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John Raide · (12-18-2013)

"Sometimes it’s only madness that makes us what we are."

"You're in over your head, John."

John tried to juggle the phone in his hand while keeping his other hand on the steering wheel. He was heading north, away from downtown and away from the city.

"This is the type of thing you leave to the professionals."

Rain was hitting the windshield and he flipped on the wipers. A crumpled restaurant napkin that he'd used to write the address down on sat in his lap.

"This isn't something a professional should do anyway. I gotta follow this thing out. I'm not asking you to understand."

"John!" Marston barked. "That's not what this is about. Listen to me for a second, would you? Seven Emery Circle is one of those abandoned mansions that sit close to the water -- the ones people wonder how anyone can afford them. I checked the records like you asked. It's been abandoned for decades due to a fire in the rear of the house that caused part of the roof to collapse. The place used to belong to a Martin Friar, father to state senator Gideon Friar."

"Great. You bringing him in for questioning?"

"You're missing the point here, John. If you were invited to this place like you said you were don't you think they'd be smart enough to know you'd look into it?"

"What reason would they have to be suspicious? I'm not police. I'm just a citizen."

"No, pal," Marston said, "you're looking at it from the wrong angle. How long do you think they've been doing this, huh? If everything you told me about this is true then they have connections. They'd know you'd look into things, which means they know who you are and that you can't do anything to stop it. For chrissakes we're talking about a damn senator here."

"No one is untouchable."

"Let me at least meet you before you get there. We'll work something out. You don't have to do this --"

"I have to go now."

"John, just wait for a --"

He hung up and let the phone slide out of his fingers and into the seat next to him. A sharp bend int he road took him upon the location the directions on the napkin had pointed him to.

Marston had been right, the house was impressive. All glass windows and roofs it seemed like. It sat directly across the street from a seawall made of cement and crushed oyster shells. A stone fence boxed the house into it's land.

The driveway was long, but John had to park at the lip of it as expensive cars lined both sides all the way up to the house. He could hear the surf moving gently through the night air only encompassed by the sound of his feet walking the length of the driveway.

A long figure stood between the granite columns at the front door and he eyed John coming up the steps. John paused before him and remembered what he'd heard ont he phone last night.

"The stars are down, that's the code right?"

The man before him stared, then leaned back to open the front door. He reached inside the doorway and returned with a large black box.

"Make sure you open that before you enter," the man said.

John removed the cover and stared at the gas mask and a red auction racket with a white number fourteen painted on it.

"Enjoy," the man said. "The auction has already begun."

He stepped aside to allow John to enter. A sign in the foyer showed a spray painted pink arrow pointing toward a wide set of stairs. John fiddled with his gas mask as he took them two at a time. He finally got the mask secure as he reached the bottom.

A bright pink door with a brass handle was there and John opened it as he stepped inside. A throng of people in dark suits and black dresses swallowed him up upon his entrance. The voice on the phone had said to dress for a funeral and they'd been right.

"Welcome!" a voice boomed at the front of the hall where a large stage had been erected. "It seems that our final guest has decided to join us!"

A mild applause followed and John turned his head to see around the room full of people. The only source of light came from a glowing chandelier that hung over the stage. Diamonds or something else shiny winked and blinked in the reflection of the jewelry worn by the female party-goers.

"David, please get the door," the voiced asked.

Behind John, a very large gentleman slid the deadbolt across the door.

"Once again, welcome everyone!"

Another mild applause followed to fill the room. John shifted his weight on his feet, feeling uncomfortable being surrounded by so many people in gas masks.

"You're going to enjoy the evening we have in store. First, to all you old friends of The Fold, welcome back. And to our new friends, welcome and we hope you enjoy your time with us this evening. For the unacquainted, my name is simply, Talo."

John peered over the shoulder of the person in front of him and was able to finally get a good look at the owner of the voice. The owner was standing in the center of the stage, looking very thin, and very frail. He too wore a gas mask and his exposed scalp was red with scars or peeled flesh.

"Now, for those wondering about the masks. You see, when it comes to the affairs of The Fold, we believe in exercising discretion and anonymity. The room we're standing in is filled with a translucent poison gas. If ingested it'll cause delightfully black delusions before sparking a massive mental breakdown. Of course, there's a few of us here who can relate to that."

A dull murmur moved through the crowd and John could feel his palms starting to become slick with sweat.

The frail man stepped gingerly across the stage and waved his hand out to the crowd. "However, do not concern yourself with that too much. We have taken the time to modify your masks to filter out said gas."

John was starting not to hear any sounds except for the thundering of his heart in chest and ears.

"Let's begin, shall we? Please, bring forth item number one."

The crowd shifted forward trying to get a good look at what was on stage. One of Talo's assistants was wheeling a tall cylinder covered in a velvet curtain. It slowed to a stop and in one motion Talo yanked the curtain loose.

John felt his blood quicken.

Inside the glass cylinder was a girl, no older than sixteen, completely nude with a distant look on her face.

There was no hesitation from the crowd. Red auction rackets swept into the air. Talo stood up straight, hands folded behind his back. He stared out through the crowd.

"Ah, your enthusiasm is contagious. Perhaps before we begin bidding on this item you may fancy something else. Where is number fourteen?"

The crowd shifted again and parted in the middle, like the splitting of the red sea or in this case the black sea. A long path opened now, and Talo stood on one end and John on the other.

“There you are. Number fourteen. Such a special number. It’s the approximate atomic weight of nitrogen ... and the number of pieces the body of Osiris was torn into by his fratricidal brother Set.”

John could feel something on the edge of his vision. It was like someone had taken black chalk and scribbled there.

Talo spoke again. “See friends, I am under the impression that number fourteen is not who he says he is. I think number fourteen knows just a little too much. Which is why his mask is the one I didn’t modify. Feeling okay, fourteen? Or should I just call you John Raide?!"

The crowd was starting to turn, it almost looked like they were blending into one another. “That’s right,” Talo cried. “We’re in the company of an outsider and they are not welcome here are they?”

Someone in the crowd yelled.

“What do you say, folks? Let’s show him that The Fold do not take kindly to intruders. I say ... tear him apart!”

The black sea was moving and the faces were no longer. John’s legs felt like someone had poured concrete in them. A hand went for his throat and he shoved it off.

He had one chance, and it wouldn’t last long. Earlier when he had been surveying the room, he realized black curtains had been pulled down over the windows on both sides of the hall.

More hands had moved around his body and he tried to move forward, but they wouldn’t let him. He couldn’t look at their faces, they looked like demented jack-o’lanterns in their gas masks. He managed to get a hand free, and reached toward his ankle where the snub nose .38 was.

John pulled it loose and fired it into the air.

The crowd lurched back and John got his opening. On stone legs he raced for the black curtain closest to him, firing freely, not caring who got in the way. He heard the glass break behind the curtain.

“Someone stop him!” Talo shrieked.

John was thankful they were on the bottom floor as he hurled himself into the black curtain and fell through the window. However, he had thought he had blown away more of the glass, it took the force of his entire body to shatter it.

He’d landed on a gravel walkway, and he could feel the chips of rock biting into his hands and knees. As he was trying to unravel himself from the curtain, someone had leapt on him and was trying to get a hand around his throat.

John lung an elbow back, hard, and he heard bone snap like a piece of wood. He shook the curtain free and tried to get situated. Even standing still, everything was spinning. His vision felt like he was trapped in a fun house. Behind him, more people were trying to claw their way through the window.

John tried to sprint, ignoring the tiny spikes of pain in his left knee. He could feel the cuts the glass had made on his face as well. He finally caught a break, the driveway was closer than he hoped.

People were yelling, hysterically it sounded like. It seemed it took him hours just to reach his car, but all the stumbling and the disorientation had slowed his progress.

The sound of approaching feet coming up the driveway, were pounding in unison like tiny little drummers. Once inside his car, John punched it into to reverse, his headlights landing on three or four men in gas masks, carrying crowbars.

One tried to chop down on John’s car, but just missed as John had sped out onto the main road and floored it around the bend that had taken him to the house in the first place.

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