Face Behind the Mask

by Leo King

  Remaining quiet, Dr. Klein motioned toward her legs. Dick and Dock strapped them into the stirrups.

  Feeling herself exposed, she gulped. “You’re not going to do anything sexual to me, are you?” The very notion made her stomach turn, anxiety fraying her carefully knitted curtain of apathy. She pushed those thoughts away and spat out some more sarcasm. “Because I probably stink to high heavens down there.”

  “Zat is very insulting, Sam,” he said, flipping her gown past her knees. “I’m checking on your pregnancy. Some important people want a status report.”

  She looked away from him as she felt cool metal against her genitals. A moment later, an instrument was probing her insides. Sucking in her breath, she tried to focus on something else—anything else. Even the thought of him seeing and touching her was more than she could bear. After a few seconds, her stomach gurgled like a clogged drain.

  “I think I’m gonna puke.”

  “Get Sam a bucket, please,” Dr. Klein said.

  “Oh, you don’t have to—”

  Dick grabbed her head and pushed it into a tin pail.

  You’re kidding, right?

  Her body tensed as she dry-heaved in rhythm with Dr. Klein’s probing. Nothing came out.

  This could not get any more degrading.

  She did it a few more times and then leaned back. She burped hard and then shrugged.

  “False alarm, Dick. Sorry about—”

  Then it hit. With another loud belch, she projectile-vomited all over Dick’s uniform. The vomit was green and smelly. As he swore and jumped back, she felt a bit of satisfaction. When the last drop was out, she looked back up at the ceiling and began to laugh.

  “Seems like you find this amusing, Sam.” Dr. Klein withdrew the instruments from her and wiped them off.

  She continued to giggle, feeling strands of sanity snapping one by one. How is any of this supposed to fix me again?

  He came around to her head, avoiding the puddles of puke and ignoring Dick’s swearing.

  Wiping her mouth on her shoulder, she asked, “So will you please tell me how my babies are? We do have an agreement that if I let you do whatever you want, you’ll be careful with them.”

  “As far as I can tell, they are fine. Someone will come by tomorrow und do an ultrasound.”

  Then he leaned down until his beard was touching her face. She moved her head, repulsed. “But Sam,” he said. “You’re not responding to my treatments. My benefactors want Samantha back. Und if I cannot succeed in bringing her back, their focus may shift only to the health of the children.”

  For the first time since she’d met him, he sounded tired. “I vant this to work, Sam. I need you to let Samantha go. Don’t humiliate me in front of them, or the consequences will be dire.”

  Sam looked back up at him. “Listen, I can’t just stop being—”

  Then her eyes fell on his pen. It was red, one of those expensive fountain pens with a beautiful luster.

  Wait. I had one like that.

  As she stared at it, a horrible memory resurfaced—a memory of a focus used to direct the loa, one that was used to cause the deaths of Michael and Rodger and many others.

  A silver fountain pen.

  The pen! How could I forget that?

  “Sam, you were saying?”

  She shook her head, too lost in thought.

  Did I succeed in destroying it?

  Dr. Klein sighed. “So much for an accord. Take her back to her cell.”

  She closed her eyes as she was helped up.

  God, I hope I did. Otherwise, we’re all in trouble.

  The following day, the ultrasound technician came. Sam, who was allowed to watch the monitor, saw both of her children resting within her. It looked almost like they were holding hands. She didn’t need someone to tell her their gender. She just knew it was a boy and a girl.

  Shutting out everything else, she reached out and touched the monitor’s surface. My babies. My little girl and little boy. You are both so beautiful.

  She wanted to cry. She wanted to feel the raw, unmitigated happiness that was supposed to come with motherhood. But she couldn’t. She had turned off that part of herself months ago.

  I’ll cry when I hold you, little ones. I promise. Her fingertips grazed the images, touching their small, round heads. Tapping the glass to the rhythm of their heartbeats, she focused on them. For the moment, they were all that existed.

  Then the monitor shut off. Her fingers stayed on the blank screen. My babies…

  “This has gone very well, Dr. Klein,” the ultrasound technician said. “I’ll let them know that the children are fine. They’ll contact you when they’re ready to visit the Princess.”

  She regarded him with scorn. Princess. I am so sick of being called that.

  After the ultrasound technician left, Dr. Klein instructed the orderlies to take Sam to the interview room. Once there, she was given her vitamin shot and a slice of apple. It was her first piece of fresh fruit since her time in Tulane. Without a thought, she wolfed it down, hardly tasting it.

  Dr. Klein entered and sat across from her. “Looks like you were hungry, Sam. Would you like some more?”

  She wiped the juice off her mouth and licked her hand clean. “Yes, I would.”

  With a smirk, he placed a whole, plump apple and a knife on the table. She watched as he picked up the knife and started to peel the apple, the deep red skin pulling away to reveal the flesh underneath. She licked her lips, salivating.

  He locked eyes with her as he dropped the peelings onto a plate. “You’ve been a very good sport these past few months, Sam. I know you are frightened, but if all goes well, then there vill be no more need for suffering. You’d like that, ja?”

  She glanced back and forth between him and the plate of apple peels and nodded enthusiastically.

  “So I need you to do something for me when ze Knight Priory comes. I need you to pretend you are Samantha. Can you do that for me?” The plate was now covered in apple peelings.

  Again, she looked at the plate, her mouth watering. He could offer any terms he wanted right now, and she’d agree to them.

  “Yes, sir, I can do that. I’ll pretend to be Samantha. Promise!”

  Chuckling, he slid the plate over to her. As she dug into the peelings like a ravenous animal, he sat back and cut himself a piece of the fruit’s pulp. Then he popped it into his mouth and chewed, watching her with a smug expression.

  Sam stopped eating, her fingers half-crammed into her mouth. The smug guise on his face said it all: she had become his “good little Samantha” once more. Swallowing the peel, she felt her self-respect drain along with the blood from her face.

  “What have you done to me?” Her lips trembled.

  “What have I done? I’ve given you something to eat, because you’ve been a good girl. My good, sweet little Samantha.”

  She looked down at her hands. They were shaking.

  He sliced off another piece of fruit and ate it. “Sometimes you use vinegar to catch your prey, und sometimes you use honey… or an apple peel.”

  That son of a bitch. After months of hurting her, he showed one act of kindness, and she did exactly what he said, just like when she was ten years old.

  “You know, Sam, the skin of an apple is just the trash. As are you. But these people want you to be more, so become that, and next time, I’ll even let you have a slice.”

  Finished with the apple, he tossed the core into a wastebasket. Then he left, his expression still smug.

  Alone now, she tightened her fists as much as she could under the effects of Dr. Klein’s drugs. Barbs of humiliation and degradation tore through her being. Her entire body shook with rage.

  Dr. Klein.

  She ground her teeth until she felt pain in her gums.

  One day, you will die.

  Chapter 14

  Enter the Oracle

  Date: Sunday, March 14, 1993

  Time: 8:00 p.m.

  Loca
tion: Evergreen Sanatorium

  General Population Block

  The evening the Knight Priory came, Sam awoke to a freakishly loud storm. The thunder and roar of the rain pounded around her, despite her certainty that she was underground. Sitting up, she pressed her ear to the wall. The rumblings outside rattled through the plumbing, creating a symphony that was both dark and foreboding.

  She swung her legs around and rested them on the floor. It was wet. The water must have been seeping inside. Rubbing her face, she muttered, “Something’s gonna go bad. I can feel it.”

  The door to her cell swung open, and in came Dick and Dock. “All right, ‘Princess,’” Dick said in a mocking tone. “Time to meet your people.” He grabbed her head as Dock took out a small case.

  “What’s in there?” she asked, eyeing it warily.

  “Relax, bitch,” Dock said. “It’s just contact lenses. You know, so your pupils don’t look dilated.”

  They were surprisingly gentle as they put the lenses in, coating them with saline solution and making sure they were in place. It felt like there were two bits of dirt in her eyes, but she did her best to ignore it. Then the orderlies helped her stand.

  “Good dog,” Dock said, patting her head.

  Better watch it, Dock, or you’ll pull back a stump one day.

  As she walked along the hallways, she passed a pair of guards carrying a female patient who was so thin and pale that she looked like she’d break at any moment. Sam gulped as she recognized her.

  “Meghan!”

  Meghan glanced up, her face bruised and her lips cracked. “Sam,” she said weakly before being dragged around a corner.

  “Meghan! Meghan!”

  Sam called out her name until she was in the treatment room.

  Except for the video camera, the room was empty. They led her to the center of the room and then left. For a moment, she was alone.

  Then the door opened, and Dr. Klein entered. “Good evening, Samantha.”

  Remembering the deal they had made, she smiled meekly. “Oh. Good evening, Dr. Klein.” All she had to do was endure this meeting, and she’d finally be safe.

  Dr. Klein smiled back. “Come in, everyone. As you can see, Samantha Castille is here, und not Sam of Spades. Your Princess is waiting.”

  A dozen or so figures entered. Each one was wearing a black, hooded cloak and a stylized voodoo mask. Each one bore an ornate gold pin on their cloak: the symbol of the Knight Priory of Saint Madonna.

  Despite being prepared for meeting them, she felt her heart rate spike. The last time she had seen those masks, they were hovering around her terrified five-year-old self as Vincent pushed the loa Marinette into her tiny body.

  As they gathered, she blinked a few times. The contacts were bothering her.

  When they were finally settled, one of the hooded figures spoke. It had a female voice with a cultured air. Sam was certain she had heard that voice before.

  “Good evening, Princess.”

  “We are glad to see you have chased your demons away,” a male with a thick Cajun accent said.

  “Before we celebrate, we must test her,” a third, a male with a deeper timbre, said. “We must make sure it’s really her.”

  Sam eyed the third figure, certain his voice was familiar, from either the radio or television. It was someone famous in New Orleans. But who?

  “Ladies and gentlemen, please.” Dr. Klein held up his hand. “I promise you that I’ve made sure that—”

  “Let Ignatius examine her,” the female interrupted. The others nodded as a general murmur of consent arose.

  One of the hooded figures removed his mask. It was Dr. Kindley. He approached and smiled in his trademark hollow fashion. “Good to see you again, Samantha. Would you kindly please step forward?”

  Blinking again as the left lens slid to the side and then back into place, she obeyed. Her feet slapped against the tile flooring as she moved directly under the light. It was uncomfortably warm.

  He leaned forward and pressed his hands to the sides of her head, squeezing against her temples just enough to cause discomfort. Then he whispered, “The rest of the Priory doesn’t believe in possession. I do. You will be useful to me back outside, so play along and I’ll have you released tonight. But don’t think for a moment I won’t throw you to the wolves if you fail.”

  She whispered back, “Please don’t let them hurt my babies.”

  “Then obey.”

  “What are you muttering to the Princess?” the female figure asked.

  Taking out a small pen light, he checked her eyes. “I am telling her to behave while I perform my tests.”

  She blinked a few more times. The lenses were becoming very irritating.

  “Contacts so you won’t look dilated,” he whispered. “Very sneaky.”

  Then he spoke out loud. “Pupils are normal.”

  Next, he took Sam’s pulse, then her temperature, and finally, her blood pressure. “Core temperature is normal. Heart rate and blood pressure as well.”

  Once more, he whispered, “I’m lying. You are showing all the physical signs of possession on a massive scale. What’s inside of you, I wonder?”

  Sam remained still, wondering how he knew all of this.

  “What’s going on, Ignatius?” the man with the deep timbre asked.

  From the back of the room, Dr. Klein anxiously watched.

  After patting her shoulder, Dr. Kindley turned around. “Everyone, it’s Samantha. All of the symptoms she displayed at the wharf while being Sam of Spades are gone. We can conclude that the Princess is clean.”

  “Can we trust that?” the man with the Cajun accent asked. “Is she cured?”

  “Ignatius is one of the few purebloods left,” the man with the deep voice said. “I trust him, and so should all of you.” Then, without another word, he sank to one knee.

  Sam’s mouth opened as, one by one, every hooded figure in the room, as well as Dr. Kindley, knelt before her. Soon, the only person standing was a very relieved-looking Dr. Klein.

  The man with the deep voice bowed his head. “Princess. Forgive us for putting you through this, but our predecessors did terrible things to you. They broke your mind and turned you into something unworthy of your name. But now we have come to take you home. The Castille family has always led the Knight Priory, and we believe that tradition should not be broken. You will finish your healing outside. We will groom you into a public figure fitting of our regime. And with your children, the Knight Priory will once again flourish. Please, Princess, lead the Knight Priory of Saint Madonna into the twenty-first century.”

  Her head spun as the rest of the Knight Priory repeated, “Princess, come with us.” The group seemed like a full-blown cult. What have I gotten myself into?

  Dr. Klein puffed out his chest. “I told you I could cure her. I will relish continuing her treatment back at—”

  “Shut your mouth, Lucius,” the hooded female said. “You have done your job, and now, Ignatius will take over as her physician. Remember, it is we who allowed you to claim her as your patient when Vincent was arrested, and it is we who have kept you connected and in power. You owe us. Never forget your place.”

  His face turned red. It was then that Sam noticed he was not wearing the ornate gold pin. Suddenly, all of his comments about “benefactors” made sense. He was trying to join the Knight Priory.

  But they never let him into the big boys’ club. How pathetic!

  The man with the deep timbre rose, as did everyone else. “Then it’s settled. We leave with the Princess and her children—”

  A series of heavy footfalls shut him up.

  From the crowd, a lone, hooded figure stepped forward. He was no bigger than the others, but somehow, he made everyone else seem small. Sam couldn’t get a read on him. It was like his very presence shut down her senses.

  He stopped right in front of her, staring at her. His mask was Baron Samedi’s, and behind it was a steely gaze that bore into her. He
r thoughts slipped back to when she was five years old. She remembered seeing that same mask and those same eyes on the night that Vincent had called Marinette down to possess her. They had remained in the back of the room, silent and stoic, watching the ritual and the chaos that followed.

  “I know you, don’t I?” she asked, blinking like mad as her eyes watered from the lenses. Try as she might, she couldn’t discern the face behind the mask.

  He said nothing, just headed back to the man with the deep voice and whispered.

  A moment later, the man with the deep voice said, “Are you sure, Oracle?”

  The Oracle nodded and walked back into the crowd.

  “Dr. Kindley. Dr. Klein. One more test, if you will indulge us.” The man with the deep timbre leaned over to the man with the Cajun accent and whispered.

  “What the hell? Are you sure, sir?”

  “Just do it.”

  “Lordy. All right, just a moment.” The man with the Cajun accent took a deep breath and walked up to Sam. “Sorry, Princess.”

  He slapped her across the face so hard her ears popped.

  A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. Her head rocked to the side as the pain exploded. Slowly, she looked back at the man before her.

  Then she saw red. How dare that little maggot!

  All of her feelings of indignation and anger hit a crescendo with that slap. Every injustice and indignity she had suffered—every insulting and degrading act—hit her at once. For one brief moment, even the haze of the medication burned away. “You impudent little prick! You dare strike a queen!”

  Tightening her fist, she punched him in the face as hard as she could.

  His face caved in, his mask wrapping inside of it. He flew back several feet, brain matter and blood spurting out along with bits of ceramic. He was dead before he hit the ground.

  Pandemonium ensued.

  The members of the Knight Priory swarmed, falling over each other as they scrambled out of the room. Several of the members surrounded the one with the deepened timbre, escorting him away. The one with a woman’s voice admonished Dr. Klein. “You liar! You told us the Princess would be ready by now! Why can’t you cure her? You are false, Lucius. You will never be a member now!”