The Midnight Order

by Christopher Fulbright

  “Okay.”

  “Tell me you’re ready for this. The Midnight Order, it’s…serious. You need to really want a change, and be absolutely sure that you are too far gone to elicit a change yourself.”

  “I’m ready, Deana. And I think you know that I want it…need it. At this point I…” Tears stung Nikki’s eyes and now she wasn’t afraid to hide them. She took off her sunglasses and looked her friend in the eyes. “I know what I need to do, Deana. And yet, every day, I still crave what destroys me. I talk to myself rationally, understanding the truth, and even as I do I still reach for the bottle, the pills, the phone, hoping for sex. I-I’m sick, Deana. I don’t know what to do. I want to stop it, but I can’t. I don’t know how. I don’t know the first goddamn thing.”

  Nikki sank her head in her hands. Deana’s hand found hers and held it tenderly.

  “Good,” Deana said softly. “Because you can’t go and do what I’m suggesting and still come back the same person. I guarantee it. You’ll be changed, completely.”

  “Sorry. Jesus.” Nikki sniffed and dabbed her eyes with a napkin.

  “No need to be sorry, Nik. I’m glad to see it actually. It means you’re really there.”

  Nikki laughed bitterly. “In hell?”

  “At the turning point, ready for this step.”

  “What is this Midnight Order anyway? Why so cryptic?”

  “You won’t believe me until you’re there. Until you’ve met them…and seen it.”

  Deana leaned forward over the street café table. Her face was serious, expression grave.

  “And, believe me, Nikki, you better really want this. Because once it starts, there’s no going back.” Deana’s eyes were strange, and again Nikki was struck by that sense of her being hollowed out, that something about her was not right.

  Nikki blinked, tried to process the oppression she was feeling just now.

  “Okay,” she managed.

  Deana hovered a moment longer. Then she let the spell break, and it was as if she was just another California soccer mom again, smiling kindly at her friend, no concern beyond what she’d feed the kids for dinner.

  “Good,” Deana said, “because I already told them you’re coming.”

  3

  A week later she’d flown to the bitterly cold Northeast coast and was leaning over the rail of a private ferry on her way to Blackrock Island. The ferry was so small it didn’t take cars, only passengers. On this occasion there was only one passenger other than herself.

  A man stood across the boat dressed in a dark pea coat, collar flipped up against the winds. He spent most of the ride admiring the view as they rode across the bay, but he finally made his way over to her.

  Nikki leaned with her forearms across the rails, staring off into the aging sunset. He came up beside her. She was aware of his size. Tall, thick shouldered. A powerful presence. Dusk crept toward them across the water, as if drawn to him.

  “Beautiful,” he said.

  “If you like dark and wet.”

  “I like the ocean.”

  “It’s not California.”

  “Nope, whole other coast up this way. Rocky cliffs, colder and meaner.”

  A few silent moments passed between them. The hum of the ferry’s motor vibrated through the soles of her boots.

  “Weather, that is.”

  “Huh?” she said.

  He held out his hand. “Adam Ross,” he said.

  She looked at his hand, looked at his face, then shook his hand quickly and didn’t make an invitation out of it. The residual touch of his hand in hers stirred things inside her. She folded her arms on the rail again and stared across the water at the approaching outline of the island. He leaned on the rail next to her.

  “Looks like we’re headed to the same place.”

  She gave him a pressed smile and looked him over with a raised eyebrow. He had dark hair in a nice style slightly ruffled by the wind, angled features that spoke of power, and intense eyes that sized up the world before him like a general forging ahead into battle. A dim shadow of whiskers shaded the lower half of his face. He wore a small, curious amulet around his neck, a tiger’s-eye stone, part amber, part black. He glanced over at her and those eyes of his made her heart do a rabbit-thump before she looked away.

  Don’t even think about it.

  But if she had to be stuck on an island with someone, she could have done a hell of a lot worse.

  She felt that old familiar stirring in her loins that no amount of sex could make go away. At the same time she felt that old heart-sickness knowing it was part of why she was here. Part of what she came to leave behind.

  He gave her a smile in return, but coldness lingered in those intense and troubled eyes. No doubt, he came to leave behind something of his own.

  He nodded and pointed with a flick of his wrist.

  “We’re here.”

  Blackrock Island rose as a jagged horizon line before them, growing larger at their approach. It was a small mountain with enough flatland around it for some forest growth between its base and the shore. Nestled in a ravine surrounded by tall evergreens was a manse that looked like a small castle. The structure looked medieval with parapets and spires at each corner. Set farther back was the main part of the structure—a tower that stood two stories higher than the rest of the manor, Gothic windows with golden inner fires that glowed against the oncoming night.

  As they came into the cove of the secluded island, Nikki was surprised to see how modern the dock was. A golf cart drove down a gravel road, headlights coming to meet them as they disembarked.

  Night settled around them as the ferry drifted into dock. This close the island seemed small and the castle seemed huge. The structure towered above all, darkly beautiful, sinister.

  I hope to God I’m doing the right thing.

  Somehow invoking God’s name in this place seemed a betrayal to its dark masters.

  4

  A brilliant moon shone down as Adam offered to help Nikki with her luggage. She smiled but declined, not making too much eye contact. She was polite but perfunctory, focused on her purpose. She’d managed not to pack any alcohol (something for which she already kicked herself), so she’d managed to defeat that unhealthy addiction for now, but she had no control at all over who came to stay at this place with her, men or otherwise. Otherwise would have been better, but she’d just have to keep to herself. I’m not going to fuck this up was her new mantra. And looking too long at Adam Ross would get both of them into a whole lot of trouble.

  Once moored at the pier, the ferry master helped them down the ramp with their luggage. A pleasant gray-haired woman was driving the golf cart. She introduced herself as Eleanor Masterson while a quiet older man took their bags and loaded them on the cart’s iron grate, which served as a luggage carrier. Adam climbed in next to Nikki in a small backseat where she did her damnedest not to heed the lusty fire that raged in her blood at being seated so close to him.

  She looked out over the black ocean, the layer of starlit space that floated above it a glittering mantle of night.

  They rode up a winding gravel road through the castle gates. The huge driveway encircled a fountain with some cryptic statue that looked like a tentacled creature as its centerpiece. The older man hopped out and promptly grabbed their bags. They climbed out, too. The elderly woman smiled and bid them enter the massive front doors.

  “Welcome to Masterson Castle. Please make yourselves at home.”

  They walked into a lavish entry. High Gothic arches made it a stunning sight. Tapestries adorned the walls, antique suits of armor and weaponry made the transition back in time complete. A deep red carpet led the way in. There were several doors off the entry hall, and Miss Masterson guided them through one on the left into a large but cozy parlor. Despite the chill night, the parlor was warm. A fire blazed in a massive fireplace, heating the stone walls. Ornately carved wooden divan and chairs with red velvet cushions were arranged in a semicircle. Tall bookcas
es of thick, dark wood lined one wall. Two statues of medieval figures joined them, holding what looked like real axes.

  Nikki was taking in the surroundings with surreal awe, not sure if she’d been transported back in time to some imperial kingdom or a mad scientist’s castle, when Adam said: “Very impressive.”

  Eleanor Masterson smiled. “It was my great-grandfather’s life’s work. Despite its appearances, the castle is only about one hundred and fifty years old.”

  “Still very regal. Breathtaking.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled. “His spirit abides.”

  Nikki felt a sudden flash of cold sweats come over her. Fatigue, which had been creeping up on her during the ferry ride, now sunk its hooks deep. She felt nauseous. It occurred to her that she needed to eat, but all she wanted to do was lie down.

  “Are you okay?” Adam looked at her with concern.

  “I…I’m sorry. I’m not feeling well.” She looked at Miss Masterson. “Is there a place to lie down?”

  “Yes, dear. No problem at all. You’ll need your rest for later, anyway. You should both know we’ll begin the process right away. You’ll meet the others and convene for everyone’s treatment tonight at midnight.”

  Nikki nodded, only hearing half of what the woman said.

  “Isaac,” she said to the older man with their bags. “Would you and Madsen please see Miss Lane to her room?”

  “Can I help you along—?” Adam started toward her, seeing she was unstable.

  “No,” Nikki snapped. Then, softening her voice, “Sorry, just…no. I can make it.”

  Isaac nodded and indicated Nikki should follow him. A young man entered the room and grabbed her bags.

  Rising above the parlor was a stone staircase that followed the curve of the inner wall. Nikki guessed it led up into the main tower.

  Isaac led her upstairs. She dreaded the climb, thought again about taking Adam’s offer to help, but really didn’t want anything to do with anyone right now.

  As soon as they reached her bedchamber, Isaac opened the door to the dark room and leaned inside to light a lantern. It was all she could do to mumble thanks to Isaac and the young man who carried her bags. As soon as they left the room, she fell back on the bed.

  She closed her eyes. Her head swam. The feelings came and went along with a bout of nausea, and she suddenly felt very heavy.

  She wanted a drink.

  Every cell in her body craved alcohol. She closed her eyes. The sweats passed, or at least let up a bit in the coolness of the room. She blinked at the surroundings.

  There was everything one might expect from a bedchamber in a castle. Canopied bed, a heavy oak dresser, a vanity. No running water or wet bar, but there was a large bowl of water atop a dry sink, next to some fresh towels. She stripped off her coat and went to the water, splashing some on her face.

  Nikki breathed deep, wound tight with the anxiety of everything she was here to do. She exhaled and tried to release just a bit of it. She took a cool towel back to the bed and sat down on its edge. She caught a glimpse of herself in a corner of the vanity mirror and looked quickly away, but then she forced herself to look.

  Most people saw her as a whore. A good set of curves and great legs that looked even better in the air. But she saw the lines of years, the toll of gravity and age, saw deep inside to the scars life had left on her soul, and she felt very much like a woman who’d given herself over to the things that had used her up. She felt dry…crushed, empty.

  Nikki thought back to that last time she was on Delly’s set, when she’d been so drunk she couldn’t even stay balanced on her hands and knees. What she remembered of it came back in foggy details. He called a cab and sent her home in a fury. She’d screamed at him and told him to fuck off, told him she was a goddamn queen in this business, and she’d be working the next day, so keep your fucking cab, I’ll drive myself. And then she proceeded to drive across the valley to her house in Glendale in a solid drunken blackout. The next day she’d almost drank herself to death ... and when Tonya found her on the back porch…

  I wanted to die.

  It came back to her in semi-corporeal memories flashing by in quick succession. All her train-wreck relationships, all the way back to her pedophile, child-molesting, drunk of a father, her tramp mother, who never did any good for anyone, and things never got much better from there. Nikki liked to think it had. She liked to look back and say fuck them both, because at the height of her popularity in the business, she was on top of the world and they were nobodies. She was a self-made woman, she’d done it on her own merits, so she counted the money and tried not to think about much else for a long time, because she was smarter than that.

  For some in the business, achieving what Nikki had achieved would have been their golden moment, but even then Nikki always felt like she had been meant for something greater. Even back when she was just a girl, hiding from her father, clutching her favorite stuffed Ella Dog, closing her eyes to the world and letting the dreams take her away. Everything she’d done to herself, to others, and now…the worst memory of all, of the one man who tried, really tried, to love her. She had been his broken bird, and he had been her shining knight. Nolan was the man who’d seemed to come straight out of those desperate childhood dreams. She’d almost had it all, they’d almost had it all, together, and almost left all of the toughness behind when…

  Nikki sobbed. It hit her deep and dug into her like hooks. Sorrow pulled at her aching wounds. She held her face in her hands. She felt like puking, and dying, and goddamn it she wanted a fucking drink!

  She tried to pull herself together. Her vision blurred with tears and she wiped them harshly away. She set her jaw, tried to focus on herself in that mirror across the room.

  That’s when she heard it.

  It was a quiet sound, so quiet she held her breath to listen.

  A dragging…or slow shuffling?

  It came from the other side of the bed, under the window.

  Nikki stood slowly and turned. Her guts were tight. She took a deep breath and tried to fend off the nausea.

  The window was open for some reason. The curtain fluttered in the island breeze. She took a step toward it, but once she was past the bed, something stopped her cold. Movement on the floor, near the side of the bed.

  She caught her breath and stepped back. A dark shape about the size of a rat dragged itself across the stone floor.

  When she saw what it really was, she covered her mouth. She gasped and backed away.

  “Oh my god.”

  A small bluish fetus crawled toward her. Its arms were twisted, barely strong enough to pull it along. Its head was larger than its body, its limbs malformed…it dragged a torn and leaking umbilical cord like a black vein behind it. Its wet skin scuffed across the floor, dragged onto the rug in the center of the room.

  The eyes in the baby’s head were black, shining, but full of emotion. Full of abandon and hurt.

  “Momma,” it said, barely enunciating. “Momma…”

  “No!” she screamed. “NO!”

  She whirled and ran for the door, but in her state of illness she stumbled and fell. The baby (her baby) crawled closer.

  Nikki scrambled to get to her feet, but her knees were too weak, legs trembling. Instead, she crab-walked backward, away from the crawling horror.

  Still it came onward, slow but relentless. Despite the absolute gut-wrenching awfulness of the baby—the fetus—here before her, in this impossible form, malformed and mottled blue and purple, part of her wanted to reach out for it, to cry for it and wish it were true…that her baby really lived, even in this wretched form.

  “Noooo...” The word trailed off into an anguished growl in her throat and tears blurred her vision.

  The baby disappeared in a fog.

  The door to her room crashed open.

  Adam Ross rushed inside. He went to her on the floor and pulled her into his arms.

  “What is it? What’s the matter?” Then he h
eld her at arm’s length and studied her. He looked around the room.

  Nikki collapsed against him and started bawling. He held her.

  “It’s dead, it’s dead, it’s dead…” she cried.

  He patted her on the back, tentatively at first, then more reassuring.

  It took her several moments to recover. When she did, she looked around the room.

  The baby was gone. The window was closed.

  “I-I don’t understand.”

  “Let me help you to the bed.”

  Adam lifted her to her feet and took her to the edge of the bed. He started to use the damp towel on her forehead but she took it from him and looked around, confused. Then she took a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m losing my mind.”

  5

  “Will you be okay?”

  Nikki had calmed down. Adam stayed with her until she’d relaxed. The lantern burned low but gave a comfortable glow, accentuating the sharp angles of his face. She didn’t explain what she had seen, or hallucinated. He didn’t ask her to. Now that she was calm, he stood to leave.

  “Yes. I think so.” She smiled up at him, knowing she looked like a wreck. “Thank you.”

  “No problem.” Adam opened the door to leave.

  Both of them took a quick intake of breath.

  Isaac was standing at the door, his hand poised to knock.

  “Pardon me, Master Ross,” he said. His voice was thick with age and regret. “Miss Masterson sent me around to all of the visitors of the manor. All need to be present at 11:30 sharp, in the main parlor.”

  “Who’s ‘all’?” Adam asked.

  “There are three others, five in all, including yourselves.”

  “I see.”

  Watching Adam interact with Isaac, Nikki wondered again why Adam was here. What did he hope to leave behind?

  “There are dark blue robes in each of your closets. The treatment requires that everyone dress in the robes without undergarments. There is a brief preparation, and then the proceedings will commence in a lower chamber of the castle at midnight.”