John Rhett, please fix this nightmare. Get medical up here, have this mess cleaned up, and get Bonnie and Clyde to my office." She stormed out with Ezra at her side. So many thoughts were whirling around my head as I sat there. Were any of those men still alive? And why had I created this turmoil? What was I trying to prove? Now I would be thrown out without finding YiYi and Ming. And who knew what would happen to Avi? I put my head down and started to cry. Avi called my name softly. When I looked up, he winked at me.

# CHAPTER 20

The Countess was no longer able to barge in on Dr. Bragg whenever she saw fit. She now had to ask his receptionist whether or not he was available.

"Oh yes of course. He's been expecting your call," the young woman said cheerfully.

The meeting had to be held in an office in the hospital, building ten, because the Countess was no longer permitted in buildings eleven and twelve. This time she was sure to bring her entourage. She didn't want an incident like the last one, when she'd almost gotten her head blown off. She and Ezra went in, while the rest of her team waited outside the door to keep watch. Dr. Bragg was delighted to see her. After all, he'd been anticipating her visit. When they arrived, he was munching on a plate of scones and doing a crossword puzzle.

"Countess," he sang out, dabbing at his chin with a napkin. "Wonderful to see you. Please sit down. Ezra my boy, always a pleasure. Would either of you care for a snack?"

The Countess was fuming. "Stop playing games with me Bragg. You know why I'm here. What the hell have you done?"

His expression brightened as he feigned sudden enlightenment. "You're referring to these, aren't you?" He picked up a scone and inhaled deeply before taking a bite. "Guilty as charged, my dear. I asked the kitchen to punch up the recipe a bit. Cinnamon and almond whipped cream. Mother Bragg's secret ingredients. Divine, aren't they? And you're not the only one who noticed."

The Countess was practically rabid now. "You know what the fuck I'm talking about! The officer who came out of nowhere and killed six of my girls! He couldn't have even gotten into the building with a gun unless you turned the sensors off."

Dr. Bragg took a sip from a mug of coffee on the desk. "Oh. Yes. That. Well after everyone plugs up, you can supplant a new memory dear. Remember? That's what the technology is for. You can wipe it all away. I really don't see what the problem is."

The Countess put her hands on the desk and leaned in. "I know how to fix it, you fucking maggot. The point is, it shouldn't have happened in the first place."

"Countess dear, you know as well as I, that sometimes these things happen. Can't make an omelet without-"

"Don't you dare!" she yelled, knocking the mug and plate of scones to the ground. Dr. Bragg jumped up and stood behind his chair.

"You need to take this up with the board, Countess. I have full authority to do whatever I deem necessary. They asked me for a live demonstration and that's what I gave them. They saw the whole thing. And they don't care."

The Countess stood up and crossed her arms. She thought about her conversation with Mr. Groh during her last hearing before the board. He'd warned her that Dr. Bragg had finally succeeded in creating a mind control device. When the Countess interviewed officer Mokansu, his explanation had only been that he found this group of women particularly unruly. He brought his pistol into the main building he said, because he didn't trust them. His answers were bizarre and lacking. The Countess had known Mokansu for sixteen years. His performance had been nothing short of exemplary. He was always polite, respectful, and calm in the most tumultuous of situations. He wielded authority modestly, and was known for his patience. Nothing in his nature could have alluded to such an irrational act of violence.

The Countess slowly turned away from the good doctor, arms folded beneath her bust, brow rippled in contemplation. How had she not realized it immediately? Although Mokansu did not deny what he'd done, he seemed detached and confused, as though he couldn't quite make sense at how he'd arrived at the decision to open fire. "So you made officer Mokansu do that? You made him kill my girls."

Dr. Bragg had a smile on his face a mile wide. "At the touch of a button. Wasn't it something? You seem surprised. You didn't have faith in me? I'm hurt."

The Countess wanted nothing more right then, than to have Ezra put a bullet through the good doctor's eye.

"Can you imagine Countess, being able to control millions of people with a few strokes on a keyboard? And the ideas will manifest as independent thought. Do you understand what that means?"

"Yeah, it means the sheep won't have any idea somebody's fucking with their heads," Ezra piped up, each word stinking with contempt.

"Yes!" Dr. Bragg cheered, rushing over to give him a high-five.

Ezra drew his gun at lightning speed. "Get the fuck away from me, you joke-ass Hitler motherfucker!" Dr. Bragg backed off with his hands up. He didn't want any trouble with Ezra. In fact, he was terrified of him.

"You think people are going to let you put this device inside of them Bragg?" the Countess asked. "Or do you plan on going door to door like some evil Santa Clause?"

Dr. Bragg chuckled. "If only I had the time. I would make a good Santa, but it's much simpler than all that. The Godseye will be marketed as a health and wellness device. I could put it on Alibaba right now and make millions by the end of the week. How long do you think it will be before insurance companies are insisting people have one installed? Paying for them even? In about ten years, even the poorest among us will have one. The mind control software will already be equipped. I don't understand why you see this as something negative. Imagine being able to stop someone from jumping off a bridge, or using drugs, or committing crimes. Forcing people to love their neighbors. Remember how hard it was for you to quit smoking? One click and you would have given it up without any struggle. No withdrawals, no temptations, just done. What bad do you see in any of that?"

"Countess, let's get out of here," Ezra snarled. "I don't have a kernel of patience left for this motherfucker." Ezra seldom spoke unless spoken to, so when he did, the Countess paid attention. It was definitely time for them to go.

"Countess, my dear," Dr. Bragg called out congenially, "after you're done with this round of recruits, we'll start outfitting everyone with the new hardware. Be sure and fit that into the girls' schedules. You know the drill." The last thing Dr. Bragg heard was the door slamming shut.

Avi and I sat in the office of the Countess awaiting our fate. My knee was bouncing like I was keeping beat at a hoedown, but he was perfectly calm. He wouldn't look at me though. That scared me. Two members of the Countess' personal security team were standing behind us. One of them was chewing gum, cracking and popping it like it was the world's last piece of Juicy Fruit. It was driving me crazy. We'd been sitting there for hours. Literally hours. Something kept going off inside the desk, vibrating like someone kicked a nest of mosquitoes. I made a game of trying to figure out what it was, which kept me busy for a good forty five minutes. The receptionist finally came in, pulled open the drawer and snatched it from the desk in a huff. It was one of those cellphone things some of the staff had. Finally the Countess arrived. She sat at her desk and Ezra stood in the corner behind her. She looked tired, wearing the evening's events in the dark shadows beneath her eyes. She dismissed the two guards with a wave, and Ezra shut the door behind them.

"Somebody had better start talking and fast," the Countess said. Neither of us said a word.

"Well Javier, since you almost killed three people and might be on your way back to prison, perhaps you'd like to start."

"Prison?" I echoed.

She glowered at me as though she couldn't believe I had dared to speak. Her face softened, but there was something about the way she was looking at me that made me uneasy. She was studying me, searching for something. "Avi, like many other staff members is part of a program that allows select prisoners to finish out their sentences here. They usually work in cleaning, maintenance, and occasionally the kitchen. Until a few years ago, my security team was the only exception to that. Avi is the first inmate to be allowed to serve as an attendant, a decision I am continuously reevaluating."

I was stunned. No, no, that doesn't even begin to cover how I was feeling. They actually put me in closed quarters with an inmate? What had he done to land him in prison? Not jail, prison. I looked at him, but he still refused eye contact with me. I knew he could feel my gaze. The Countess continued talking like what she'd just revealed was no big deal.

"Now Javier, please explain yourself. What the hell were you thinking?"

He didn't look up. "I don't want her to end up like Delilah."

"Delilah? What? What are you talking about?" she demanded.

"Maybe we can talk in private. Please, ma'am."

The Countess had that God-give-me-the-strength-look, but she obliged his request. They went into a separate room, leaving the big galoot and I all alone. My brain was running rampant with escape ideas. I imagined myself getting up and hitting Ezra over the head and making a run for it. Then I thought of going for the phone on the desk, an old school switchboard type with buttons all over. Could I dial 911 before I got clobbered? Several other valiant scenarios played out in my mind, but I could not will myself to try one. "Why was Avi in prison?" I asked. The question just kind of fell out of my mouth. I wasn't surprised when Ezra didn't answer.

# CHAPTER 21

When the Countess and Avi returned, she dismissed him back to the dorm. Fear surged through me. What was going to happen now? I suddenly became aware of a low humming sound but it seemed to be coming from inside of me.

"You're offline now Katia," the Countess said. "No one can hear us or see us. So, would you like to tell me what's really going on?" I mumbled something or other about the girls being shot in front of us, and how we deserved some kind of explanation. The Countess had a peculiar smile on her face as her eyes traced me. She didn't say anything for a long time. Too long. I could feel my throat getting dry and my pulse quickening.

"I never met you when you were a young girl Katia, never even saw a picture. I've never cared much for children. But George spoke of you often enough. I pretended to listened because, well, that's what we do when we love someone. I don't remember much-- your mother liked to drink and gamble, you were good at math, you were quiet and liked to keep to yourself, and there was one more thing. What was it?" She looked up like she was trying to recall the memory. "Oh yes, and you were highly allergic to shellfish. When you were about thirteen, you had to be rushed to the hospital after eating a single shrimp. George cancelled a weekend with me to be at your bedside because your mother was nowhere to be found. He said you were covered in hives and swollen like a pumpkin. Well, when you confessed to me that you'd eaten an entire plate of shrimp, it struck me as odd. Allergies can go away, but rarely one that causes such a severe reaction. And wouldn't the individual be more cautious of the intake of the food that caused the reaction? I doubt they would just glom down a sailors portion of it. So, before I run your fingerprints, would you like to tell me who the fuck you are and why you're here?"

The look on my face gave it all away. I could feel my muscles frozen in an expression that announced I was a fraud. I tried to stammer out an explanation, but her decisive and unwavering gaze shredded my words. I was out of my league and so, with nothing left to lose, I told her the truth. All of it.

"These men coming in on the train, West and Teak, how will they know when to come?" she asked.

"After I bring Dylan the information from the ledger, he's going to place a specific food order-- truffles and a rare wine-- and when Mr. Ishmael sees the items with Dylan's name on them, he'll send the two men in."

"Posing as warehouse workers?" she asked.

"Yes."

She looked at Ezra. "They won't make it passed the bio-scanners."

What none of our group knew was that the surveillance system had recently been updated to detect the presence of people not outfitted with a Godseye. Anyone without the hardware needed to be registered as authorized personnel, or the system would flag them as intruders. West and Teak would be seized only minutes after their arrival. The Countess wanted me to carry on with the plan and bring the contents of the ledger to Dylan. When Teak and West came in on the train, Ezra would be waiting for them. The Countess would have the surveillance team shut down the bio-scanners for an hour until Ezra could safely escort them to her office.

"Uh, ma'am, with all due respect," Ezra began, "you no longer have the clearance to shut down the system."

"Shit," the Countess muttered under her breath. She sat back in her chair, lightly spinning it from side to side while considering what to do.

"Ok, ok. The updates have been buggy, right? They always are for the first few months. I'll just report a technical issue and ask them to reboot the whole system. That will give you exactly sixteen minutes to get them here. Jesus, you think you can do it, Ezra? I mean, it's a non-stop run." He gave her a thumbs up and the lines in her face finally relaxed. She leaned back in her chair, her eyes focusing on nothing in particular.

"Ok Alexia, this could work. You'll continue on as Katia and no one is to know anything about this. Remember everything you say and do is on camera."

I nodded. I still wasn't sure what was going on, or why she was helping us, but I was taught not to look a gift horse in the mouth. I knew that should've been it, but I couldn't help myself. I had so many questions. Why had Avi been in prison? And what had gotten him riled enough to start a fight with the guards? And most importantly, what was going to happen to him? The Countess glanced at Ezra, seemingly to weigh in on whether or not to tell me these things. He tipped his head as if to say 'might as well'. They too had an unusual relationship, just like YiYi and West. I could tell from their body language they weren't sleeping together, but it was much more than a boss and her subordinate.

"Avi was, well, is in prison for killing his father." My jaw dropped.

"Relax," she said with great irritation. "His father was a piece of shit, beat his mother into a coma. She died a few months later, but fair or not, the law is the law. Avi is finishing out his term here." So that was why he couldn't continue as my attendant once I became a courtesan. He was a prisoner and couldn't leave the facility.

"It's part of a program to give a deserving few a second chance. And the prison was happy to get rid of him. He was violent, a troublemaker, spent most of his time in solitary. But the warden assured me he was a good kid, who was only acting out to protect himself. He had to strike first so he didn't become fresh meat for the sharks. He would've been fine with any of the other jobs here, but I wasn't going to waste a pretty thing like that on toilet detail. Four years later, here we are. He's great at his job, the best attendant I've got. And I like him. He's a sweet kid. Because of that, I cut him too much slack."

The rules stated that staff members who committed three behavior violations in a given period were subject to review for termination. The Countess however, had no intention of letting Avi go back to prison. He'd only been trying to protect me, and that is what she wanted out of an attendant. Had it not been for Avi's little stunt, she wouldn't have been alerted to what was going on. Girls that refused to plug in were immediately discharged, and the Countess preferred not to be bothered with the details of why. She had no tolerance for recruits who did not respect authority, especially during the trial period. I would have been tranqued and transferred to the discharge center. There, the Godseye would have been removed and after a final examination, I would've been tossed back into the world. The process normally took about a week, sometimes two. This is what happened to Avi's very first recruit, a wily girl named Delilah. Well, it's what was supposed to happen.

"Alexia, what you don't know is that this is also a research facility. Groundbreaking strides in health and medicine have been made here. The monitoring implant in your head, the electronic contraception, my own hand-" she held it up and wiggled her fingers. "I had an accident and my hand was completely destroyed. This is not a prosthetic my dear. It's my own hand regenerated. Can you believe it? Isn't it amazing? The staff here is a vital part of the research process."

"Test subjects," I spit out. "We're all test subjects."

She seemed dismayed that I wasn't more impressed with her fancy new limb. I was, but not enough to ignore the involuntary donation of my body to science. Delilah was very special the Countess said, a rare anomaly the doctors and scientists couldn't let slip through their fingers. Instead of releasing Delilah as they should have, they kept her as a lab rat. When the Countess found out, it was too late. The girl had been destroyed, a mere shell of her former self. Her mind was gone, and her body was breaking down. The Countess couldn't just put her back into the world like that, so she kept the girl in the facility working as a housekeeper. And then it all clicked for me. Delilah was the girl Avi was talking to when I'd gotten so upset and jealous.

"Delilah is a chimera. Have you ever heard that term before?" I hadn't.

"She fully absorbed her twin in the womb and has two sets of DNA. Just like you. The scientists in our facility are fond of chimera for, uh...genetic studies."

Genetic studies? Was that code for cloning, or animal/human hybridization, or something worse? Good Lord.

"That's why Avi made such a scene," she continued. "He wanted to get me involved so that I would protect you. He didn't want you to end up like her."

I felt like someone just put a firecracker in my mouth and blew my mind. This was crazy, fucking sci-fi crazy. Was this woman telling me I was my own twin? And that these people would single me, or rather us, out for experiments? It sent chills down my spine. I had to get the fuck out of this place. What I didn't understand though, was how Avi would have known any of that.

"Alexia, what sense would it make to put girls in the rooms with total strangers? No matter how compatible two people might be, that would be incredibly awkward. To combat that, the attendants learn everything about you. So even though your personality profile was created from Katia's answers, the medical records are yours. Most attendants don't read them but Avi is... thorough. After the recruit is implanted with the Godseye, she is induced into a state of hibernation and linked with her attendant several hours a day for a week. Although they may not know each other on a conscious level, they are uniquely bound. Now, what you don't know about this place could fill volumes. I think we've discussed enough for today."

She handed me a metal device about the size of a button. It was what was currently being used to keep me offline. When activated, it would block the transmission of the Godseye so I could act in secret. It would affect anyone around me within a four foot radius, so I was only to use it when absolutely necessary. I was however, to keep it on tonight to keep my memory from being wiped. That meant that Avi too, would still have his memory intact.

"Why aren't you going to erase my memory? Of the shooting I mean?"

She raised an eyebrow. "The reason I choose to delete or add memories Alexia, is to help the recruits. It is of no benefit to them to remember the incident, but there is for you. Ming and YiYi are in danger and we don't have a moment to lose. I need you focused and aware. Sometimes a negative incident can be helpful to our progress. I could have deleted the incident with you and Reicher, but you learned something about yourself that day. Didn't you?"

I looked at her wide-eyed. "Is that why he's gone? Why Spencer has a new attendant?"

"Of course. No matter what you may think of me Alexia, I care about the people in this facility. Now, you'll be escorted back to your room. I'm sure I needn't tell you that all of this must remain strictly between us."

"Right, but what about Avi? He'll still remember the shooting. What if he says something to me about it?"

She was tired of my questions and looked to the heavens in frustration. "He's been around awhile, Alexia. He knows how things are done around here. He won't say anything."

Ezra accompanied me back to the dorms. I kept sneaking glances at his face, trying not to be obvious about my curiosity. Up close, he didn't look so ghastly. His features were quite nice, and the carvings in his skin were all symmetrical. I literally had to bite my tongue to keep from asking about them. As we headed toward the stairs that led to the rooms, I looked for the door we'd gone out the morning we had breakfast on the beach. I remembered it perfectly well. I could still see the image in my head and it should have been right there beneath a window. That was gone too.

"Ezra, where is the door that was there? Is it hidden so we can't go out?" Just as I'd figured, he didn't answer. We walked in silence for several minutes until he finally spoke.

"There is no door there. There never was." His tone was gentle, much more so than I would've expected from him.

"But we went out of it when we went to the beach," I insisted.

"There was never a door there. You never went to the beach. It was a manufactured event. No more questions. No more talking."

Way to leave me with that cliffhanger. A manufactured event? Why? And how many other things weren't real? When we got to the room, Avi was still awake. Unless notified to do otherwise, attendants weren't permitted to plug in until their recruits were accounted for. I was so happy to see him, my heart skipped a beat. I could see the relief in his eyes.

"You have thirty six minutes until you have to plug in," Ezra said.

As soon as the door closed, Avi wrapped his arms around me. "My perfect girl. You're safe," he said, more to himself than to me. I was so tired of crying, but there I was again, sobbing on his chest like a child. I didn't understand my feelings for him. I only knew I didn't want to be without him. He changed me, elevated me somehow in a way I didn't want to come back from. He lifted my face to his and brushed his lips against mine as though asking permission. I looked into the glistening eyes of this boy, this tormented soul, and I craved oneness with him. I could already feel him, massive and rock hard against my thigh. He yearned for me just as I did for him. I began undoing his shirt, lingering at every button, savoring the anticipation. With my hands on either side of his face, I kissed him tenderly. He moaned as if he had been waiting all his life for such a moment. His tongue moved gently, timidly. He was afraid of taking too much, and I found that intoxicating.

"Do you like kissing?" I asked softly.

He looked sheepish. "Yes, very much so. I don't to do it often. Am I doing poorly?"

"No, you're doing wonderfully. Have as much as you like," I whispered tearfully. I knew then that I loved him. He pulled me to him and claimed my mouth with such passion, drinking in my very essence. His tongue gained confidence now, in its ability to explore without shame. He ran his hands over my body, tracing every curve like one relearning the language of desire. He ripped open the front of my blouse and stared, as if my nakedness was something new. "What?" I asked laughing.

"Nothing, you are just...incredible."

There was a knock at the door and a second later, Ezra poked his head in. He'd been waiting there the whole time. There was just no such thing as privacy around here. "Your time is up," he said gruffly. "Plug in at once." Our disappointment was thick enough to spread on toast.

When I opened my eyes the next morning, Avi was sitting on the floor in front of the armoire with his knees up and his head down. That was a first. He was usually hovering over me the second I woke up. I watched him for a moment, admiring his chiseled features and golden skin. He was deep in thought and didn't realize I was awake. "Would you unplug me?" I asked sweetly. I'd startled him. He tried to look happy as he released me from the cord, but I could tell it wasn't genuine. Something was definitely wrong. I sat up, holding the covers over my chest. "What is it?" He sat down on the bed next to me.

"Katia, something is not right. We are meant to be compatible, to care for each other, but the way I feel for you is different. It's not supposed to be like this. I think a mistake has been made." I didn't know what to say, so I asked him what he meant, even though I knew precisely what he meant.

"Katia, I want you to be with me and only me. I want to see you all the time. I want a life with you. And I know that cannot happen and it's killing me. I think you feel the same way." He thought we should talk to the Countess about changing partners before things went any further. It would be best for me, he said.

"I don't feel the same way," I lied. I couldn't even look at him.

"You don't have these feelings for me?" he asked.

I'd hopped up and started loosening my hair, still in the braid from the night before. "Nope. I think we'll be fine. And I don't want a new attendant."

"Ok, but-"

I'd already gone into the bathroom and shut the door. The shower was the perfect place to cry undisturbed. I tried to convince myself my feelings for him weren't real. It's too fast, I thought, you don't just fall in love with someone overnight. And yet it had happened. It was unmistakable, uncompromising, and all consuming. My soul was merging with his whether I wanted it to or not. It hurt like hell, physically hurt, just to think about never seeing him again. Ours was a hopeless romance. There was no room in this life for it to exist. He was stuck in here. Even if I stayed, what would be the point? For us to end up pining after one another, remaining forever just out of reach? How could I free myself of this? How could I free him?

# CHAPTER 22

The Countess arranged for me to meet with a member of the kitchen staff to discuss my dietary requirements, but really to relay the whereabouts of the Cash twins. There were two guards at the entrance and after much radioing back and forth, I was permitted in. Avi was told to wait outside which he was not happy about. The kitchen looked more like a factory with dozens of mini assembly lines in a row. Everywhere I looked, people were chopping and frying and sautéing. There was so much food-- mountains of potatoes, heaps of onions, vats of cream. I was greeted, if you can even call it that, by a bitter hag with a permanent scowl. Her name tag said Camille, and she wanted me to know she was the head sous chef and did not care to be belittled with the menial whims of girls who wouldn't matter in a month. With three kitchens to run and over 2000 people to feed each day, she did not need this kind of bullshit. It was extremely noisy on the floor, so she invited me to follow her to the office, or rather she started walking and snapped her fingers to ensure I was behind her. Mrs. Personality and I went into the office and she sat down to the computer.

"Name?" she asked flatly.

"Katia. Katia Saulveil." An entire minute passed before she finally turned and looked at me like I'd just shit on the floor.

"Uh, hello? Bimbette? Should I just automatically know how to spell that because you're pretty? Unbelievable." Before I could answer, there was a knock at the door. "What!" she barked. A man popped his head in. He was tall and handsome. I couldn't believe my eyes. It was Dylan. "I'll take this Cam," he said. "I've got some work to do in here anyway."

Right before my eyes, Camille turned into Betty Boop. Her voice got at least two octaves higher and she just couldn't stop giggling. "Boss man, I didn't know it was you. I thought you were on lunch-"

"It's alright Cam. Why don't you go check on kitchen three for me. It's a little nuts in there. And get the boys started on that inventory." Dylan closed the door behind her and turned to me, confused and surprised. "So you're Katia Saulveil. Nice to meet you. I'm Dylan." He slipped something into my hand. I didn't have to look at it to know it was an earpiece. Originally, we were supposed to listen to music and cover our left eyes to keep the Godseye from recording, but I had the device the Countess gave me in my pocket.

"I don't need it," I said. "I have something that works better. It's on. Do you hear that humming?" He did. "That means it's working." I pulled out a folded square of paper from my pocket and handed it to him. "There you go. Guess I'll see you around." I headed for the door, but he grabbed me.

"Hey, wait a second. You can't just leave like that. What- what on earth are you doing here? How'd you get involved in this?"

"Well, it all started when I was boning this really hot chick."

He shook his head. "It's not funny, Alexia. You can't be here. These people are dangerous. You have to leave."

I pushed him off of me and backed away. "You don't have to pretend like you care about me Dylan. I'm good, really. Can I go now?"

"What? Alexia, how can you even say that? I do care about you. I always have. You were the first woman that-"

"Made you break your marriage vows? I'm touched."

He moved closer to me and looked into my eyes. He wanted to make sure I was listening to him. "Alexia, my wife left me. She cheated, got pregnant by someone else, and then decided she didn't want me anymore. I thought she would come back. I was waiting for her." Maybe I'm an idiot, but it was only then that I realized Ming was his wife. Holy shit. Ming was his wife? Ming? Wow. And he was risking his life for her? A woman who wanted nothing to do with him?

"Alexia, when I met you, I wasn't trying to get close to you. It just happened. And can you blame me? Who wouldn't be crazy about you?" He moved to brush a tear from my cheek and I let him. "But a woman like you doesn't deserve to live in the shadow of another woman. That was all I could offer you, and it wouldn't have been fair. That's what I wanted to tell you that night." Even though I didn't know it, I needed to hear those things from him. I'd thought about him from time to time, wondering how I'd been so mislead, looking for some clue I'd missed as to what a scumbag he would turn out to be. But I never found them. And that's what was scary, to know that I could be fooled like that again, that my perception was completely off kilter. So my initial judgment of him hadn't been wrong. He was a good man, just not good for me. With that melodrama put to rest, we could talk about the rest of the melodrama. Dylan was dying to know how I'd ended up posing as Katia. He said he'd noticed the resemblance right away. "Remember the night I drove you to that shitty hotel? I asked you then if you had family in Queens. I was thinking about Katia." I filled him in on my relationship with YiYi, and how she and West had become some bizarre extended family. We had a good hard laugh at the absurdity of it all. "My estranged wife's twin sister is sleeping with the girl I dated. I don't know about you, but I smell a sitcom. We have to find a way to get West in there, though. It's comedy gold." Dylan asked about Myra and was happy to know she was safe. "You know after the hotel, I went back to the lot looking for you every day for a month. Myra finally told me I should leave you alone."

She'd never said a word to me about it. I wondered what would've happened if she had. No doubt I would have been back there, flattered by the idea that he was crazy over me. And then what? I would've never met YiYi or West. If Dylan and I had ended up together, would he still be going through all of this to save Ming? Probably, and it would have torn my heart out. It would've definitely been the end of Dylan and Alexia. He was right, I couldn't live in the shadow of another woman. I just wasn't designed that way. We talked for a while longer, but I knew I had to go. Avi would be wondering where I was.

"You're not planning on sticking around are you?" Dylan asked.

I shrugged. "At least until YiYi and Ming are safe, then, I don't know. We'll see."

He shook his head. "No, you can't stay here, Alexia. You've got to go. Do you understand me? Tell the Countess tonight. Get the hell out of this place."

How could I tell him the Countess was involved now? I didn't know how he'd react. It would be better coming from her. "As soon as I can Dylan, I'll go. I promise." After the shooting and the story about Delilah, I was ready to head for the hills. I wanted nothing to do with this place. Except for Avi. I wished I could take him with me. Dylan hugged me and we said our goodbyes.

"Be good to yourself Alexia. Do everything you want in this life, and when you find someone worthy of you, don't let them go. It's a shame we won't remember this conversation."

I pulled away from him, utterly bewildered. Why was he talking like I wouldn't see him again? And why wouldn't we remember this conversation? What was he talking about?

"You didn't know? When you go, they'll take the Godseye out of your head. You won't remember any of this. Your memories are stored on it. And..."

"And what!" I demanded.

The rest of the mission would not bode well for Dylan. He was going to have to take a doctor hostage, and force them to remove the hardware from Ming and YiYi. Then he would stay behind to give the girls enough time to get away. It was unlikely he would make it out of the facility.

"You can't say that," I cried. "You're going to make it. You have to."

His face was sad but calm. He'd made peace with his fate. "It's ok," he said. "If they make it out of here, it'll all be worth it."

"No, Dylan! Fuck that! What, are you some kind of martyr? How can you do this for her? After everything she's put you through? Please, please don't."

There was so much I didn't understand he said, about life and love. He bent down and rolled up the leg of his pants. He was wearing a prosthetic. How had I missed that? I made a note to myself to start being a little more observant.

"Alexia, this is what took me out of the military. There were so many others worse off than me, but all I could do was feel sorry for myself. I was depressed and angry at the world. I pushed everybody away so I could have the privacy to drink myself to death, but Ming wouldn't go. And believe me, I wasn't a joy to be around. But she wouldn't give up on me. If she had, I'm not sure where I'd be. So I don't know if Ming is sick, or hurting, or what, but when she figures it out, I'm going to be there. And she'll be so happy to know I waited for her."

"But how long will you wait?" I sobbed.

When he spoke, his voice was choked with emotion. "Until I can't anymore."

I couldn't accept any of this. There had to be another way. Surely the Countess would be able to help. None of us were going to die. One day, we would all meet in the City for lunch, and talk about how we'd conquered the Society. One day.

# CHAPTER 23

When I emerged from the kitchen, I must've looked a sight, swollen eyes and tear- stained cheeks. "Princess, what's wrong!" Avi demanded. "Did somebody hurt you?" I didn't say anything. I just wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him. He kissed me back aggressively, and then stopped himself. He put my hand on his chest. His heart was beating so fast. "Princess, please don't do this to me. I-" I kissed him again. Some other recruits walking by playfully taunted us. "I lied Avi. I feel the same way about you. I want to be with you." He was happy at first, ecstatic, but the sentiment quickly faded. I knew he was thinking about when the day came that we would have to separate. "Don't worry about that," I said. "Let's just enjoy the time we have left together. Please? Let's not think about anything else." It didn't take much to convince him. He loved me. When you're in love you think, how could this not work? How could the universe be against something so wonderful?

As soon as we closed the door to our room, we began feeding on each other. He tasted sweet and earthy, like the air after it rains. Each kiss made me aware of an awful truth; that I would never get enough of him. And the way he wanted me was its own drug. As he ripped away my clothes, his gaze was ravenous, no longer beholden to the veil of piety he'd adopted for his position. He was singular and decisive, certain that all he surveyed belonged to him and him alone. Pressed against the wall, closer than close, our bodies battled for union. I ran my hand down his thigh over the swelling thickness I knew would be my undoing. "I want you inside of me," I demanded, pulling at his belt. Instead, he slipped my arm around his neck, and picked me up. "Soon, princess, soon. But there's so much I want to do with you. I want to appreciate every second." He placed me on the bed and laid down next to me. "When I first saw you, I thought you were the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. During the linking sessions, I could see you sleeping behind the glass. I couldn't wait to meet you. I used to wonder what you sounded like, tasted like. And now I have you." He began kissing me all over, my face, my neck, making a trail down to my breasts. He flicked his tongue around the tiny bits of eager flesh, then suckled me until my toes curled. By the time he got on his knees, I was already panting like an animal. He lingered at the wetness between my legs, delighting in my reactions to his exploration. The rollercoaster of sensations made me whimper and moan, and grip the back of his head. Spreading me open with his tongue, he devoted his mouth to every fleshy petal. He was an artful tease, titillating my senses and then retreating, a terrible pleasure I both craved and could not withstand. Each time I approached climax, he would stop. Desperate to get even a little bit closer to the source of this euphoria, I threw my legs over his shoulders and thrust my hips up to his mouth. "Please," I begged, "don't stop." He began gently sucking my clit, while his fingers worked inside of me. I was out of my body with pleasure. The pressure crept up from my core and detonated like a bomb. Every nerve in my body was engulfed in a champagne of pricks and tingles. I felt more alive than I ever had. "Wow," I blurted out breathlessly. He stood over me now, with that same rapacious look in his eyes. He was going to devour me. The belt buckle made a clanging noise when it hit the floor, like a bell signaling the start of a match. His full masculinity unsheathed was a daunting sight. He entered me and I gasped at the sheer magnitude of him. The slow, tantalizing strokes left me dizzy. I sang out a chorus of unearthly notes that seemed to come from someone else entirely. Our bodies ebbed and flowed like waves of an ancient sea, and even as we splashed down onto the floor, our harmony did not cease. His hips pumped and rotated like a piston. I clawed at his back as he pushed my body to unfathomed heights of ecstasy. I wasn't ready to abandon my post but his charge was too strong. I felt myself unraveling, and then, he pulled at the final thread holding me together. As I shivered beneath him, he put his lips to mine as if to taste the moment of my surrender. I wanted to stay there forever. He thought we had months. Wouldn't that be Eden? We had days, a few weeks at best. How could I tell him?

We lay there on the floor together in a lovers tangle, touching and talking. Hearing about his life made me feel foolish that I'd ever run away. His was the kind of life you run from. His mother was a young, free spirited American girl, traveling abroad to find herself, when she fell head over heels for a suave and charismatic public official twenty years her senior. They wed immediately in a spectacular ceremony, with doves and exotic fruit and yards of tropical colored lace. By the time she realized what a monster he was, she was already five months pregnant. A few months after Avi was born, she bundled up her child and a few belongings, and made a daring escape into the night. But her husband was a man of influence, well-liked and well-connected. After his pretty, young wife was detained at the border and brought back to him, he punished her act of rebellion by breaking her legs.

Avi's mother tried to protect her son from his father, but the child was sweet and cheerful and curious, which meant he was always underfoot-- giving them presents he'd made, singing songs he'd created, and making inquiries about his surroundings. When Avi was four, his father gave him a concussion for speaking too loudly at the dinner table. From this incident, the boy learned to stay out of the way, and become invisible in his own skin. His father's rage was unpredictable. There was no rhyme or reason to it. A ringing phone could set him off, or the sun rising in the sky, and he would descend upon his wife and son like a Pit Bull on a rawhide chew. There were times he was loving and patient and kind, but still they knew to tiptoe around him because their home was full of landmines.

When Avi was twelve, his mother arranged for him to stay with some friends of hers in a rural part of the country. She would make it appear to his father that he'd run away. She warned Avi never to return home, or even call. She didn't want to risk his father finding out where he was. The Satis were a kind, older couple without children of their own. After living in Europe for almost thirty years, they'd decided to return to the quaint farming community of their youth to retire. They absolutely adored Avi. Mrs. Sati taught him English, a forbidden language in the home he'd grown up in, and Mr. Sati taught him martial arts. He thought it would help with the boy's insecurity and sadness. "A young person must have a place to channel their emotions," Mr. Sati would say, "and a way to learn courage and focus." Avi's mother visited whenever she could, which was only once or twice a year. Each time, she looked more battered and broken, but she put on a brave face for her son. She always told him how much she loved him, and that he was all that mattered to her in the world. When Avi was fifteen, he began working a job after school. He had a dream, albeit a childish one, that he would one day make enough money to take himself and his mother out of the country. She would die before he had the chance. His father told the police he'd come home to find the house ransacked, and his wife beaten to a pulp. The story was full of holes and no one believed it. It was obvious the man was trying to cover up what he'd done, but because of his position, no one pressed the issue.

When Avi went to see his mother in the hospital, her face was unrecognizable. She was in a coma, and the doctors said it was unlikely she would ever wake up. Avi was devastated and sought solace in the only way he knew how, by confronting his father. He hadn't planned on killing him. It just happened. He hadn't expected his father to be so weak. Or maybe it was he who had grown so much stronger. Yes, by giving a voice to a soul long oppressed, Mr. Sati had unconsciously turned Avi into a weapon. The tyrant who had crushed his spirit, brutalized his body, and murdered his mother, fell beneath his fists like wheat under the sickle. When Avi went to prison, the Sati's did not abandon him. They rallied to have him extradited to an American prison, a luxury resort in comparison to the overcrowded, stinking pits of filth and disease in their country. After all, Avi was an American citizen, a fact he did not learn until then. His mother had been sending the Satis money to care for her son, but they'd saved it all for Avi, and had planned on giving it to him when he was an adult. With this money, the Satis bribed half the officials in the country to get Avi remanded to the U.S. to serve out his sentence. "You're going to be ok," Mr. Sati tearfully told the boy he had come to regard as a son. "You'll still be a young man when you get out, and you can get out earlier with good behavior. You can still make something of yourself. Don't give up." Mrs. Sati was far too overcome with emotion to speak. She could only hug Avi and kiss him, and weep at how horribly unfair his life had turned out. He never had a chance. But Avi didn't tell me his story this way-- there was no pity in his tale, no blame of any kind for the hand he'd been dealt. He spoke of his extraordinary gratitude for his mother's sacrifices, and those of the Satis, and believed their love had saved him from a worse fate. A worse fate? Worse than what? I couldn't believe he actually felt like he'd come out ahead. His positivity was inspiring, and I wanted to see the world through his eyes.

Avi was desperate to know more about me. He already knew everything there was to know about Katia. He wanted me to answer as myself. Since we were being recorded, I had to choose my words carefully, so I made up a story about a little girl I used to babysit named Alexia. Avi was very good at playing along. "Why did she feel like she didn't belong with her family?" he asked, running his fingers down the small of my back.

"I don't know exactly. She used to think they were hiding something from her, something bad." "Maybe they just wanted to protect her," he said.

Maybe. My thoughts wandered to my family. What were they doing right then, at that very moment? What would they think of what I'd become, of the choices I'd made? I felt Avi's sweet kisses on the back of my neck and just like that, everything else ceased to matter. Only the primal urge remained, that familiar feeling scratching at me from the inside. I was hungry for him, like we hadn't just feasted on one another. Why was the pull so strong? "Tell me," I said with a naughty grin, "how should a girl like Alexia be treated? Would you make love to her just the same?" There was a gleam in his eye as he licked his lips. "Oh, no. She's a bad girl, but I would teach her how to behave." With that, he grabbed me by my hair and led me to the vanity. Did I want this? Did I want to be conquered by this man? He yanked me by my hair and forced me to look in the mirror. I didn't recognize my own reflection. It didn't look like me. He saw the flicker of uncertainty in my eyes. With my head pulled back, his mouth grazed the length of my neck. "You're not a child anymore Alexia." He ran his hands over my breasts, my stomach, down between my thighs. His fingers spread me apart, exposing the swollen bud and delicate layers of pink. "Look at that," he whispered. "It's beautiful." I was no longer looking at myself in the mirror, but at his adoration of me. Then, without any warning, he pushed me down onto the dresser and fucked me unmercifully. Each thrust stole my breath and made my knees weak. And yet I loved it. I loved every second of it.
"Hey, Romiette and Julio, get your asses up!" I awoke from a glorious dream to see Honor and Wis standing in the middle of our room.

"We don't want any," Avi said sleepily, pulling me closer and nestling in.

"You heard him," I said, laying my head back down, "we don't want any."

Honor stamped her foot. "You guys, come on," she whined, and peeled back the blankets. "I haven't seen you since, like, yesterday afternoon. You do understand it's like, almost dinner time of the next day. And girl, your vagina called me. This is an intervention."

Avi sat up. "I am a little hungry, princess. Are you?" I was starving. I promised Honor we'd meet them down there. She was actually going to wait because she didn't trust we'd make it, but Wis convinced her to give us some privacy. Avi and I took a shower together to save time, or so we told ourselves. If the cold water hadn't come on, we probably wouldn't have made it to dinner either. I sat at the vanity while Avi combed out my hair. He was making silly faces at me in the mirror. At first I was laughing, but then I started to cry.

"Princess, what's wrong? What is it?" He spun the chair around so I was facing him. I couldn't even say what I wanted to say, and that just made me more upset. "Please, just tell me what I can do and I will do it," he said, wrapping his arms around me.

But that was just it, he couldn't do it. He couldn't fix this. I wanted us to leave this place together and that was impossible. Or was it? I'd hidden the Godseye blocker in a bottle of Advil in my nightstand. "Avi, would you grab the Advil for me? I have a headache." I knew he would ask how many I wanted, so I just told him to bring me the bottle. It was much too risky to pull the device out, so I put my fingers inside the bottle and switched it on. The humming noise filled my head at first and then faded out so it was barely noticeable.

"I knew you had this thing," Avi said with that lopsided grin. "I heard it yesterday. You had it on all night. It's not good to use often. You must be careful."

I was surprised he didn't ask more, like why I had it, or who'd given it to me. But then again, he was used to this place. I asked him how much time he had left on his sentence. It would have been sixteen years, but entry into the Society's program was considered good behavior, so it was reduced it to ten. Ten more years. It might as well have been a lifetime. His answer only strengthened my belief in what we had to do. "Avi, what if we tried to get out of here together? You know this place well enough. We could come up with a plan."

It would be too difficult he said, and extremely dangerous. And even if we made it out, we'd still have the implants in. We'd be running forever. "I don't want you to have to live like that, Alexia. There's no sense chaining yourself to a man who is drowning." There was no telling what would happen if we were caught. He would most likely go back to prison, and who knew what they would do to me? I was a chimera after all. He could never forgive himself he said, if I ended up like Delilah, but I could never forgive myself if we didn't try.

"I can't just leave you here," I cried. "I won't. We have to leave together. I know some things that can help." I was referring to the details I'd learned from the YiYi and Ming rescue plot, but I wasn't going to reveal any of that just yet. And I'd forgotten about an important fact: "My mom's a nurse Avi. I bet she could get the implant out. Or she'll know someone who can help us."

He kneeled down in front of me and touched his hand to my cheek. "Alexia, I know you mean all of this right now, but it's going to be harder than you realize. Once we start, there's no going back. Think about this princess." There was nothing I needed to think about. Once I knew YiYi and Ming were safe, I would tell Avi how we'd gotten them out, and then we could start formulating our own plan. The only difference was we wouldn't have any help from the Countess. He reached into the pill bottle and switched off the Godseye blocker. "Come princess, we must hurry. We will be late for dinner."

# CHAPTER 24

The day of Dr. Anna Desousa's escape attempt caused quite a stir. She'd managed to get as far as building ten before the bio-scanners identified her as a trespasser. When the guards apprehended her, they found a vial of an unidentified substance. Dr. Desousa tried to convince them it was an HIV vaccine, and that she needed help getting it to the outside world, but they didn't believe her. They'd never seen her before. Assuming it was some kind of terrorist plot, they detained her and contacted Dr. Bragg as to how they should proceed.

Just as it would at any other institution, gossip spread quickly. The halls were buzzing with the scandal. "Who was that mad woman?" people asked one another. "Probably one of those pets they keep in building twelve." Dr. Desousa had come tearing into the halls, dirty and disheveled, yelling a message to the CIA: "My name is Dr. Gabriella Desousa. If anyone from the CIA is watching, I am being held hostage here at the Society! I have developed an effective HIV vaccine, but they will not permit me to release it. Please help me!" That night, when staff members laid down in their beds and plugged their Godseyes into the network, the account was stricken from the record. The next day, no one remembered anything about Dr. Gabriella Desousa.

"But how did she get out?" Dr. Xavier asked, trying his damndest to ignore the chunk of avocado suspended in Dr. Bragg's beard. Watching him eat never grew less repulsive.

"That's the thing son, we don't know. Everything's been hiccupping lately-- the monitors in my office, the phones, the keypads in building twelve-- so they rebooted the system to see if that would help. I was in Dr. Desousa's office earlier that day. She must've heard me talking about it and saw that as her chance. It takes fifteen, twenty minutes for the system to get back online. That means only a quarter of the cameras were operating, and all the bio-scanners were down. That's how she was able to get so far unnoticed. All we have to go on is the footage from the Godseyes, but they only show her after she'd already made it out of building twelve. Now the CIA is breathing down my neck, asking if there really is an HIV vaccine." Dr. Bragg was able to convince them that there was no vaccine, and that Dr. Desousa had merely suffered a psychotic break from being penned up for too long. He assured them she would receive the proper treatment, and be back to work in no time.

"Where is she? Who's treating her?" Dr. Xavier asked. Dr. Bragg had moved on to dessert, shoving a heaping spoonful of apple pie into his mouth.

"Next time you get my food boy, can you make sure to get adult portions? Look at this, two bites and the pie is gone. Are they rationing it down there?"

"Yes sir, I'll make a note of it, but Dr. Desousa, where is she? I'd like to see her if I could."

Dr. Bragg wiped his mouth with the kerchief around his neck. "She's dead son." A loud burp followed the proclamation. "She was a liability my boy, and that's that, so fix your face, and I don't want to hear another word about it. Is that clear?" Dr. Xavier nodded. "And knock off that goddamned fidgeting. You look like you have Parkinson's. Now, take a look at the back of my head. That cut is bleeding again."

Dr. Xavier began fiddling with his fingers. "Why do I have to do that? Why can't you just go to the hospital? I'm not a physician."

Dr. Bragg smirked. "Well you're not any sort of doctor for that matter. Or did you forget? And I've told you why. I don't trust anybody. Now, get to it. It probably needs a stitch or two. I don't even remember hitting my head, but I must've banged it pretty good." He laid a small, brown case on desk that contained supplies for suturing.

Dr. Xavier reluctantly got up, and walked around behind him. The computer screen was up, and he noticed San Quentin Prison on a list of sites scheduled for a test run of the Godseye. He hadn't realized how quickly things were moving. "Have you already gotten consent from the board for a public trial?" he asked.

Dr. Bragg huffily turned off the monitor. "I most certainly have, and I would've told you about it, if you hadn't had your head up your ass for the past few months. I thought you were turning on me boy."

"No sir, never."

"It's going to be glorious boy. World peace by remote control. Can you imagine how different things would've been during your incarceration, if they'd been able to force those ogres to act civilly?"

Dr. Xavier finished the stitches and returned to his seat. "Well, when will I be able to see the rest of the data on the updates to the Godseye? You've only let me see bits and pieces. I've studied the damn thing and compared it to the older model, but haven't been able to figure out how it works."

Dr. Bragg was beaming. "That's my boy. I thought I'd lost you. You didn't seem like you wanted to be a part of this anymore. Tomorrow, we'll go over everything. And if you are particularly well behaved dear boy, I may let you test it yourself."

Just a few days later, I was taken to the Countess' office by a member of her security team. I didn't know what time it was, but Avi was still on the floor, plugged in and fast asleep. The place was eerily quiet, as it had been the morning we'd gone to the beach. I wondered at first if it was one of their manufactured scenarios, but then I saw officers and maintenance workers milling about. Delilah, Avi's first recruit, shuffled lifelessly by with her cleaning cart, muttering unintelligibly to herself. It was so sad. She couldn't have been more than twenty five. I wondered what her family thought about her mysterious disappearance. Did she have children she left behind? Had she come here to try and give them a better life? We entered the office and I noticed there were more chairs than usual. I instantly heard the hum of the Godseye blocker. The Countess instructed me to sit on the end near the bookshelf. West and Teak would be arriving soon, she said. Ezra had gone to fetch them from the warehouse. The Countess had to stage multiple technical issues to coax the surveillance team into rebooting the entire network, something they were reluctant to do because of how vulnerable it left the facility. With the system down, Ezra had about sixteen minutes to get West and Teak from the warehouse into the main building unseen, a trek that could easily take a half hour. The Countess looked nervous. She kept checking her watch. I wondered if it was a real watch or a timer like the attendants wore.

"Dylan is here," the receptionist Belinda announced over the intercom. The Countess had already explained to him that she was now in on our little scheme. He smiled warmly when he saw me, but it wasn't enough to hide his unsettled demeanor. He was worried. "Ezra is back ma'am," Belinda said over the intercom. Even she sounded relieved. West and Teak looked uneasy as they took their seats. They still weren't sure what was going on. Ezra had taken them at gunpoint to save time on explanations. When West and I made eye contact, I tried mouthing to him that it was ok, but he didn't understand. Ezra secured the door and resumed his usual position. West and Teak refused to believe we weren't in any danger and clammed up. They stared straight ahead, tight-lipped and poker-faced in some old school nod to not snitching. It took everything for the Countess, Dylan and myself to convince them we were all in it together.

"Now that we got that nasty business all cleared up," Teak started, "can I just say Madame, that you is a vision for sore eyes." The Countess raised an eyebrow, unsure of what to make of him. He took that to mean he should go on.

"I mean when I came in here, you had me flustered wit' this sexy librarian thing you got goin'. I was completely taken. Wasn't I brotha'?" he asked, tagging West into the conversation. West nodded without looking up, and I stifled a giggle. I'd met Teak only days before coming to the Society. He, West and I, hid out in a hotel room together, finalizing the details of the rescue mission. The two men were so wildly different, it was hard to believe they'd grown up together. Teak was rough around the edges. Really rough. His first words to me were, "Pretty, but too young. I'll see you in ten years when you've learned how to properly suck cock." And that was our introduction. While I found him amusing, the Countess did not. She had that pinched expression on her face, like she'd eaten something tart.

"Well, thank you so much for that... compliment. Now, let's start from the beginning. How the hell did you people get embroiled in this mess?" She wanted to know everything-- who we were, how we'd met, and the rest of the plan. In the back of my mind, I wondered if it was a trap. Had I made a mistake trusting her? Had I put everyone in jeopardy?

We'd been going round and round trying to explain the whole story to the Countess. There in that room, hearing it all out loud made it sound even more ridiculous.

"Ok, so let me get this straight: YiYi put this scheme together to get Ming out, but then she got kidnapped, and the four of you decided to go through with it anyway. And Alexia is YiYi's girlfriend who just happens to look like Katia. And-"

I had to interrupt. "Well actually, she started dating me because I look like Katia. Wait, that's not really true either. See, I was living on the street-"

The Countess waved her hand for me to hush. "Got it. You're the girlfriend of YiYi, and Mr. Aldale is a client. No wait, he's the boyfriend."

"Uh, no I'm not her boyfriend, just a very good friend. For years. Great friends."

The Countess looked at West suspiciously before turning her attention to Dylan. He'd been silent the entire time while the rest of us rambled like idiots. I knew he was hurting. "And you Mr. Young are Ming's estranged husband." There was sadness in her voice. "I am truly sorry for everything you've gone through, Mr. Young. I mean that. Now, there are a few more things I'd like to know from all of you." The Countess slipped on her reading glasses and began reviewing the contents of a folder on her desk.

"I would just like to say ma'am, that you is looking smashing in those frames," Teak blurted out, after which West elbowed him in the ribs.

"I don't even know who you are," the Countess snapped, but Teak was undaunted. He got down on one knee and bowed his head like he was being knighted.

"I am Teak Martin, black market arms dealer at your service. Me and West here is like brothers, grew up together and all that. In case you was wondering about me part in all this."

"I wasn't," she said coldly. "Will there be anything else Mr. Martin, any other pressing secrets you'd like to reveal, or may I continue?"

"Well, I also dated one of your girls," he added haughtily. "Bet you didn't know that. I know all about you people."

The Countess slid her glasses down her nose, peering at Teak like he was a bug she planned on squashing as soon as it stopped moving. "Which of my girls did you date, Mr. Martin?" she snarled. "I know every client we've ever had and I can say with certainty, I don't remember you."

"Bella Ishmael," he said. "I was with her when she died."

Well that shocked the hell out of the Countess. Her mouth fell open like it was full of rocks, and her eyebrows shot up as if they might continue right off her face. "You," she murmured, as though trying to accept that it was so. "You were the one with Bella?"

Teak's demeanor shifted quickly, leaving no trace of the carefree smartass. "Yeah, that was me and I loved that woman with all my heart. She was amazing. And you people-- what did you do to her?"

The Countess took off her glasses and stared at the ragtag bunch before her. I could see her thinking, deciding. "Ezra, have Yusuf escort Alexia, er, Katia back to her quarters." I protested immediately. There was no way I was going to be excluded from this. I needed to know the girls were ok. I wanted to see YiYi. I wanted to help.

"Listen to me," the Countess began earnestly, "every second you're here puts us all at risk. You already know more than you should. If you want your friends to get out of here alive, you need to go back to your room and continue on like nothing ever happened."

I glanced at West, desperately looking for reassurance. "Go on love," he said. "It's the best thing."

I started to cry. I felt so silly. "I don't want to go," I said, sounding like a bratty kid.

The Countess stood up and put her arm around my shoulder. "Alexia, this is not a debate. The best thing you can do is relax and enjoy your time with Avi. I'm well aware of how the two of you feel about each other. When you wake up tomorrow, I don't want you thinking about any of this. Now go. Yusuf is waiting."

I hugged West, Teak and Dylan goodbye, squeezing them tightly. I don't know why I felt so emotional. What was my relationship to them? How would I describe it to a casual passerby? Were they my friends? My lovers? It's interesting how everyone you come in contact with leaves a residue on you. The interaction stays with you forever, becomes a part of you, and changes you whether you like it or not.
The Countess knew the men had questions and she was prepared to answer them, but first they needed to understand exactly what was going on. MK Ultra, the CIA's mind control program was supposedly discontinued in the 1970s, she said, but it never really went away; it just went further underground. Great care was taken to ensure no footprints led back to the American government. Seventh Generation, a meager assembly of fringe thinking doctors and scientists from around the globe, had been working with the CIA since 1962. They favored twins for their research, procuring willing participants by inviting parents to enroll their children in an early cognitive development program. Coupled with a monthly stipend, Seventh Generation garnered thousands of volunteers. "Have any of you heard of the Erikkson sisters?" the Countess asked. Indeed they had. The story made international headlines. Twins Sabina and Ursula Erikkson were discovered walking down the center aisle of a highway in the UK. When the girls were confronted by police, they hurled themselves into traffic several times to evade capture. Even after both were struck by oncoming vehicles, one of which was a truck, the women remained violent, delusional, and resistant to help. They seemed to feel no pain and possessed strength police would later describe as 'superhuman'. They were not under the influence of drugs or alcohol, and had no history of mental illness. But the real tragedy was yet to come. After being released just hours later, Sabina stabbed an innocent man to death. To evade capture, she jumped from an overpass, nearly a 40 foot drop. When the police finally found her, she was beating herself in the head with a hammer. Those girls, the Countess said, were just two of Seventh Generation's original test subjects.

In 1982, Dr. Ider Bragg, then a young neurologist, joined Seventh Generation. He was awarded six sets of twins to serve as his personal guinea pigs. He began experimenting on the Cash twins while they were still in the womb, and continued to do so throughout their lives. With over thirty years of research in the girls, they were walking science projects. That was why they were so important to him. After the founder of Seventh Generation died, Dr. Bragg took over. His new position of authority only pushed him to behave even more unconscionably. When Seventh Generation was dragged into court for unethical experiments, the CIA protected Dr. Bragg from serving any jail time. They needed him. In 1999, the CIA arranged a deal with the Society of Names to allow Dr. Bragg a way to continue his research while avoiding public scrutiny. Both parties would benefit. Dr. Bragg would take over the medical facility and gain access to a bevy of healthy, unwitting test subjects, and the Society would receive generous funding, improved technology, and unofficial protection from the CIA.

Dylan was shaking his head in disbelief. "You're telling me this man has been studying my wife since she was a kid? What did he do to her? To them?"

The Countess looked pained. "Mr. Young, I'm so sorry. And I fear hearing the details of what was done to the girls might be too much for you to handle."

Dylan could no longer conceal his loathing for the woman sitting before him. "How could you be a part of something like this? You knew what was going on and did nothing? You're no different from them."

"Hey!" the Countess yelled, slamming her fist on the desk, "I am not on trial here. You think I wanted to be involved in this? I was given two options: leave and end up dead, or stay and try to be a voice of reason. For years I protected this place from becoming a fucking concentration camp, but I don't have that kind of power anymore. And I didn't know about Dr. Bragg's history with the Cash sisters." This was true. It wasn't until Dr. Xavier gave her the files on the girls that she learned the secret of their past. "When I found out he was detaining Ming, I tried to help her. Two of my men died trying to save her."

"For fucks sake. So dat's what they done to my Bella? Experimentin' in her head? Using her like some kind of animal?" Teak asked. It was, the Countess said, but there was so much more to it than that. The CIA wanted Teak dead. Simply put, he was selling weapons to enemies of the United States. They'd been after him for years, but getting near him proved impossible. He was always two steps ahead of them. The CIA often used the Society to get close to powerful people. After all, you could catch more flies with honey. The general who'd gifted Bella to Teak, was all a part of a CIA operation that took almost two years to set in motion. Bella went in and unbeknownst to Teak, his every move was being recorded through the Godseye. The CIA had enough information to dismantle his entire operation. All that was left, was to kill him. Dr. Bragg saw this as an opportunity to show off the effectiveness of his mind control device. With just the click of a button he said, he could have Bella kill Teak in his sleep. The CIA agreed, thrilled to have access to that kind of technology. It would save money, the lives of their agents, and remove the risk of getting caught playing in the backyard of a foreign government. But when the time came, Bella was able to resist the instructions of the Godseye, choosing to commit suicide instead. This had never happened before. In all of Dr. Bragg's trials, people did as they were commanded, plainly and simply, and remained unaware of outside influence. Why was Bella different? It was then that Dr. Bragg became aware of an anomalous percentage of the population, roughly 39% who could override the commands of the implant. Their brains it seemed, treated the implant like a virus. He needed to study this further. 39% was too high of a deviance to consider the mind control device successful. The CIA was furious Teak slipped from their grasp, and Dr. Bragg was humiliated by the failure. So he continued his research in secret.

The Countess was devastated when she found out what happened to Bella. "I seldom allow myself to get close to people. Bella was one of my few friends. We were kindred spirits. The footage of you and Bella was classified Mr. Martin, so I didn't know who you were, but I do know that she loved you very much. She talked about you all the time. She wanted to leave the Society to be with you, but they wouldn't allow it. She was too important to the CIA and to Bragg. I couldn't even tell her brother the truth about what happened to her. I sent him a postcard from her, so he would think she was ok. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time, but now I realize I was just giving him false hope. And you Mr. Young..." She could put off this confession no longer. She hoped it would bring him some solace. "Ming wasn't unfaithful to you on purpose. Dr. Bragg used the implant to push her to do those things. He discovered she and YiYi are anomalous, just like Bella. He used Ming to learn more about how their brains work to reject the implant."

Dylan didn't know how to feel. He was relieved, but also angrier than he'd ever been in his life. His nostrils flared, and his muscles tensed up, and his jaw was clenched tightly enough to dislodge a tooth. Somebody needed to pay for this.

"Easy mate. Take it easy," West said, putting a hand on Dylan's shoulder. "Think about the good in all this brother. You're going to get your wife back. Let's get the girls out first, and then we'll focus on punishment." Dylan seemed to calm down, if only by the promise of retribution.

"Gentleman, I am so sorry for all of this. Each of you has endured so much, but we don't have a lot of time. We can mourn later. We need to talk about how all of this is going to work?"

Teak raised his hand. "Excuse me your highness, why can't we stick with what we got rolling?"

"It's not a bad plan Mr. Martin. Actually, it's quite clever, but your intel is a little out of date. Everything's been updated recently. The surveillance system is constantly scanning for biological entities not outfitted with a Godseye. Once detected, it checks a very short list of personnel not required to have the hardware. You two aren't on it. You would've been apprehended as soon as you got off the train. Not to mention, the CIA has access to our surveillance, so you Mr. Martin, would've been fucked. In addition, restricted access areas now require a password and an eye scan to gain entry, so Mr. Young wouldn't have been able to use the food service hall to get to the medical buildings. So you see gentleman, if I hadn't intervened, this wouldn't have ended well for any of you. By the way, I've been meaning to ask you, how did you get Dr. Xavier's password?" No one said a word, and judging by their body language, they weren't going to.

"Alright," she replied with a smile, "well bravo to whoever pulled that off. It'll definitely come in handy. Mine no longer works in building eleven. Now, I've already come up with a way for you to hide in plain sight."

"You mean bringing us in legitimately like Dylan?" West asked, sounding just a bit too excited. Just for a second, one he was not proud of, he imagined himself walking among the Society's pussy smorgasbord. Every kind of woman you could ever want. He would be more than happy to wait on them hand and foot.

"Definitely not. That I can't do. Our recruiting process is strictly monitored by an offsite team. It begins and ends at a certain time each year, no exceptions, and there's a thorough vetting process. I can suggest candidates, but the process remains the same."

Teak clapped his hands impatiently. "So what then? Let's get to it. You and I has a date to plan," he said, blowing the Countess a kiss. Everyone turned to glare at him. "What?" he asked innocently. "Too soon?"

The Countess' plan was simple but brilliant. Teak and West would pose as board members who, being so pleased with Dr. Bragg's achievements, felt it necessary to honor him with a face to face meeting. The good doctor would be desperate to make a powerful impression on them, and that is when the Countess would start leading him. Just having board members in the buildings meant the cameras and biometrics would have to be completely disabled. While they would be given Godseye blockers for added protection, it would be best that no one with a Godseye be roaming the halls during their visit. That left a limited number of staff, just enough to keep the place running. Everyone else would remain on lockdown until the board members left. This would allow Dylan the freedom to use the food service hall to get to the girls.

"You'll start from the kitchen pushing a serving cart, nothing to it. Everything you need will be hidden underneath. Once you get in the hall, you'll change into a doctor's uniform. Bragg has a few of the other doctors bring him meals. No one will think anything of you pushing the cart around."

The backup security system would be in place, and access didn't require an eye scan, only a password. Dylan would use Dr. Xavier's password. "The control panel for the backup system is hidden in the wall, just left of the door. It's impossible to see. Run your hands over the wall about five feet from the floor. You'll feel a difference in the texture of the rock. Push it, and the control panel will slide out. Once you enter the password, make sure you push it back in."

Once inside building eleven, Dylan would make his way to the girls' rooms. After packing them in shipping boxes, he would sit them in the hallway. The boxes would be labeled biohazard, with a signed note from the Dr. Bragg for urgent delivery. Dylan would then call Dr. Bragg's receptionist, pretending to be Dr. Xavier, and report that hazardous materials were sitting in the halls while the board members were touring the facility. The receptionist would immediately call the warehouse to have the items picked up. Once the warehouse workers saw the label, the packages would be processed and shipped within the hour. The two board members would continue the tour, but once they came to building eleven and saw the packages had been picked up, they would tell Dr. Bragg they were ready to leave. He would escort them to the passenger train and safely out of the facility.

"Passenger train? There's another train out of here?" West asked. "Where does it go?" The Countess assumed they knew about it.

"It'll take you right into Manhattan. The Upper Eastside to be exact. I'm sure you've heard about all the delays with the 2nd Avenue subway line. That's why. It's our primary mode of transportation into the city. The Society's been keeping the project tied up in red tape for years." The final part of the plan was to get Alexia and Dylan out. It would be easy, as long as no one suspected their involvement in Ming and YiYi's disappearance. All they had to do was put in a request to leave, and they'd be processed out in a week or so.

"What about the implants? Ming and YiYi will still have them in?" Dylan asked. The Countess had already thought of that. She would arrange for them to meet with a friend of hers in Brazil, a doctor who'd defected from the Society. He would remove the implants from the girls.

"After all of this goes down, you don't think Dr. Bragg will be looking at you for answers?" Dylan asked.

"He will, but hopefully I'll be prepared for that. I have other things in motion. And anyway, there will be no physical record of the deed. He won't be able to prove that I had anything to do with it. He can't just go to the board with accusations. Now, there's something else I need you to do Mr. Young. It's very important. It will be considerably more difficult but..." She looked away. Her emotions were getting the better of her. Ezra jumped in.

"The food service tunnel stops at building eleven. We need you to get into building twelve. Inside the room where they're keeping YiYi, you'll go in through the ceiling. About a hundred yards in, you'll notice a change in the rock around you. That's where you'll exit from the ceiling into another room. You'll find a woman there hooked up to a machine. We need you to disconnect it."

Dylan was confused. "And then what? Do I take her with me?"

"No," the Countess said softly. "She'll die. She's been waiting a long time for that." Dylan balked at this. He wasn't a murderer, and why should he do this on the word of a woman he didn't trust?

"Mr. Young, every day of her life is nothing but suffering. You'll understand when you see her. When she knows why you've come, she'll welcome it. I swear to God in heaven." As the Countess spoke, tears trickled from her eyes, which she promptly wiped away. She would not fall apart in front of these men.

"Alright," Dylan agreed. "I'll do it. Whatever." The room was quiet for a time as everything sank in and became real.

"Mr. Young, we'll need to get you back to your quarters. Don't discuss anything over your communication device. I'll contact you when it's time to move on this. It'll have to be timed perfectly with a train departure, or else the girls could end up sitting in the warehouse for a week. Bragg will have caught up with us by then. In the meantime, West and Teak will stay in my apartment."

Teak's face lit up. "We're going to stay with you? Flat mates? Tell me your honor, does you sleep in lingerie or naked? I bet naked. Or maybe a tee and panties? That can be quite sexy as well."

"Mr. Martin! This is incredibly inappropriate. Do you have even a modicum of respect for what's going on here?"

The smile fell from Teak's face, but he glowered at her like she was the one out of line. "Yeah, your highness, I do. I know there's a possibility these girls won't make it out. I know the three of us could end up dead. I'm well aware of the stakes. But if these is me last days, I'm not gonna' spend them bloody miserable."

She stared at Teak for a moment, carefully considering his words. Much to everyone's surprise, she did not argue with him. "You're right Mr. Martin," she said solemnly. "I apologize."

Teak's smile returned. "I told you brother," he whispered to West, "she's sweet on me."
When the Countess stepped into her apartment, she was a bit taken aback. She paused for a moment before setting her purse down, trying to make sense of it. Ezra stepped in behind her, equally puzzled. The maid greeted them and asked if they wanted tea before dinner.

"Opal sweetie, what's- what's going on in here?"

The girl looked at her stupidly, and then it clicked. "Oh, this? Your guest, Mr. Aldale, he cleaned real good, and rearranged all the furniture. He wouldn't let me help so I took a nap. I thought it was something you asked him to do."

The girl quickly realized by her employer's expression that she had requested nothing of the sort. Opal scampered off, wanting nothing to do with the storm she knew was brewing. Luckily for her, the Countess was not displeased with what West had done; The place looked fabulous. She and Ezra sat down on the couch and Opal brought them tea. The Countess put her feet up on the leather ottoman which was now within reach. "Oh my Lord, Ezra, this is so much cozier. West really has an eye for this sort of thing." She was thrilled to see a painting she'd never gotten around to hanging, perfectly placed above the fireplace. On the mantle, he'd arranged a few knick knacks from a forgotten cupboard, adding a retro charm to the place.

"Where are Tweedledee and Tweedledumbass anyway?" she asked Opal, taking a sip of the earthy flavored oolong.

"Who ma'am?"

"West and Teak, Opal, where are they?" The girl hesitated. What she was reluctant to say was that they were upstairs in the Countess' bedroom. "Opal!" the Countess exclaimed, jumping up. "You let them into my bedroom?" The girl started fumbling with her hands. "Well, they had to finish the rest of the house so-" "The rest of the house? You let them rearrange my entire apartment?" Without a word, Ezra went upstairs to handle the situation. "I'm sorry ma'am," the girl replied sheepishly. "I thought you knew, and the living room looked so nice. I, I didn't know." She started to cry, which only further irritated the Countess. "Christ. Don't start with that nonsense. Just go and get dinner on the table." When Ezra returned with West and Teak, the Countess did a double take. West was standing before her in a full length ball gown. "The good news," Ezra began snidely, "is that your room looks fantastic. He even organized your closet. But the bad news? He's been doing housework in one of your favorite dresses." West nervously smoothed the garment. "I didn't think you'd mind. You've got so many clothes, which might I add, are now in order by style and color." The Countess just stood there, dumbfounded. "We didn't look through your personal effects if that's what you're concerned about," he continued, trying to break the awkward silence. "Nor does we care one bit about your bloody private life," Teak huffed, turning his back to everyone. The Countess rolled her eyes. "West, what the hell is his problem?" "He heard you and your...friend going at it this morning. He was offended." Teak whirled around. "Damn right I was. I've been listenin' to you for days, shaggin' everybody but the butcher. Everybody gets a go at you, but you won't even let me take you out for dinner. How's that work?" Ezra hid a smile. He knew his boss could hold her own with these two yahoos. They were harmless and probably a refreshing amusement for her. "Mr. Martin, you are way out of line," the Countess fired back. "You will not speak to me like that." Teak looked to Ezra for support. "Why is she doin' this, mate? Why is she pretending like she don't like me?" Ezra shrugged. "Probably scared of getting hurt." "Ezra!" the Countess shrieked in disbelief. How could he be so candid with these strangers? "Is it because of Bella Ishmael?" West suggested. "Teak was crazy over her. Maybe you're worried about being compared to her." Teak and Ezra murmured in agreement. "Ok, Ok, enough of this ridiculous conversation. Bella Ishmael was a wonderful woman. She's the only reason I would consider going out with you Mr. Martin." Teak's face lit up. "So you're sayin' you will go out with me?" She put her hands up as if appealing to God for patience. "Mr. Martin, we have a lot of work to do. The two of you are only here so we can save these girls. Anything else is irrelevant." Teak thought for a moment. "So you're saying after we save the girls, you'll go out with me? Alright, that works for me."

# CHAPTER 25

"How long will we have the pleasure of staying with you?" YiYi sarcastically asked Dr. Bragg. "It will be at least a few years before you're released back into the wild. You know Ms. Cash, I hadn't planned on bringing you in so soon, but you were just so darn nosy. But you've always been that way." There, he'd done it again, made a reference as though they'd met before. He didn't look familiar at all. Where would they have met? Had he been a client? He definitely struck her as the type who'd be up for some scat play and ball stomping. A nurse entered the room, a middle-aged man in dark blue scrubs, bald with no eyebrows. He handed Dr. Bragg some paperwork that needed a signature, "Thank you, thank you, thank you," the nurse mumbled. He clicked his pen three times before returning it to the pocket of his shirt. One, two, three. Three, two, one, YiYi thought. Why was that familiar? Why was he familiar? One, two, three. Three, two, one. Then it hit her. It was the nurse who'd tended to her in the hospital once. He had a peculiar compulsion with the number three. Wow. This definitely changed things. She thought about the psychiatrist Ming had been seeing, a man she'd randomly met on the subway. Surely he was one of them too. Who else in their life worked for the Society? "How long have you been spying on us?" she asked coolly. "Not spying dear, monitoring, and that began just a few months after you were conceived." She didn't believe him. How would he even do that, and why? "You're father signed you girls up for a research project in exchange for money. Surely that doesn't surprise you. He's never been a man of any conscience." "Said the sewer about the shit bag," she hissed. Dr. Bragg cleared his throat. "What I do Ms. Cash, I do to better mankind, not to make a quick buck. And I'll have you know, I've always cared for you and Ming, like you were my own children. I could tell you apart when you were just two years old." "Cared for us? Oh, ok. I thought you were some lunatic who took advantage of kids with shitty parents. I'm glad we had this talk." Dr. Bragg cleared his throat again. He was becoming agitated. Why couldn't she understand all the good that had come out of this, for all of them? "Do you know you two are geniuses? Not just smart, but actual geniuses. You think that was nature? Your mother has the brain of a starfish and your father was a born scoundrel. The way he abused you girls, beating you, starving you, locking you away. I gave you girls the tools to be something great in spite of all of that. And what did you do with my gifts? You squandered them. A publicist and a dominatrix? Give me a break. You've had plenty of time to be and do what you wanted. Now it's my turn to benefit from my work." YiYi walked to the front of the cell and gripped the bars with an intensity meant for the good doctor's neck. "How did you know he was abusing us?"

"What do you mean? I- well, when they brought the two of you in for checkups, we noticed bruising and other, other injuries. We asked your mother about it and she confirmed what was going on." "Uh huh. You're lying. She would never. She couldn't even admit it to herself. Come on doc, I'm like a daughter to you, right? Why don't you tell me the truth?" Dr. Bragg looked away. Did he actually feel shame? "Well, we had cameras in your home." She gasped. "We didn't pry though. It was strictly professional. That's why we couldn't intervene on the abuse. Our place was not to parent you, but to observe." Her blood was boiling. The thought of people watching them as if they were animals in a zoo made her sick. "You see, we gave you the neuroenhancement serum when you were still in the womb. We had no idea of the effects. It was just an experiment, one of many. We learned so much from the two of you. All of the other twins in my group died before they could talk, but you and Ming made it. You're my special girls." YiYi was reeling. How could any of this be true? How had no one protected them? Her life wasn't for shit, but at least it had been hers, and now this man was telling her something different. And her father. It was bad enough he'd treated them so cruelly, but to give them over to the mercy of another was a new low to his depravity. She felt like an ant being crushed beneath someone's boot. "And your telepathic abilities, well, we were just astonished by them. I know you kept Ming from killing your parents. We were watching in the lab. I was so impressed with your maturity, YiYi. I felt like a proud papa bear. We all applauded when you stopped her." The good doctor lifted his glasses to wipe the tears away. "It was because of the two of you I developed my brain language theory. I realized the reason twins have better odds of communicating telepathically is because their brains share a similar language. Isn't that amazing? You might be wondering why you were getting the migraines. I installed a device in your head to keep the two of you from engaging in cerebral contact. We couldn't risk Ming trying to tell you anything about the facility." YiYi felt a twinge of satisfaction. Dr. Bragg obviously didn't know Ming had been successful in her efforts to reach her. "So you see, we've accomplished all of this together. And there's so much more to be gleaned from the years of data I have on you girls. My little girls." The mixture of rage, sadness, and humiliation was an emotional cocktail that put YiYi on her ass. She fell to the floor like a marionette whose strings had been cut. Dr. Bragg scrambled to retrieve his pock comm. It was a fine time to remember he'd left it in his office. Luckily, another nurse was on her way in to bring YiYi her evening meal. "Thank God you're here Laura! She's passed out. She might be having one of her migraines. Quickly, see if she's hurt." Dr. Bragg entered his code into the panel on the wall, and the peppy blonde rushed into the cell. He went to the intercom and paged a physician. "She's ok," the nurse said, "I think she just-" YiYi sucker punched the woman, and jumped to her feet. The nurse tried to run, but YiYi dragged her back by the hair and put her in a chokehold. "What are you doing!" Dr. Bragg yelled. "What is the meaning of this!" He frantically pressed the button on the intercom to page security. "Shhh, it's ok sweetie," YiYi cooed to the petite woman struggling and crying in her arms. "Ms. Cash, what do you intend to do? You think you can get out of here by taking a hostage?" He inched toward the cell, but was not brave enough to actually enter it. "I know I can't escape," YiYi replied calmly, "but I have to do something to get all of this aggression out." The nurse began sobbing uncontrollably. YiYi gave her a peck on the forehead. "Shhh, calm down sweetie. Everything's going to work out just fine. You won't feel a thing." Dr. Bragg glanced toward the door, anxiously awaiting the arrival of security. "YiYi, I know you. You're not a killer. I know you're going to do the right thing, just like you did that night." "The right thing?" she asked with a laugh. "Like experimenting on people without their consent? Like watching children get tortured day after day and never stepping in to stop it? Are those the kinds of right things you're talking about?" Finally, the guards came rushing in and stood behind Dr. Bragg, waiting for his order. "Ms. Cash, this is your final warning. If you harm nurse Laura, you will never see your sister again. Do you understand me?" YiYi cocked her head to the side thoughtfully, and then with one quick motion, snapped the woman's neck. "Sorry doc," she quipped, "I just have all these daddy issues."

# CHAPTER 26

"Well Dr. Bragg, it seems you have more of a fan club than the second coming of Christ." The Countess was talking to Dr. Bragg over the phone, baiting him into the plan. "Today, the board informed me that until your new invention makes it to its first public trial, you are officially in charge of the entire facility." "Oh dear, Countess, how awful you must feel," Dr. Bragg replied flatly. She wasn't calling for false sympathy, only to inform him of an impending visit from Mr. E. and Mr. F. They were coming tomorrow for a tour of the medical facility, and to join him for lunch. The good doctor couldn't contain his excitement. None of the board members had ever made a visit to the complex, and now two of them were coming just to see him. "Now Bragg, obviously they can't be expected to wear their masks the entire time, so-" The Countess heard him gasp like a schoolgirl. "I'm going to see them in the flesh? Vis a vis?" Any minute now, someone was going to have to scrape him from the walls. "They want to reveal their identities to me? I don't understand. Why?" It was difficult for the Countess not to laugh. This was too easy. He was such a buffoon. A large IQ and a stack of PhDs does not a genius make. "I probably shouldn't say anything about a bit of news I heard. It's really none of my business." "Countess my dear, don't be that way. Tell me. I promise not to breathe a word." After a burdened sigh, she told him of the rumor she'd heard that they were considering making him a board member. "Who did you hear that from? C.C. Gramercy?" He was filling in the blanks for her. She hadn't even thought of that. Courtney Charles Gramercy had been her benefactor and lover for many years. But he was in his eighties now and in poor health. She visited him often, but only as a friend. "Yes, it was C.C. who told me. Mr. J is practically a corpse, so they'll need someone to replace him. I suppose once you have the seat, you'll be getting rid of Ezra and I. That's what you've always wanted anyway." "We'll just have to see, won't we? It all depends on your behavior going forward," he huffed. "Do you intend to help me prepare for this visit?" Of course she did. That had been the plan all along. He was such an arrogant pig. It gave her great pleasure to deceive him. "Now Bragg-" "You mean Dr. Bragg. Please address me by my proper title." "Of course. My apologies, Dr. Bragg. Now, they want to be absolutely certain their identities can never be leaked beyond these walls. They don't want the CIA to have the slightest inclination as to who they are. You know what? This is a bad idea Dr. Bragg. A visit is just too risky for so many reasons. What about a tour via video chat?" "No, no, no!" the good doctor countered. "They are trusting me with this as a peer and I shan't let them down. We'll have the surveillance team shut down the cameras for a few hours and disable the biometrics. They'll need both of us to authorize that. Can I count on your support?" He was eating out of her hand. "Actually, you don't need me to sign off on that anymore. Remember? My authority has been greatly limited since I tried to have you killed." He chuckled as if they were old friends. "Oh yes, that's right. Well rest assured, I'll take care of it. You'll help me get this place in tip top shape before they arrive, won't you? I want it to sparkle." "Of course. I'll make sure it's clean as a whistle. I've already scheduled the floors to be buffed after hours tonight, and you can expect a very special lunch prepared for you and your guests. We'll need to scale down the staff too. Anyone with a Godseye shouldn't be in the vicinity. High-level staff only. Besides, you don't want too many people bumbling about exposing our glaring inefficiencies, or one of your hyped-up security officers accidentally shooting one of them. That would be awful." He cackled long and loud. It was sickening how he suddenly felt they shared some kind of camaraderie. "Yes, dear, you are so right. Minimal staff. But I'll have a few of the more intimidating guards in play, just to make it look exciting. I'm sure it will be fine. I doubt there'll be some sort of hostile takeover in the few hours they're here." "Of course not. Will there be anything else Dr. Bragg?" There was a long pause on the other end, and the Countess grew nervous. Did the good doctor suspect something? "Uh, Countess dear, I'm just curious, why didn't the board members call me directly? Why did they call you?" Shit. Think, think, think! "Uh, they did call you Dr. Bragg. They've been trying for hours. They couldn't get through." He let out a sigh of frustration. "I knew it. It's the system updates, you know? The same thing happened last week. We don't exactly have Verizon down here. Be a lamb and have someone look into that for me." "Absolutely Dr. Bragg. You can count on me."

After the phone call, it dawned on the Countess the real work hadn't even begun. How the hell was she going to pass West and Teak off as blue-blooded Americans? A couple of beards, wigs and glasses from the costume room would render them unrecognizable, but those accents. Good God. "Please tell me one of you can do an American accent." "West can definitely do it. He's puttin' on airs for you right now you know? He used to talk just like me." "And you Mr. Martin?" the Countess asked with a weary expression, fearful of the absurdity destined to come out of his mouth. "Well, I do a spot on President Bush impersonation." The Countess hid her face in her hands. "No, seriously," West encouraged, "it's actually quite good. Go on brother, show her." Teak stood up and pretended to be at a podium giving a press conference. "Our enemies are innovative and resourceful, and so are we. They never stop thinking about new ways to harm our country and our people, and neither do we." Teak took a bow and sat down. "Wow, that was pretty good," Ezra said. The Countess shot him a look. "God help me. He can't just walk around saying that all day! This is never going to work. I need a drink and a prayer circle." "Hold on love," West said, "he's got a bunch of them. What if he just stays quiet most of the time and then, you know, throws out one of those every now and again? These men are all extremely wealthy. They're bound to be a bit eccentric." Ezra nodded. "I think it will work, ma'am. Dr. Bragg's always wanted to fit in with these people. He won't question anything they say. If they told him they wanted to eat human flesh for lunch, you best believe he'd be carving up one of the girls." The Countess closed her eyes and began rubbing her temples. It had to work. The clock was ticking and they were out of options. "Ok, ok. We can do this. West, I'll give you the wrist timer. You'll need to stay away from building eleven for two hours so Dylan has enough time to get the girls out. Do whatever you must to keep Dr. Bragg distracted. In fact, tell him you want to eat lunch first. It'll be nine in the morning, but he won't argue. Ezra, any suggestions on how we can make this go any better?" He thought for a moment, and then suggested alcohol. Dr. Bragg was a lightweight. Occasionally, he indulged in a glass of port, but not before having it significantly watered down. "Ezra, that's brilliant," the Countess cheered. "I've got a twenty year old bottle of scotch you can gift him. Insist that he drinks with you during your morning lunch. Oh Ezra, I can't believe we're going to miss this. Bragg drunk off his ass and trying to keep up appearances for two people pretending to be VIPs? It's a Shakespearean comedy." West asked what the Countess was going to do when Dr. Bragg realized the girls were gone and that he'd been tricked. He was leaving in the morning for a conference in Munich, she said. She had a few days before the shit hit the fan. But hopefully when it did, she would have an umbrella.

The next day, the plan went off without a hitch. Dr. Bragg was drunk before 10am, and West and Teak were leading him around by the nose. When they told him they wanted cocaine, he had someone in the hospital's lab mix up an amphetamine shot. They insisted the good doctor partake as well. The result was a particularly rambunctious game of hallway football. The tour hardly happened at all. The Countess was highly amused when Dr. Bragg called her requesting women for their little party. She couldn't oblige of course, because the complex was on lockdown for the visit, and all of the girls were in stasis. It was a testament however, to just how well West and Teak had distracted him. But they weren't out of the woods yet. Dylan had the most challenging end of the mission. He could not afford a single misstep. The few guards patrolling were senior officers, well trained and vigilant. He'd already been stopped once, but a nurse walking by intervened. She bought his cover as a doctor porting a meal for Dr. Bragg, and warned the guard to back off. It was a close call. If his serving cart had been searched, the whole operation would have been blown. After he packed up the girls and phoned Dr. Bragg's receptionist, he hid in YiYi's room, watching until the boxes were picked up by the warehouse workers. He'd only been able to see Ming for a minute. His soul ached at her touch. It had been so long. She felt so fragile in his arms, and he could feel her ribs through the thin hospital gown. She was so happy to see him, she didn't want to let go. Neither did he. She told him how sorry she was, and that she'd never stopped loving him. He knew that. And that's why he waited. How could they ever have guessed the reason behind her behavior? He wanted to kill Dr. Bragg for what he'd taken from him, from his wife. But there would be a time for that. He would make sure of it. Once the hallway was clear, he slipped out of the lab coat, and used the serving cart to climb into the ceiling. He was so curious. Who was this mysterious woman he'd been sent to kill? He replaced the ceiling tile in case anyone looked into the room. The space was smaller than he'd anticipated, and he almost hit his head trying to stand up. It was stupid of him to do that in the dark. The Countess had given him a bag of tools she thought would come in handy. He turned on the flashlight. Nothing but rock, big bulging forms that looked like they were closing in on the narrow passage. He'd planned on cutting a groove into the tile so he'd remember his point of entry, but there was no need. There weren't any other tiles in sight. Beneath his feet was solid rock. The complex was an architectural wonder, carved right into the crust of the earth. There was a faint odor of decay. He pulled a pistol and a knife from the utility bag. There was no telling what kind of animals might be lurking up there. He clicked a button to illuminate the wrist timer. He still had an hour and forty one minutes. It wasn't much. He got on his hands and knees and began making his way. Ezra said it was about a hundred yards. That was a walk in the park considering how far he'd already come. He occupied his mind with thoughts of his wife and their future together. Foxy. She knew him like no one else in the world, and accepted him flaws and all. He couldn't wait to be near her again, to hold her close. Originally, he was supposed to stay behind to give the girls a head start before the Society gave chase. He never expected to make it out of there alive, and he'd been ok with that, but now all of that had changed. He and Ming were going to be together again. The craggy terrain was bitter and unwelcoming, tearing at his clothing and jabbing at his bones. And there were gaps in the ground, great gaping holes about four feet wide, that led to God only knew where. His arm stumbled in to one, and he felt no bottom. Luckily, the gaps were narrow enough to step over. He could hear the sound of water trickling, nervous, scattered drips, anxious to rejoin a stagnant pool somewhere. The stink he'd noticed earlier was stronger now. It was unmistakably something dead. He stopped for a moment and shined the flashlight around. Nothing. Still, he had a bad feeling. He was tempted to go back, but he knew he couldn't. The girls still needed the implants removed, and they wouldn't be able to do that without the Countess' contact in Brazil. If he backed out, she might decide not to help them. A machine hummed in the distance. It couldn't be much farther. He cocked the gun, and continued on as fast as he could. The space opened up and the rocks smoothed out some. The room was just a few feet away. He moved the tile slightly at first, to make sure there were no staff members present. What he thought was people talking, turned out to be a TV blaring in the corner. When he thought it was safe, he jumped down onto the table in the middle of the room, and dropped to the floor. There were large windows all around. If anyone walked by, they would easily spot him. He had to make this quick. "Hello?" a woman's voice said. He instantly drew the gun and looked around. There were holding cells against the wall, just like the ones Ming and YiYi were in, but they were empty. "Have you come for me?" she asked. There was a tilt table in front of the TV. With the gun still drawn, he slowly made his way around it. There was indeed a creature strapped to it. Had it just uttered those words to him? It didn't even look like it was alive. He stepped a bit closer. He'd never seen anything quite like it. It didn't blink and he wasn't sure if it was breathing. There were large sutures around the neck. The head of a woman had been sewn on to the body of a man. There were machines all around it, pumping fervidly, presumably to keep the being alive. "Have you come for me?" it asked again. Dylan jumped back. When it spoke, its face barely moved at all and the sound seemed to be coming from behind him. It spoke again, and this time he noticed the speaker its voice was coming out of. He didn't know what was going on, but he felt enormous pity for this person. "Yes, I've come for you," he said. He glanced at the door. The hall was still empty. He saw her eye flutter, and a single tear escaped. "Thank you sir. Thank you. Please, be quick. Tell my dear friend that I love her and I'm glad she did not forget me. There is a pillow in the cell. Use it. The gun will be too loud." Dylan retrieved the pillow, but he began to doubt whether he could go through with it. She noticed his trepidation. "Please sir. You must. This body is almost done. You know what that means. By killing me, you'll save so many." He didn't know what any of that meant. And he was distracted, both horrified and fascinated by the grotesque creation. He could see now that the other side of the body was completely cut open, with more tubes sticking out of it. "Who or..." He didn't know how to phrase the question, or even what he wanted to ask. "I'm Bella Ishmael," the voice said. "Or rather, I was." Dylan was astounded. His mind could not reconcile the image of Bella Ishmael, the woman who'd been talked about like some kind of mythical goddess, with the creature before him. How had this happened? Why had it happened? "I was in an accident. I was paralyzed from the neck down. They tried to fix me. When that didn't work, they tried grafting my head onto another body." The operations weren't successful in the beginning, she said. The bodies would only last for a few days before rejecting the head, and shutting down. But their knowledge had improved since then. Now, each body lasted for months, sometimes longer. She was able to move around with them, sometimes even walk, but it was never a pleasurable experience. "Do you have any idea what my life is like, sir? I am constantly being poked, and pricked, and gawked at. I don't even remember what my own voice sounds like, but I know whatever is coming out of that box is not it. I haven't had food in my mouth in so long. I'm fed through a tube, but my brain craves the sensation of eating you see, so I constantly feel like I'm starving. Can you imagine the agony? Every time I receive a new body, it is like being born- frightening, confusing, painful. Eventually, I remember who and what I am, and nothing sir, nothing, is worse than that." Dylan did not need to hear anymore. He would do it, he said. "One last thing, sir. My friends, they've been waiting for me. They had hoped I would be well again. Tell them I could not hold on any longer. Tell them what you've done for me. They will understand. Goodbye sir, and thank you for your kindness." Dylan's heart swelled with compassion. "Goodbye Bella," he whispered, and kissed her cheek. He disconnected the various tubes, and held the pillow down over her face until she was no more. He then took the knife from his pocket and drove it into her head, lest they should again try to find some way to revive her. He glanced out at the hallway to make sure it was still clear, and hopped up onto the table. That is when he saw it, the thing that made his blood run cold. The tile was slightly askew. He was certain he hadn't left it like that, distinctly recalling the noise of it thumping into place. Panic struck. Adrenaline surged. There could be a fleet of guards waiting for him at the end of the crawlspace. He had to find another way out. The Countess told him not to use the pock comm unless it was absolutely necessary. It was. He needed help. She would figure out a way to intervene. Fuck! The utility bag, he'd left it at the entrance. He had no choice now but to go back the way he'd come. He was a good shot, and he had enough bullets to stand his ground. For awhile. If he was caught on this side, he was guaranteed to end up a freak in their side show. He shined the flashlight into the darkness. Nothing. No one. There was no time left to think about it. He pulled himself back up into the ceiling, scrambling to get his back against the wall so he could aim the gun and flashlight. He looked all around. Nothing. No one. Only the cave was present, speaking in its primitive groaning and watery echoes. Suddenly he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt, he was going to make it out of there. He wasn't afraid anymore. The space wasn't wide enough for more than two men to come through at a time, and they too wouldn't be able to stand upright. He was strong, tough. He could overtake them. He turned the flashlight off and began the journey back, listening for signs of a coming ambush. Nothing. No one. He felt a bit of air on his neck. It was a relief. He was drenched in sweat. He remembered passing it before. It was probably a draft coming through a vent in one of the rooms. Moisture had turned the dust beneath it into a stretch of mud. He turned on the flashlight and looked it over. There weren't any prints but the one's he'd made. It wasn't possible to get across without leaving some kind of mark. Unless they'd scaled the walls, he thought with a laugh. That was ridiculous. Even a seasoned climber wouldn't risk maneuvering the rough landscape just to avoid a patch of dirt. No one had been in there. No one was after him. He probably hadn't pulled the ceiling tile across as far as he'd thought. He clicked the wrist timer and the face lit up. Time was evaporating. He began moving now at full speed. All he had to do was get back to the kitchen. He was almost home free. He wasn't a fool. The gun was still cocked and ready, but he was confident his position hadn't been compromised. Yet. He was reenergized, focused. He didn't feel anything now, not the gashes on his hands or the sharp stones digging into his knees. None of it mattered. In his haste, he forgot about the gaps in the ground. Before he knew it, he was tumbling down into an abyss that was even darker than the tunnel. He tried to slow his fall, gripping the crumbling walls and spreading his feet apart, but the drop was almost completely vertical. Gravity won. The space opened up and he picked up speed, pitching backward and banging his head on something. He finally hit the bottom, landing on what felt like a pile of rocks. He was dizzy and seeing spots, only made worse by the darkness. The awful smell from the tunnel was pumping full blast now, and he was gagging. He must've been sitting on the source. When he tried to lift himself, the pain was excruciating. His ribs were broken. No big deal. It wasn't the first time. He'd heard the flashlight hit the ground. He felt around for it, as far as he could reach without straining. It wasn't there. He lifted himself up, gritting his teeth to make as little noise as possible. His consciousness was waning with each blink. Come on, almost there, he said to himself. His mouth filled with the raw, metallic taste of blood. He could feel the thin trail running down his face, over his lips. He thought he heard something moving behind him, but he wasn't sure. He had to find the gun and the flashlight. With great difficulty, he began to drag himself over the rocks, feeling for the lost tools. And then, a most peculiar thing happened: a flashlight came on and it was being pointed at him. He put up his hand to block the glare. When his eyes adjusted, he was surrounded by what could only be described as monsters, huge, grotesque aberrations that no longer resembled man or beast. They bobbed about curiously, leaning forward and sniffing the air. Some had no eyes, and rows and rows of teeth outside of their heads. Others had mangled appendages, and skin that oozed raw and bloody like the inside of a fresh carcass. One slithered toward him, cautiously approaching and bringing with it, the foul stench of gangrenous meat and sewage. As Dylan was carried off, he did not feel any fear as to what would become of him, only sadness. He had come so close to the finish line. He hoped she would remember how much he loved her.

# CHAPTER 27

"Ezra, come in. Urgent. Ezra, come in. Urgent." Ezra hopped out of bed and grabbed his pock comm. It was the voice of John Rhett, his second in command. "Go ahead," he replied, already slipping on his clothes. "It's been an honor, sir. We're all eternally grateful." Ezra could hear the others lauding in agreement. "Bragg is here. He's fifty deep and fortified. We'll buy you some time so you can get her out. I love you, Ezra. See you on the other side." The words shot like an arrow, finding the one chink in an armor that had taken a lifetime to build. Ezra felt like he was drowning, like the bottom of the world had fallen out, like he was no longer who he was. This was his friend, and lover of five years, yet he could not manage to say all he wanted. It was not shame, but heartache. John Rhett knew him well, and did not require a lengthy outpouring of affection. "I'll see you on the other side," came the reply, and in the tone, a thousand other sentiments. The transmission ended, and now Ezra had to get the Countess to the escape route. Hopefully, it hadn't been compromised. He rushed into her bedroom and turned on the lights. She woke up instantly. "Ma'am, it's time. You have to go. Now." He started throwing some of her personal effects into a bag. She was frazzled and confused. "I need you to throw something on and get ready to move. I'll rally the house staff and you can all go together." She finally realized what was going on. "But what about Xavier? He-" "No, Veronique. If Xavier was going to do it, it would've been done by now. We have to go! Dr. Bragg has an army approaching, and all of your men are going to die. Do not let it be in vain. Be dressed when I come back." As soon as he shut the door, the tears came. She grabbed a pillow and screamed into it, and beat her fists against the bed. How could this be happening? She knew Bragg would be upset, but she hadn't expected him to react this way. She'd put everyone in danger. So many people were going to die, because of her fucking pride. And after she was gone, what would happen to the staff that remained? Who would look after the girls? All of these people relied on her. "Fuck!" she yelled. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" She picked up a glass from the nightstand and threw it at the mirror. It was strangely gratifying. She tried taking deep breaths to calm herself down, pacing back and forth, trying to think. She heard a terrible pounding coming from somewhere deep in the walls. Were they trying to get in? A wave of panic rushed through her. This was really happening. She threw on a pair of jeans and boots, and finished filling the bag Ezra had begun packing. It was light, just a passport, a few changes of clothes, and enough cash to get to her hideout. Deep down, she'd always known this day would come.

It was C.C. Gramercy who'd told the Countess to build an escape route in her home. You never know he said, when you'll need to get the hell out of Dodge. It was easy enough to accomplish in the early years. There was so much construction going on at the time, no one even questioned the workers going in and out of her home. It took over a year to complete, but it was worth all the headaches and lost sleep, just for this moment alone. Ezra pulled off the cover of the fireplace. "This is it ladies and gentleman. Hold on to each other and be careful. It ain't exactly pretty. Once you climb in, it's a real tight fit. You have to walk sideways, stomach to the wall, for about a mile. Above all, you have to be quiet. No talking above a whisper." He handed everyone a flashlight. Edmond, the butler, would go first since he was the best with a firearm. It wasn't likely that anyone or anything was down there, but it was better to err on the side of caution. "So, this isn't a real fireplace?" Opal asked. "Come to think of it, I've never seen a fire in it. But it's dirty in there. Where'd the ashes come from? Oh, I get it, to make it look like a real fireplace so no one would know it was a secret passage." The Countess sighed. "Not now Opal. Please, not now. And you cannot bring that big-ass suitcase. Does it look like we're going on a cruise?" Beyond the door, the fighting grew closer. The Countess couldn't believe how the ten members of her security team had managed to defend for so long. It had to be a war zone out there. And they were doing all of this for her. Once the last of the house staff made it into the tunnel, it was time for the Countess to go. Ezra hugged her, and she was so overcome by the gesture, she started to cry. She knew how much he cared for her, but he'd never displayed such affection. "Ezra, I'm so sorry. I've led you into hell. You don't deserve this. None of those boys do."

"Come now, we've had a good run. You're an excellent leader and a wonderful woman. It's been a pleasure ma'am." He helped her into the fire place, but she wouldn't let go of his hand. "Ezra, I can't leave you here. You have to come with me. You can get John Rhett and we can all go."

He couldn't, he said. He needed to stand beside his men, and uphold all of the principles he'd instilled in them. "Remember, once you use the lift, the rocks will fall and bury the tunnel. It's a onetime shot, so everyone has to be on at the same time. Goodbye Countess." He placed the cover back over the fireplace. After the Countess was certain he'd gone, she whispered as loudly as she could to Edmond. They hadn't yet gotten very far. "Go without me. Make sure everyone's on the lift before you pull the lever." She crept back out into the living room and up to her bedroom. There was no way she was leaving like this. Maybe she could reason with Bragg, or at the very least, trick him into believing she was reasoning with him. She'd outsmarted him before. She could do it again. This was no time to give up. She picked up the pock comm from the nightstand and dialed Dr. Bragg. He sounded more venomous than she'd ever heard him.

"You filthy, fucking cunt!" he hissed. "When I get my hands on you, expect a full buffet of the most excruciating pain you've ever known. I'm going to yank every tooth from your head, and scoop out your eyes with my fingers, and that's just the appetizer."

The Countess tried to sound confident, but she had never been more afraid. She knew he would do all of those things and more. "I'm surrendering Bragg. I'll tell you where the girls are. I'll tell you everything, but you have to let my men go. I just want this to end as peacefully as possible." There was a long pause on the other end. In the background, the Countess could hear an endless cacophony of death.

"How can I be sure this is not a trick?" Dr. Bragg asked.

"How could it be? You've got me outnumbered. Where can I go? What can I do?"

"Very well. Take the elevator to the ballroom and I'll have someone there to escort you. These bloodthirsty Mongols of yours won't stop unless they see I have you."

The Countess seldom used the elevator in her apartment because it was such a pain to get to. It was hidden behind a vault door which was supposed to be impenetrable, but she noticed huge gouges in the metal where the good doctor's men had tried to break it down. She wondered if they knew how close they'd come to succeeding. When the Countess stepped off of the elevator, two guards were on her immediately, shackling her arms behind her back, and practically dragging her. The carnage was worse than she'd anticipated. The night crew was in the way when the battle began. Their bodies lay strewn about, faces frozen in grimacing death masks. A maid lying face down in the fountain was still clutching a spray bottle. Dr. Bragg was rolling around in some sort of plexiglass pope mobile, shouting orders from a megaphone. At any other time, the scene would have made the Countess laugh until it hurt, but now it seemed only a glaring symbol of a shifting paradigm; Dr. Bragg truly was untouchable. The Countess was proud to see her men fighting so hard. They had barricaded the stairs with everything at their disposal, and were picking off their attackers one by one with assault rifles. She didn't know how many of her team remained, but the bodies of Bragg's men littered the ballroom. A few of them tried scaling the curtains to get to the second floor, but were quickly taken out by a shooter in the mezzanine. It was Ezra.

"Cease fire!" Dr. Bragg bellowed through the megaphone. "We have the Countess! Cease fire! We have the Countess!" Silence swept over the room like an eclipse. Dr. Bragg, stepped out of the protective cube wearing full camouflage. The men on the stairs stood up out of hiding, and trained their guns on him. "Don't you dare!" Dr. Bragg shouted. "I have her. Stand down!" He motioned to the guards holding the Countess to bring her forward to the center of the room. The Countess couldn't even look at her men. She couldn't bear to see their disappointment. They wouldn't understand that she was doing this for them. If her scheme worked, it would buy them some time. If it didn't work, they would all be killed, but that was going to happen anyway. Defeated, the men came downstairs and surrendered their weapons. "That's it," Dr. Bragg said, "Nice and slow. And if any of you animals tries to play hero, this wretched woman will pay dearly." They were pretty bruised up, and some had gunshot wounds, but all eleven men emerged from the barricade. They lined up in front of the good doctor and the guards bound their hands behind their backs. The Countess felt rejuvenated seeing their faces. To her, it was a sign they were going to win this. Somehow. Dr. Bragg however, was enraged. He went purple, as he gazed upon them. "How is it that all of these savages are still standing? How! No, no, no, no! This will not do." He ordered the guards to unshackle the Countess and stand her at his side. "Raymond, give her your pistol." The Countess shook her head and backed away. "Take it," Dr. Bragg demanded. "Come on dear, let's get this over with. Kill two of them and the rest may go free."

She refused again, and this time, slapped the officer who was trying to force the gun into her hands. "That wasn't our agreement Bragg. If you want to find out where the girls are, you need to let all of them go."

Dr. Bragg sighed. "Tell me dear, how bad do you want this to get? Considering what you've done to me, I'm being more than reasonable. Two of your men aren't worth the lives of all these people?"

Starting with Ezra, the men began stepping forward, volunteering to give up their lives. This only further infuriated the good doctor. "Fine," he said, "I'll pick, and trust me Countess, you'll still tell me where the girls are." He approached the line of men, stroking his beard while he paced before them. If they were afraid, their faces did not show it. They looked right into his eyes, daring him.

"Shall it be Ezra?" the doctor asked haughtily, glancing back at the Countess to gauge her reaction. "That would destroy you, wouldn't it? But no, no, I need him. Now let me see, which one of you chaps is Ezra's boyfriend? Hmm? You?" No one so much as flinched. He continued down the line, studying each man until he finally stopped at John Rhett. A flicker of emotion exposed itself in Ezra, and Dr. Bragg knew he had the right one. "Oh my, Ezra. I never imagined you'd go for the rustic, farm hand type, but I suppose he knows a thing or two about riding. Get on your knees, son. You know how to do that, don't you?" John Rhett easily resisted Dr. Bragg's attempts to force him onto the ground. "Raymond, a little help here." The guard struck John Rhett with the butt of his gun, but the man would not go down, taunting him with a smirk. The guard hit him again and again, until his nose gushed blood. Three more of Dr. Bragg's men broke from the line and jumped on him. The Countess was in hysterics, screaming and pleading for Dr. Bragg to end it. When John Rhett had finally been beaten into submission, Dr. Bragg ordered the guards to position the Countess for a better view of the show. Despite her efforts to struggle, she was hit in the stomach and wrenched to the ground. She closed her eyes, but the image of John Rhett, covered in blood with a pistol in his mouth, remained.

"You did this!" Dr. Bragg growled, squeezing her jaws to hold her face in place. What do you think of this cunt now, Ezra? It's because of her your lover is going to die. What a friend. I bet you know where the girls are. Tell me, and I'll kill her instead. I'll do it right now. What do you say?" He extended his hand, and Ezra promptly spit in it. The good doctor was exasperated. He wiped his hand on his shirt, shaking his head. "You still have loyalty for this despicable woman? Well, let's get on with it then. Raymond, shoot yourself in the head."

Without any thought, the guard took the gun from John Rhett's mouth and blew his own brains out. The Countess gasped as his body dropped like a stone. Dr. Bragg turned to the Countess. "Well dear, I sincerely apologize for all of this. I think I may have been a touch out of line." He glanced around at the battlefield. "This is quite a mess. I hope we can come to some kind of agreement so the board doesn't have to get involved. Deal?" He extended his hand. The Countess warily accepted it.

"Excellent, my dear. I so enjoy it when we get along. I need medical up here immediately!" he barked into his pock comm. "A full team! It's a goddamned war zone." The good doctor climbed back into his protective cube, and began yelling orders at the guards through the megaphone. The Countess and her security team watched in awe as the remaining twenty some odd troops lined up behind the good doctor, and marched out of the ballroom.

"Can somebody tell me what the fuck just happened?" John Rhett asked, as Ezra helped him to his feet. The Countess still couldn't believe it either. "It was Dr. Xavier," she said. "He came through after all."

Finally convinced of what a monster Dr. Bragg was, Dr. Xavier had secretly come to the Countess for help. He told her he was ready for things to change and willing to do anything to see to it. Killing Dr. Bragg was not an option, so what they needed was a way to control him without the board members finding out. How better, than to use his own invention against him? It was the ultimate revenge. The plan was risky, and depended entirely upon Dr. Xavier. Ezra had zero faith in him, and believed he would turn on them, but the Countess saw how much the young man had changed during his time at the Society. He didn't want to be afraid anymore, to be left tearing off bits and pieces of himself just to survive another day. Dr. Xavier usually brought Dr. Bragg his meals, so drugging him had been easy. During lunch one day, he inserted the updated version of the Godseye into Dr. Bragg's head. That had been the difficult part. He wasn't a surgeon, and the implant had to be buried deeply enough so it couldn't be felt from the surface of the skin. Normally after the surgery, patients were required to rest for a few days so the implant could heal into place, but there had been no time for that. Dr. Xavier monitored it as best he could. The wound opened up a couple of times, but Dr. Bragg assumed he'd acquired a minor scrape or bump fumbling around in the labs. Just as Dr. Xavier predicted, Dr. Bragg wouldn't let any of the other doctors look at it, which ensured no one would find out about the implant. The final step had been waiting the required time for the Godseye to sync to the patient's brain. It could take hours or days, and there was no way around it. An hour after the assault on the Countess began, the Godseye had finally synced to Dr. Bragg's brain. Dr. Xavier then had control over the good doctor's thoughts and actions. He input a command instructing Dr. Bragg to end the siege, and just like that, his course of action was altered.

"Damn," John Rhett said. "I didn't know the little squirt had it in him. I'm impressed." They all were. Dr. Xavier had redeemed himself.

"What made you come back?" Ezra asked the Countess.

"I couldn't leave all of you here to die for my mistakes. I thought if I could get Bragg alone, I could outsmart him. I never meant to put you in more danger." She turned to acknowledge the rest of the group, bowing her head respectfully. "And you gentleman, I am so moved by the sacrifice you were willing to make for me. It will not go unrewarded." They saluted her, and she was stirred to tears. Some might accuse her of having purchased their loyalty. After all, she had liberated them from sentences at some of the worst prisons in the world. But there was much more to it than that. She'd restored their humanity, and showed she had faith in them to be better and do more. The last thing they wanted to do was let her down.

"All we need is two hours alone with Bragg," Ezra said. "That'll be payment enough. In the meantime, let's start sorting through these people and see who's still alive."

We were in the middle of a team scavenger hunt when a guard came to escort me to see the Countess. Avi demanded to know what was going on. "Everything's ok buddy, but you'll have to wait here."

Avi stood between us. "No way. I'm coming."

The guard did not want to provoke Avi's ugly side. "Fine, but you can't go inside. She has requested to talk to Katia privately."

When we arrived at her office, the Countess was sitting at her desk with the housecat Ezra in his usual spot. I couldn't tell by her face if she had good news or bad news. It was good news.

"The girls are safe. They made it out and they're already in Brazil getting the implants removed."

I couldn't believe it. "They're ok," I said more to myself. "They're ok," I repeated with tears in my eyes. I couldn't wait to see YiYi. We'd done it. All of this hadn't been for nothing. "What about everyone else?" I asked. "Are they alright?"

The Countess hesitated. Perhaps she was considering whether it would be better to lie. I wish she had, instead of telling me that Dylan didn't make it. Well actually, they couldn't find him. "What!" I exclaimed. "What do you mean?"

They'd scoured the complex for him she said, but he was nowhere to be found, and his tracker wasn't pinging. "Is it possible he got out without you knowing?"

She looked doubtful. "It's unlikely."

I wanted to scream. I thought about my last conversation with him, how he knew he would never leave this place, and how it hadn't mattered to him. It was just horrible, the whole goddamned thing. The Countess came over and tried to console me, resting her hand on mine.

"Alexia honey, it's all over now. It's all ok."

I wasn't even listening to her anymore. All I could see was Dylan's face in my head. He was a truly good man. "He died trying to save that woman, and she didn't even love him."

"That's not true, Alexia. There is so much you don't know. Ming never meant to do those things, never meant to cheat on Dylan. Dr. Bragg was using an implant to control her behavior."

I wanted to choke her. Did that make it any better? His marriage and his entire life were ruined by someone else, by these people. I was so disgusted, I couldn't even think. "When can I go home?" The Countess glanced nervously at Ezra but didn't say anything.

"What, am I a hostage now too?"

"Of course not. I just thought you might like to stay." I looked at her like she'd sprouted wings. Was she high? Why the fuck would I want to stay?

"Alexia, I have full control of the facility again. Dr. Bragg has been taken care of. All of the wonderful things you've come to know will remain. You won't be in any danger, and you're going to make a fortune. I feel like I owe that to you."

"I want to go home."

"Honey, I know you've become very close with Avi. You won't see him ever again. You won't remember him. You won't remember any of this."

"That's what I want!" I yelled. "I don't want to remember any of this!"

The Countess stared at me for a long time with her elbows resting on the desk, and her chin in her hands. She was waiting for me to change my mind. Had she waited just a second longer, I would have.

"Ezra, help them tranquilize him. He's not going to take this well."

Ezra closed the door behind him. I heard the scuffling, the sound of things being knocked about. Avi was yelling for me, pleading for me. It was more anguish than I'd ever known, ripping at my gut and slicing the skin beneath my fingernails. I wanted to die. How could I leave him like this? But what was the alternative? We couldn't escape from this place, not unscathed anyway. Dylan didn't make it, and that was with the Countess helping him. The Countess was visibly distraught. I could see it in her furrowed brow and the tears glistening at the ends of her lashes.

"I think you're making a mistake, Alexia, but because you've helped me, I'll help you. I'm going to keep your Godseye intact. Should you wish to return, your memories will be here waiting for you."

I didn't care to ask how or why. I knew I wouldn't be coming back. I just wanted to stop thinking about Avi, and to forget that I'd loved him at all. I didn't want to feel that way about anyone again, to want them with every ounce of my being, to need them to feel like the best version of myself.

# CHAPTER 28

"Ma'am, are you ok? Do you need medical assistance?"

"No, I'm just tired," I replied groggily, and rolled over.

"Well you can't sleep here. Come on. Let's go."

I opened my eyes to a police officer standing over me. It was light outside but I had no idea what time of day it was. I sat up and nearly slid onto the ground.

"Easy honey," the cop said, giving me a hand. "How'd you fall asleep here anyway?" I had somehow been sleeping on the Alice in Wonderland statue in Central Park. "This your bag?" he asked, pointing to a large suitcase nestled beneath the mushroom Alice sits on. He pulled it out and looked at the travel tag. "Katia Saund- Saulveil? Is that you?"

I hadn't the foggiest idea what I was doing there, but I knew how to handle cops. "Yes, that's me. I got into a huge fight with my boyfriend and just packed my stuff and got out of there. I came here 'cause my dad used to take me here when I was little. It just makes me feel good."

The cop nodded in that way we do when we want people to know 'I've been there'. "So, you got someplace to go or what?"

"Oh yeah. I'm gonna' head to my parents place. They live on the Island." New York City has a ton of islands, but when you say 'the Island', it refers specifically to Long Island. I'm not sure why. The cop was confident I wasn't crazy or drunk, so he left me to it. I grabbed my bag and headed for the street. Judging by the traffic, I figured it was about seven or eight in the morning. I stopped one of the joggers to ask for the time. 7:36am. Great, now I had an early start to a full day of feeling completely lost. Was there something I was supposed to be doing? Someplace I was supposed to be? As I walked along the streets, my memories began to come back to me, but it was like trying to read a book through a peephole. I was wearing a long camel colored coat that definitely wasn't mine. I reached into the pockets. Empty. I checked the pockets of my jeans, the same ones I'd had on the day I left for the Society. I found a few dollars and an ID. It was Katia's. "YiYi and Ming," I said aloud. Everything flooded back to me at once. I started to panic. Where were they? Had they made it out? I sat down on a bench. I needed to think. If I was ok, then they were probably ok too, or so I hoped. I opened the suitcase. It was full of fancy clothing, none of which belonged to me. I rifled through it, not sure what I was looking for. There was an envelope with a handwritten letter in it: Your friends are safe, but they have some business to tend to. You will see them again soon. I wanted to believe it was true, but there was something nagging at me, this tiny kernel of anxiety in the pit of my stomach. I headed to YiYi's house. I knocked on the door for at least ten minutes. No one was there. The doorman wouldn't let me up to West's place, so I waited in the lobby for a few hours. He must've felt bad because he finally told me West had been away for weeks now. Weeks? Where were they? I looked at the note again. It wasn't signed or anything. Who had written it? I was so confused, but I was also thirsty and hungry. I stopped inside a bank and got a cup of water and a handful of the crappy hard candy they put out for customers. I felt so alone. I needed to get my bearings. I knew it was time. I started walking and got to 116th street and 2nd Avenue by 3pm. Everything was the same- the Wendy's on the corner, the bakery where I used to get pan& queso every morning before school, the florist who sometimes made Esme and I flower tiaras. After I'd run away, I avoided this part of town at all costs. It was strange to be back. We lived in a walkup next to a poultry butcher. Great for fresh chicken, but not so much for sleep. They started squawking at 4:00am every day. It was an irritation then, but for some reason I thought of it fondly as I walked up the stairs to the apartment building. The door was locked. I didn't want to buzz the intercom, so I had to wait for someone to come out. It wasn't long. The man who held the door for me looked at me strangely. It was our neighbor from upstairs, Mr. Ipitz. He wasn't sure if it was me or not. It had been three years. I decided to pretend I didn't recognize him. That would save us both from an awkward moment.

Our apartment was on the first floor. It seemed so far away. I felt sick. I knocked on the door. I heard my mother say 'just a moment'. She was probably just waking up from her nap. Working nights as a nurse, sleep was a rare commodity. I knew she was looking through the peephole. I heard the locks turn and I thought I would explode. The door opened and she was standing there in her pink bathrobe and slippers, just as I remembered her. Her expression was one of utter disbelief.

"Alexia?" she asked. I just stood there. She reached for me slowly as if she feared I might turn to dust before her eyes. She put her hand on my shoulder and gasped when she found I was indeed real. "Oh my God, my baby," she cried. She threw her arms around me and pulled me into the tiny kitchen. "My baby, my baby, thank you God." She asked me if I was hurt. I shook my head, too overwhelmed to speak. I didn't think I would be so happy to see her. I couldn't even remember what I'd run from. She must've given me a thousand hugs and kisses and each one was more rewarding than the last. They'd never stopped looking for me, she said. When Esme reported that she'd seen me at her school, my mother was crushed. She usually picked Esme up, but on that one day, she'd asked one of the other parents to do it because she wasn't feeling well. She became obsessed, consumed by this horrible sensation that I was somewhere nearby, but she'd just missed me. The only solace in it, was knowing that I was still alive.

Stuck to the refrigerator was my very last paycheck from H&M. If she'd been so hard up for money back then, why hadn't she cashed it? Beneath it was a missing person's poster, a close up of me smiling, my pin straight blonde hair lying neatly over my shoulders. I'd almost forgotten I used to look like that. If that's who they were looking for, no wonder they hadn't found me.

I finally got to meet my baby brother, Caleb. He looked just like Esme, and was the sweetest little thing. He didn't know who I was, but was happy to have someone else to read to him. I thought it would be strange being back home, but it wasn't. Esme and I used to share a room. My side was still perfectly intact, just the way I'd left it. The bed was made, and my things were free of dust, as though they expected some day I would return. The pink paint that once divided the room in half, was now a rebellious shade of lime. Esme was nine years old now, and green was her new favorite color. I missed her so much, even more than I knew. I slept in her bed for the first few weeks, just so I could be closer to her. We would stay up talking and giggling, well past her 9 pm bedtime. She told me all sorts of stories and secrets that she gathered in my absence, and I told her mine, the g-rated ones anyway. My brothers came home from college to see me, along with an endless stream of other relatives, some I hadn't seen since I was a little girl. My grandmother opted for an extended stay. My grandfather had passed away and she was lonely, but she claimed to be doing it for me, to help me through the adjustment period. Just as she'd always been, she was too attentive, constantly at my heels and full of prying questions. "She's missed you," my mother said, "You've always been her favorite."

They all wanted to know where I'd been, what I'd been doing. My answers were far more mundane than they'd hoped. "Around," I said. "Here and there." The question of why I'd run away never came up, intentionally stepped around like dog shit on the sidewalk. The psychologist we started seeing thought it best they let me talk about it when I was ready. Eventually, my grandmother could not resist. She had to know what drove me away. She, my mother and I, were sitting in the living room looking through old family photos when she got up the nerve to ask. I told her I didn't want to talk about it, and that it didn't matter because it was in the past. She kept pushing and pushing. Finally, I told them everything-- how I'd felt like I didn't belong, and the countless ways they'd perpetuated the alienation.

"And I know that man is not my father. Who is my father? Were you... raped?" The two women exchanged a knowing glance before my mother broke down in tears, agonizing sobs that could not be comforted or quelled. They hadn't meant to make me feel like an outsider, she said. They were trying to accomplish exactly the opposite.

# CHAPTER 29

When we lived in Arizona, there was a couple living in the house next door. They'd inherited it from a dead aunt, or something like that. I was much too young to remember any of it. They were junkies who occasionally dealt drugs to support their growing habit. Day and night, all kinds of questionable characters paraded in and out of their home. The police were called constantly over complaints of noise and riff raff. They had a two year old daughter named September, who was what people would refer to as a 'good' baby. Despite the neglect she suffered, she was always smiling and seldom cried. Everyone pitied her predicament, but no one wanted to get involved. They had enough to contend with in their own lives. "That poor sweet child," the neighbors would remark to one another, peering through kitchen curtains during gossip-filled brunches. September's parents knew my mother was a nurse, and would call upon her at times to treat a bevy of mysterious bruises, and ailments brought on by malnutrition. She urged the parents to take the little girl to the hospital, but they never did. My mother reported them to social services several times, but nothing ever came of it. It didn't matter, because she'd already decided what to do. She visited as often as she could, just to make sure the little girl was clean and had enough to eat. One day she knocked on the door, but no one answered. She could see September sitting on a blanket in the middle of the floor. The girl was filthy, and still wearing the pajamas my mother dressed her in days before. The living room was a shambles, littered with the wreckage of lives ruled by addiction. My mother knocked some more and waited, but it was obvious no one else was home. It wouldn't be the first time. When she looked back through the window, September put up her hands, something she did when she wanted someone to pick her up. My mother broke down the back door with a rock and took me. She told my grandparents what she'd done and why, and they agreed to keep me until the cops called off the search. No one ever suspected a white nurse, already saddled with two children of her own, had anything to do with my disappearance.

A year later, with my grandparents help, my mother bought a small house clear across town. That was when I joined her and my brothers. As she told me all of this, I remembered some things- -an instance, a person-- but most of it, I did not. I'd asked her once why there weren't any baby pictures of me. "Your father kept them. He did it to hurt me." Her response was perfectly legitimate and I didn't question it. When I was five, a show called Unsolved Mysteries did a feature on the disappearance of September Thomas, and the story was once again picked up by local news. That was when my grandmother started dyeing my hair. She and my mother were worried someone might recognize me. The secret of my true identity remained hidden among a few family members, until my mother confided in Ian Galloway. After the demise of their affair, when she was six months pregnant with Caleb, he issued an ultimatum: If she didn't grant him full custody of the baby, he would make sure the world knew that she'd kidnapped me. She wasn't about to give in to his demands, but she wanted to spare me the trauma of finding out about my past with a news camera in my face, while the police carted her off to jail. That's why she tried to send me to live with my grandparents. They were going to tell me everything and prepare me for the coming flood. But I never went to Arizona, and Ian never made good on his threat, one that had only been provoked by Julia, the scorned wife who sat idly by through his five year affair. She couldn't have children of her own, and wanted the baby out of spite more than anything else. She finally came to her senses, and was content with the court mandated weekly visits. My older brother Liam kept in contact with Ian, for money mostly. He was the one who'd told him I was in college. It just seemed simpler that way, and there was no one to dispute it. My mother would not speak to Ian outside of a courtroom.

I'd seen enough Lifetime movies to know how people reacted to these kinds of revelations. Maybe I should have been coming apart at the seams, but I wasn't. Maybe I should have hated my mother for keeping this from me, but I didn't. I asked her what happened to my real parents. Were they still alive? In an odd twist of events, they were killed during a botched robbery. They never had any other children. My mother had kept a scrapbook of sorts, with a DVD of the episode of Unsolved Mysteries, and some newspaper clippings. She'd planned on telling me the truth one day, but not until I was much older. I had no desire to look at any of it. I wasn't even curious. She would keep it for me, she said. One day, I might feel differently. Maybe. The love my mother had for me was unique, and extraordinary in its devotion. There was no reason for it, nothing to gain in return, no rewards or pats on the back. She lived in constant fear she would be found out, that I would be taken away and that all of our lives would be ruined, but still she went on. I didn't know why the universe brought us together in such a way. There was no doubt I was better off for it, but what about her? She said that raising me had been a joy, and she never regretted what she'd done.

"Sometimes Alexia, we make choices based on who we want to be. Before I met you, I wasn't strong or tough, or particularly clever, but I knew that if I wanted to be your mother, I had to become those things. Loving you made me better." And isn't that what love does in its purest form? It transforms us, pushes us to sacrifice ourselves and be reborn into something greater. With this new perspective, I looked back on my life and the people who'd surrounded me. Just like that, the story was rewritten, and the distance between us was gone.

After the novelty of my return wore off, things settled into a kind of normalcy. I didn't have any friends, but I didn't really want any. Not yet anyway. I needed to get my shit together. I did go by YiYi's apartment periodically to see if she'd come back yet, but she hadn't. I even sent her a few emails, but didn't get a response. The doorman remembered me though. He told me the rent was being paid. I guess that was a good sign, but where the hell were they? I started to think she was avoiding me. I'd served her purpose, so she moved on. If I said it didn't hurt, I'd be lying. I stopped by Penn Station all the time too, looking for Myra. I even went to track 15 every Sunday, hoping I'd find her digging into a bag of lobster rolls, but I didn't. No one had seen her for weeks. Hopefully she was in a nursing home, or a better place.

I got a job at a doctor's office in Midtown. My mother helped with that. It was fine, but dangerously dull. My boss was nice, but my coworkers were bickering mean girls in a war to out-starve each other. Stacey, the self-proclaimed Ambassador of Anorexia, usually won. She could last for days on cotton balls soaked in orange juice, or salted post-its. I made the mistake of offering her the other half of my sandwich one day, and got a five minute lecture on shaming women about their bodies and not respecting their lifestyle choices. Wow. The world had changed so much. I tried to be positive. At least I was making a living. I bought a fancy new cellphone. I'd always wanted one. Esme was more than happy to show me how it worked, provided I let her download all the games she wanted. At my mother's urging, I signed up for some online classes so I could get my diploma. Before I ran away, I was only a few months short of graduating. I wondered how things would've turned out if I'd stayed. I know I wouldn't have gone to college. I really liked school, but never understood spending all that money and being forced to take classes that had nothing to do with your major. And whatever happened to good old fashioned apprenticeships? Anyone from any background could be something, provided they were willing to put the time in. Who was it that said, 'You know what we need less of in the world? Hands- on training'.

Being homeless is a lot less stressful. No one expects anything from you. There are no deadlines to meet, no place you have to be. It's kind of liberating. Not that my family cared what I did or didn't do, but I was suddenly aware of my place in their lives. I felt like I had to be something for them. They'd sacrificed so much for me, and I didn't want to let them down. I decided that after I got my diploma, I would enroll in a program to be a dental tech. Why not? Then, all I'd need is a mate and a couple of kids, and I'd be halfway there. But halfway there to what? I started having a recurring dream that I was walking through the forest in the dead of winter. I didn't know where I was headed, but I knew I had to keep going. Through the dense trees, I could see a pair of amber hued eyes staring back at me. No matter how far I walked, the eyes remained in the distance, watching me. I didn't know who or what they belonged to, but I wasn't afraid. The being's presence was familiar, and I could feel it communicating with me somehow. When I told Esme about the dream, she said the creature was a wolf and that it would protect me. It was impossible to keep a straight face. She always said these things with such certainty.

"How do you know it's a wolf Esme? And how do you know it's going to protect me?"

She looked exasperated, as if she couldn't believe I didn't know. "Wolves have yellow eyes, Alexia, and they live in that environment. Geez. And if he wanted to attack you, he would've."

Well, who was I to argue with this brilliant little girl? Although later, I did google it. Wolves do in fact have yellow eyes. Google had been nerfed all to hell, but it didn't stop me from spending hours looking up things on the internet. There was so much going on in the world I needed to catch up on. That's what I told myself anyway. I would start off with good intentions, for example, studying up on the next presidential candidates, but somehow I'd get sidetracked and end up reading about the last meals of famous death row inmates. Timothy Mcveigh, the Oklahoma City bomber? Mint chocolate chip ice cream. Convicted murderer Victor Feguer? A single olive. Completely unrelated but equally as fascinating, the mantis shrimp has a punch that has been compared to a .22 caliber bullet. Thank you listverse.com.

Sunday was my favorite day of the week. It was the only day my mother took off. After eating a home cooked meal together at the table, we would watch a movie together in the living room. It was one of many traditions I'd forgotten about. It was Caleb's turn to pick the movie, and my mother reminded him to try and choose something we would all enjoy. It was so funny to watch him thinking about it. I wondered if he really understood what she meant, but then he turned to me and said, "Don't worry, these monsters are not scary," and proceeded to play Monsters, Inc., one of my favorite cartoons as a kid. I hadn't seen it in forever. My mother set out a tray of snacks, and Esme grabbed the blankets and pillows. It was so wonderful with all of us curled up in the dark, eating popcorn and laughing. This had been my childhood, and now it would be theirs. Despite being a single parent and never having enough time or money, my mother provided us with a stable, happy home life. I don't know how she managed. I could literally count on one hand the number of times I'd seen her asleep. After the kids went to bed, she and I would stay up talking, just as we used to years ago, when I would lay my head in her lap and bare my soul. I had always been an open book with my mother. It was easy. She did not judge, or give unsolicited advice, and she would crawl naked across hot coals before divulging a secret. But still I could not bring myself to tell her the things I went through while living on the street. She already blamed herself for me having run away. The details would only make her feel worse. I had to protect her.

"You seem sad," Esme remarked one afternoon. She climbed onto a chair at the kitchen table, and sat on her knees. "What's wrong?" She looked so serious, I almost laughed.

"I'm not sure kiddo. I guess I don't really know what to do with myself."

In her very matter of fact way, she said we should draw to help me figure out what I was feeling. She was a trip. She got out some crayons and paper, and we started coloring. After I was done, she looked over my picture to analyze it. It was just a boat with a few fish swimming around underneath it. It wasn't very good. I'd never been much of an artist.

"Very interesting," Esme said in her best adult voice. "Well, Mrs. Alexia, I think this means you're lost, and the little fishes are your um, your friends, but you can't see them because they're under the boat."

Good Lord, was she psychic? She jumped down from the chair and stuck the drawing on the fridge. She came back to the table and handed me her picture. "Now you do mine." Hers was hilariously obvious. It was just a big plate of cookies. I was cracking up.

"I think this means you want me to give you some cookies."

She had a huge, pleading grin on her face. She wasn't allowed to have sweets very often. "Please Lexi, just one." She was whispering now. Of course I obliged. When we heard my mother's footsteps approaching the kitchen, Esme shoved the whole cookie into her mouth, and took off for her bedroom.

"I don't want to know," my mother said, as Esme whizzed by her. She laid a black velvet pouch on the table. "Grandma's going back home in a couple days, and she needed an extra bag for all the crap she bought. This was in that suitcase of yours. We uh, we opened it. I'm sorry sweetie. Can I ask you what it is?"

I had no idea what it was. I opened the bag and found a key with a note attached. I was so startled to see that symbol again, the coiled snake with the jeweled eyes, that I dropped it. It bounced and clattered against the tile. My mother covered her mouth, her eyes welling up with tears.

"I knew it," she cried. "I knew it was something bad. We also found this." She placed Katia's ID on the table.

"Alexia, I don't know what you had to do to survive..." She was bawling now, and hugging me. "My poor baby. I wish you would talk to us, tell us what happened to you. Dr. Grant can help."

I promised her I would share everything during the very next session, but I knew there wouldn't be another session.

The note read: When you see the blind tiger, run the other way. There was an address too, for a place called Drucker's Electrical Knick Knack Company. I'd never heard of it, but I looked it up. It was a bar and restaurant. Apparently, blind tiger was a prohibition term for a speakeasy. I put on my coat, and slipped the key into my pocket, along with Katia's ID.

"Esme," I whispered, shaking her gently. She blinked a few times, and finally smiled when she was fully awake. I could feel my face contorting under the weight of my sadness. "Kiddo, I have to go."

She looked so calm and understanding. "To find the fishes?" she asked.

I was so choked up, I could barely speak. "I think so," I sniffed.

She hugged me and told me that I mustn't stay away for so long again. "You have to be back before your birthday, ok? It will be very difficult for mama if you're not."

"Yes ma'am," I replied. "I'll be back before my birthday." No matter what, I was going to keep that promise to her. I kissed her one more time and tucked her in. I considered leaving a note for my mother, but what would I say? Esme could explain it so much better. I decided to walk instead of taking the subway. I needed some time to think. It was far, and a little bit chilly, but nothing I hadn't endured before. Maybe I should've been scared about what was coming next, but I was surprisingly hopeful. Anything was better than a lack of possibilities.

THE END

Dear Reader,

I lovelovelove that you took the time to read my work. I hope I've entertained you, or at the very least, given you lots to think about. As an aspiring author, a review would be more helpful than you can imagine. You can also connect with me on twitter @wordsbyamiya. Would you be interested in a part two of this book? Let me know. I can't wait for your feedback.

Xoxo, Amiya

