Most of the people in the dungeon area were busy, not exactly up for discussion about a missing person. I refused to believe my sisterwas, in fact, missing. This was a game, a trick, like it always was. I hadn’t bothered to fill out a report this time.
But I figured the people in the lounge area might be willing to talk. I found my way over there and ordered a glass of wine. Two long couches sat on either side of a low table, covered in the drinks. There sat a group of people: A man in a top hat, a cane resting on his knee. A woman next to him, her legs beneath her like a lioness, with a broad collar covering her shoulders. A person in a leather vest. A slender man in plain black boxer briefs, a dog collar around his neck. A woman in a simple black dress. An empty seat between them.
I swallowed a dry breath. Okay, I thought. I can do this.
I took the seat and hid behind my glass. The group silenced, and I drank as much as I could in one chug without getting sick. These were normal people. They were just like me. It didn’t matter if they were dressed as if they had walked out of a fantasy, or that they were casually talking as the most depraved things occurred only a few feet away. Things I felt drawn to, like a magnet, a record stuck on repeat. Even if all of these people were tranquil, when I felt drunk with anticipation,thiswas normal.
“Hi,” the woman in the broad collar said.
“Hi,” I said.
“You new around here?” the man in the top hat asked.
“Here, like Club Hades, or like, Las Vegas?”
“Whichever,” she answered. A smirk drew across her face, spreading like a Cheshire cat.
“I just moved here,” I said. It was the truth. “First time both ways, I guess.”
“And do you go both ways?” she asked, tilting her head.
“Oh, leave the poor girl alone,” the top hat man said. The leather vested person cleared their throat. “How did you find us?”
“I’m looking for someone, actually,” I said. “She checked in on social media. Maybe you know her.” I went to reach for my phone and remembered it was stored in the locker. I pat my side.
“We generally discourage ‘checking in,’” the top hat man said.
“It was hell finding this place,” I muttered. A few of them chuckled. “Her name is Hazel.”
“Hazel,” the woman in the black dress said. She looked at the other woman. “Sure, we know her. You say you know Hazel?”
“She’s my sister,” I said. The look of shock waved through each of their faces as they exchanged looks.
“The last we heard, she was with Eric,” the man in boxer briefs said.
“Eric?” I asked.
The woman in the broad collar nodded. “Eric and his kind aren’t welcome here anymore.”
“What’s wrong with Eric?” I asked. “Does he have a last name?”
“Eric… He’s…”
“A sociopath,” the leather vested person said.
“More like a psychopath,” the black dress woman said.
“He had his membership revoked years ago.”
“But what’s more interesting is you,” the top hat man said. He inched closer to me, leaning an arm on my shoulder, pressing into me. I shrunk in my seat. “Why someone like you is looking for someone as demented as Hazel.”
“I told you,” I said. “She’s my sister.”
“Hazel never mentioned a sister,” the broad collared woman said. Their questions were circling me like prey. “You know, come to think of it, Hazel never mentioned any family.”
“Just like she didn’t mention her loyalty to Eric,” the top hat man said.
“Yeah. Like when she didn’t mention that she gave my best friend that bad snow,” the boxer brief man said.
