Semblance

by Logan Patricks

  Shadow seemed distraught by the carnage. He had known some of these men personally.

  It was Lincoln who consoled him, pointing out that for every one of Shadow’s guards that fell, there were three killers who lay dead next to them. They had whittled away a death squad of at least thirty down to eight, giving up their lives to increase our chances of survival. In the end, they did their jobs and did them well.

  We left the condo, and the massacre.

  Shadow remained silent, his eyes focused on the road, navigating the Aston Martin through the city’s highway, guided by the glow of the midnight lights.

  “Her kidnapping makes no sense,” Lincoln stated all of a sudden. “There’s no ransom note, nor instructions for her safe return. Why give us her finger with no demands?”

  “Lucien’s sending us a message,” Shadow said grimly. “He wants us to be afraid of him. He wants us to see him as a genuine threat.”

  Lincoln sat back in his seat and cursed. Tensions were high and we were all emotionally drained, which made for an uneasy car ride.

  We finally pulled up to the steel gates of the storage facility. It had started to pour; heavy tears from the sky that reflected my own mood.

  The security guard on duty recognized Shadow and opened the gate for us without a word.

  “Why would Lucien choose a storage facility that you own as a meeting place?” I asked, puzzled.

  “A lot of my personal businesses are kept secret from the rest of the society. I’m sure Lincoln has his own establishments kept off the records as well.”

  It took a moment for Lincoln to clue in on the conversation. He was too busy torturing himself by staring at Calisto’s severed finger.

  “Lincoln?” I tried reaching out to him, concerned for his sanity.

  He looked up from the box and its horrific contents and pulled a Jekyll and Hyde, his morose demeanor morphing into a cheerful one. “If anyone ever wants a complimentary manicure and shellac that’s out of this world, let me know,” he said, putting the box away.

  “Why keep all these businesses a secret?” I asked.

  “Two reasons; the first being that people within the Midnight Society are nosy and love measuring their wealth against each other,” Lincoln explained. “Consider it a ‘my dick is bigger than yours syndrome.’ It’s childish, really. If people had the ability to be content with what they already have, wouldn’t this world be such a happier place?”

  “Tell that to the woman who just heard about the latest designer handbag from Burberry,” I said.

  “For us to keep a set of our own businesses off the record allows everyone to speculate each other’s true worth. What’s on paper will never be a true reflection of our net income. This removes the entire measuring our dicks…” Lincoln paused as he casted me a quick glance, “…or vaginas syndrome.”

  “I appreciate your effort to be politically correct in your analogy,” I mused. “Though believe it or not, unlike men, girls don’t tend to get jealous over the size of our vajayjays.”

  Lincoln ignored my comment and continued. “The second reason we hide our businesses is that some of us tend to deal in some shadier dealings and we need to launder the money coming through with secret side businesses.”

  “Shady dealings as in knock off sunglasses and black market electronics?” I speculated.

  “Not exactly. It’s better off you didn’t know,” Shadow said.

  I turned to Shadow, surprised. “Tell me you’re joking.”

  “Sorry,” he said, “But I have no punch line for you.”

  “You’re telling me my boyfriend is a criminal?”

  “In his defense, we’re all criminals,” Lincoln said. “I have my illegal business dealings but I also own one of the most elite Montessori daycares in the country. I try to balance out the bad with the good; give myself a neutral karma rating.”

  “That doesn’t make you good,” I said. “A crack dealing Mary Poppins is still a criminal, no matter how many spoonfuls of sugar she shoves down a whiny kid’s mouth.”

  “I’m not disagreeing with you Aria,” Shadow said. “But as I said, it’s better if you didn’t know.”

  “Great, my lover is the Godfather,” I sighed.

  “Do you regret being with me?” Shadow asked.

  I shook my head without hesitation. “I love you,” I replied. “Although I can’t say when I was a little girl, I had dreams of sleeping with Lex Luthor.”

  “I’m not bald,” Shadow pointed out.

  “You get the idea.”

  The Aston Martin pulled up to unit thirty-seven and the three of us filed out of the car and into the rain. I stood there and allowed every droplet of water to wash over my body.

  I wanted to feel cleansed.

  “Here goes,” Shadow said, walking over to the storage unit. “Aria, stay back,” he said, his gun in one hand while the other punched the access code into the security key pad.

  A green light indicated that the entry was accepted and slowly, the heavy garage doors to the storage unit began to open.

  The world froze all around us as we waited for the doors to open, and when they finally did, I was horrified by the nightmare that was waiting for us inside.

  Chapter Thirty

  In the span of a few days, my life was flipped upside down.

  I went from making passionate love with Shadow in the breathtaking kingdom of Cambodia to standing in the rain, staring at the corpse of a man, lying on a table.

  “It’s Lucien,” Lincoln said, his eyes wide. “What the fuck is going on?”

  At the centre of the room, a white light illuminated Lucien’s pale body lying on a black marble table. Soft purple petals surrounded him, creating a sickly yet beautiful display, as if his corpse was the centerpiece of some twisted artistic expression. Resting at his feet was an envelope.

  Meanwhile, the entire storage facility had been converted to a cold room with several heavy-duty air conditioners blasting frigid air throughout the unit, no doubt to preserve the body for when we found it.

  What really drew my attention was the black tattoo of a goat’s head, beautifully drawn onto his chest.

  Was this referencing a scapegoat?

  “How did he die?” I asked, shivering. I was freezing. The dampness of my clothes from the rain didn’t help either as I felt the chill seep into my bones.

  Shadow examined the body and shook his head. “There’s no wound,” he said, the vapors from his breath hanging in the air like smoke. He didn’t seem bothered by the cold. “No ligatures or bruises either. My guess is either suffocation or poison.”

  Shadow walked over to the envelope, picked it up and pulled out the contents inside. It was a single white card.

  “What is it?” Lincoln asked.

  “It’s an invitation,” Shadow replied, showing us the card, “Dated for tonight.”

  “Come and play at Midnight,” I read aloud. Following the message was a fiery logo that I didn’t recognize. I was baffled. “Come play where? What’s with all these cryptic messages?”

  “They want us to come to the Inferno,” Shadow said.

  “A gambler’s den inspired by Satan himself,” Lincoln commented. He stared at Lucien’s body for a moment, before turning away in disgust. “I can’t say I ever liked the guy, but he didn’t deserve this. We were chasing the wrong person all this time.”

  “Which leaves us with the question, who the hell is orchestrating all of this?” Shadow asked.

  “Are you considering going to the Inferno?” I asked. “Not to dive right into a proverbial cliché, but I think it’s a trap.”

  “What other choice do we have?” Shadow asked. “Calisto is still missing and in the hands of a complete psychopath. The only chance we have to get her is to play his game and win.”

  “Sink or swim it is then,” Lincoln agreed. “Should we contact the rest of the Midnight Society and let them know what we’re up to?”

  “They’re already messaging me,” Sha
dow said as he drew his cellphone from his pocket. “All of them at once from the looks of it.”

  I saw the look of dread on his face as he scanned the messages on his phone. Something was wrong.

  “Shadow, what is it?” I asked.

  He turned the screen of his phone towards us so we could both see. It was the images of Brevin West, James Takeshi, and Donald Huff. They were all bound, and gagged—but still alive. The look of fear in all their eyes was unmistakable.

  “For fuck’s sake,” Lincoln said, shaking his head. “The fucker has everyone else.”

  Shadow’s phone buzzed again. The image this time showed Calisto--wearing an elegant white evening gown--tied to a stone table like a sacrificial victim. Standing over her was the tall figure of a man concealed by a black cloak, reminiscent of an executioner from medieval times. His face was hidden behind a white porcelain mask, red tears dripping down the sides of it symbolizing blood. I shivered upon first glance of this sadistic man.

  There was an additional caption to go along with this image.

  “Can you save her before I kill her, like I did your parents?”

  Shadow’s face changed from a look of concern to one of burning hatred. He stared at the image, his knuckles white from gripping the phone too tightly.

  “Shadow, are you okay?” I asked.

  He turned to me.

  “I’m going to kill him. Tonight, I’ll find whoever did this to my family and I’m going to crush his skull with my bare hands.”

  I suddenly felt my cellphone vibrate as well. I checked the message and was horrified to see an image of Justin, blindfolded, and tied to a pole. Beneath his feet was a pile of kinder.

  Save him or watch him burn, was the text that followed, sent by an unknown caller.

  “They have Justin,” I became hysterical. “Oh god, they took Justin! He has nothing to do with any of this. Oh shit, shit, shit.”

  I was panicking and it took Shadow’s strong embrace to calm me down.

  “He has everyone,” Shadow said. “I promise you Aria, we’ll free them, and after we do, I’ll find everyone responsible and I’ll kill them all.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  When we pulled up to the entrance of the Inferno hotel, the man waiting for us was well dressed—slim cut tuxedo, white gloves, and ink black shoes. His face however was crimson with paint, transforming his visage into something demonic.

  He greeted us with a razorblade smile.

  “Welcome to the Inferno,” he said, gesturing towards the brightly lit entrance of the hotel. From outside, you couldn’t tell the hotel was still under construction, aside from the upper floors of the high rise building, which were still a skeletal frame of support beams and concrete.

  Shadow wasted no time attacking the man, slamming him against the outer brick wall. “Where are my sister and the others?” He pulled a gun from behind his back and jammed it under the demon-faced man’s chin. “Answer me now or I’m painting the veranda of my hotel with your brain splatter.”

  “They’re inside,” the man replied calmly, ignoring the threat of the gun. “I assure you, they’re all safe and unharmed.”

  “Unharmed?” Lincoln exploded, pulling out the box and opening it, revealing Calisto’s severed finger inside. “You call this fucking unharmed?”

  “If they can still breathe on their own accord, then yes, I’d say they’re in good shape,” he replied.

  “Who are you people?” Shadow spat, “And what do you want?”

  “I’m nobody,” he replied. “However, I do work for somebody. You’ll find out who that is inside.”

  “Give me one reason I shouldn’t shoot you in the face right now,” Shadow threatened.

  “Any harm that comes to me or any of the employees inside will result in the immediate termination of one of your friends, chosen at random.”

  Shadow released his grip on the man and let his gun drop to his side. “You’re a smug piece of shit.”

  “Guilty as charged. Now, if you have your temper under control, the three of you may enter.”

  The explosive sound of gunfire startled me. The smug man grabbed his kneecap, which was now a bloody mess, and crumpled to the floor screaming.

  “You asshole!” he cried as tears smeared the makeup on his face, “You fucking asshole!”

  “What are you whining about?” Lincoln asked, the gun in his hand still smoking. “You can still breathe on your own accord. According to your definition, you’re not harmed.”

  We entered into the hotel, leaving the wounded man screaming outside.

  Inside, a petite woman with long flowing hair the color of plums greeted us. She was dressed in a provocative white-laced night gown. She was completely bare underneath.

  “Welcome,” she said with a seductive smile as she walked over to Shadow and placed her hands firmly against his chest. “You feel so warm.”

  “You rotten-crotched slut,” I blurted out loud.

  “Sticks and stones Ms. Valencia,” she said, flashing me a wide grin. What was with these people? Was there some requirement to be a smug piece of crap in order to work here?

  I sent telepathic signals to Lincoln to shoot her in the kneecaps as well, but alas, no such luck. Instead, I contemplated rearranging her face with the heel of my Jimmy Choos.

  My teeth ground together with the force of tectonic plates shifting as I watched the little temptress reach up to her tip toes and plant a gentle kiss on Shadow’s lips who—much to my relief—made no effort to return the favor.

  “Don’t kiss me again,” Shadow said.

  “Why?” the temptress asked. “Afraid to experience a real woman while your precious not-so-Golden Virgin is around?”

  “No,” Shadow replied. “I have no idea where your lips have been, but I assume nowhere clean.”

  Suddenly her slutty disposition melted away into a sour demeanor.

  “Homo,” she stated coldly.

  “As an advocate of equality, I’m going to call you an ignorant wench,” Lincoln said, pointing his gun at her. “I must also state that I’m equally opportune in blasting kneecaps as well. I’m sure you can still hear your co-worker screaming outside. Unless your employer offers an outstanding physical therapy benefits package, I advise you get to the point and take us to our friends.”

  I turned to Lincoln and grinned. “You read my mind.”

  “Follow me,” she muttered as she began leading us down a long red velvet-inspired hallway.

  After minutes of walking through a series of elegant corridors, I was curious of our destination. “Where is she leading us?” I asked.

  “It looks to be the gambling suites,” Shadow replied. “It’s where all the private card games are held.”

  Eventually we stopped in front of double doors.

  “Inside,” the slut said.

  Shadow gave her a suspicious glance.

  “Standing here won’t help your friends,” she said.

  “Sink or swim,” Lincoln whispered, pushing open the doors.

  It was a spine tingling scene, reminiscent of Shadow’s party. Surrounding us were people wearing masks, similar to the ones I saw before. In fact, I even recognized some of the people in the crowd.

  At the centre of the room were Donald Huff, Brevin West, and James Takeshi; still in their business suits, gagged, and tied to chairs. Luckily they were still alive.

  They were situated around a circular table where at the centre were four silver-colored six-shooter pistols. Each one was well polished and glowed with a brilliant luster underneath the overhead lights. Behind them stood a woman in a black cocktail dress, wearing an owl’s mask. She held a giant mallet, one that could be used to strike a large gong that was beside her.

  “What the hell is this?” Shadow asked.

  Silence from the crowd.

  “Answer my question,” Shadow demanded. “What’s going on here? And where’s Calisto?”

  Out of the mass of onlookers emerged the man cloaked in bl
ack, the same individual that was seen hovering over Calisto in the image sent to Shadow’s phone.

  “If you want to save your friends, you’ll have to gamble,” the man said, his baritone voice sounding filtered through a voice scrambler.

  Both Shadow and Lincoln drew their guns on him.

  “Who are you?” Shadow asked.

  “You may call me Sinister,” the cloaked man replied.

  “Did you kill my parents?”

  Sinister unleashed a bone-rattling laugh. “You’re still fixated on the past, are you?”

  “You fucking slashed their throats,” Shadow stated.

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me why you did it,” Shadow demanded, taking a step forward.

  “Later Shadow, later. First let’s see if you can save your friends.”

  “How about I shoot you in the neck instead,” Shadow threatened, his gun still pointed towards Sinister.

  “An eye-for-an-eye,” Sinister said. Five men emerged from the crowd of onlookers, all in demon face paint, similar to the man who Lincoln had shot. “You may end my life with a bullet, but I promise you that once I die, none of you will be left standing either, including your precious love, the Golden Virgin.”

  Shadow reluctantly lowered his weapon, his face a mask of anger.

  “Take their guns,” Sinister ordered.

  The masked demons obeyed and began scouring both Lincoln and Shadow for their weapons. When it was done and their guns were stripped away, Sinister turned to Shadow. “You always were easily intimidated. I guess her pussy must have some intoxicating power over you. For twenty years you tried to find me, and now that you have, you’re willing to let the sweet nectar of revenge escape your lips without so much as a taste. Tell me, does the bitch’s snatch taste that much better?”

  “Fuck you,” Shadow cursed.

  “Who are you?” Lincoln asked. “You seem to know us.”

  Sinister didn’t reply. Instead he turned his attention to the three captives at the table. “Let’s try saving your friends now, shall we? Who will play?”