“I… I just moved here.” It never got any easier to say that. It always separated you from the others. An outsider. And here, where you needed a password, it wasn’t any better. I held out a hand. “I’m Heather. I’m looking for Hazel.”
“Hazel?” She tilted her head, staring at my outstretched hand. For being kind enough to grant me entrance, it was strange that she refused to shake hands. “Hazel hasn’t been around these parts in quite some time.”
“But you know her?” I perked up. “My sister?”
“She’s been around before,” she said, her eyes narrowing. “You don’t look like Hazel.”
While Hazel had shoulder-length platinum blond hair, I had coffee-colored hair that covered my chest. My shoulders were bronzed, like Hazel’s, but I had tan lines from long hikes in the parks. Hazel’s skin was flawless, evenly colored. But we had the same turquoise eyes.
“We share blood,” I said. As if I needed proof.
The woman shrugged and motioned towards a door. “Listen. You’ll hear her name. But I’d be careful about what you say. Our group is wary of outsiders.” You don’t say? I thought. Her eyes trailed me up and down. “You have anything else to wear?”
A woman was being zipped into head-to-toe latex behind us. It was hard not to stare. I looked down at my clothes. Jeans and a hoodie weren’t exactly what this crowd was going for. I shook my head.
She opened a locker and pulled out a sheer black dress. “Here,” she said. “Keep it.” I blinked. This was mesh, completely see-through. You’d be able to seeeverything. Did she think I could wear that?
The woman slinked towards the door, and I stared. She was perfect. She would look like a gothic angel in the mesh dress. Not me. I guess it was flattering that she assumed I could pull it off.
I checked my phone again, trying to glean it for clues.
Find me in the afterglow.The second message:This isn’t what you think it is.Then: nothing.
I hadn’t thought anything of the first message—Hazel was like that, always making a scene, a way to rebel against our lack of home—but the second message, sent a few days later, had made me pause. I can’t explain why, but it made me think about our parents. That maybe Hazel found the truth. We had both been searching for answers for so long, about what had happened to us, and to them. Maybe it meant that she had found what really happened to them, or had found something better, a home.
Whatever it was, she was right. The truth wasneverwhat you thought it was. But it was always better to know that truth.
I emailed her back, but as usual, she didn’t respond. Then she disappeared from social media completely. No digital footprint. No trail of crumbs. Her last check-in had been in Las Vegas. She had attended an event by the Afterglow.
A hand landed on my shoulder. “No phones,” the bouncer barked.
I stowed it quickly in my backpack. “Sorry,” I mumbled.
He gestured at the lockers. “Use ‘em,” he said. “But no phones.”
I put my backpack in the locker, then clutched the dress. Even if I was facing the wall, I could feel the people around me dressing down and up again, with such ease. From large coats to outfits I had only seen in pictures. Shiny latex. Rubber. Leather. Corsets sinched up the back. And here I was, a black sheep in street clothes. The see-through mesh ensemble draped over my fingers, thinner than a piece of paper.
I opened my hoodie and pulled the shirt away from my body. I was wearing a black bra and panties. At least that counted for something.
“You owe me one,” I muttered to myself, as if Hazel could hear me.
Once I was incognito, I entered the same door the woman had taken, into a warehouse—with beams and fixtures and ropes hanging from the ceiling, wound around men and women, others in cages, and others still roaming the maze of equipment. A man in a leather chair smoked a cigar, his feet resting on the back of a woman as if she were his ottoman. In another corner, the woman in head-to-toe latex was whipping an enormous, hulk of a man wearing nothing but a tutu.
I was in a dungeon. A damn s&m dungeon.
How had Hazel ended up here? Better yet, what had taken Hazel away from here?
A pair of tiny, gentle hands moved me forward. I turned to apologize and found the owner of the hands—a young woman in cat ears—wandering off. The noise of the room was vibrant, a cascading echo of moans, whimpers, cries, and…normal conversation? I looked around, trying to find those voices. To the far left, there was a lounge, with tufted chairs, long-necked bartenders behind a counter, and elegant men and women perched on the seats. They were talking. As if this was a day at the country club.
How was it that a discussion between adults was the most surprising thing in the middle of a dungeon?
First, I would explore, then I would ask questions. I let my eyes lead the way, taking me deeper into the labyrinth. It was almost like seeing so much that you could see nothing at all. More metal and leather and human flesh than anyone could imagine from the ambiguous exterior.
But then I stopped, transfixed. A couple in a nearly private alcove. The man sitting in a deep chair, one hand holding the end of a long metal chain. The links led to a woman’s neck, her body bare, her ass spattered pink. She kneeled beside him. He stroked her cheek, a delicate finger moving along her skin, like she was his precious doll. A toy used for pleasure, for pain. He pulled the chain, bringing her closer to him. She rested her head on his knee, her eyes lowered in serenity. You could tell she felt safe. Protected. Loved.Home.
Then the two of them looked at me. I hadn’t realized I was staring. I turned away.
Hazel. I was here for Hazel.
