Page 102 of Semblance

“Right,” the guard replied. “Shoot first and then hide the body.”

As we entered into the elevator, I couldn’t help but ask, “Was he serious about the entire shoot first thing?”

“During times of war, better safe than sorry,” Lincoln replied.

When we arrived at the penthouse, there were two more guards waiting by the entrance to Calisto’s condo. He pushed open the door for us, allowing us to enter.

To say things looked “strange” was an understatement.

I felt I had just stepped onto the set of a satanic cult movie.

Melted flesh-colored candles littered the room, burned right down to the stub. The wax bubbled and dried around the edges, forming grotesque blob shapes.

At the centre of the condo was the statue of a nude man, its body desecrated in dried blood and thorns. However the head was replaced with that of a pig’s. Meanwhile, all along the square perimeter of the room were crude looking wooden carvings of animal heads mounted on poles, reminiscent of decapitated heads on a spike.

Whoever did this included most of old MacDonald’s farmyard—dogs, cats, goats, rams, bulls, and roosters. Oddly enough, it was only the male counterparts of these animals.

“Now this is creepy,” Lincoln said, his eyes fixed on the statue with the pig’s head. “Lucien is one twisted fuck.”

“What the hell is the purpose of all of this?” I asked.

“If there’s a message to be had here, they’ve completely lost me,” Lincoln said, walking over to the animal heads and inspecting them. “Grim little bastard, isn’t he?”

“There is a message here,” Shadow said.

Lincoln raised a brow. “Oh?”

“Animal Farm,” he replied.

“Of course,” Lincoln said, smacking his forehead with the palm of his hand. “Lucien is our little Napoleon.”

“Huh?” I was confused. I had heard about the famous story before, but never read it despite having plenty of opportunities to do so. Instead I wasted my time indulging myself in scintillating romance novels and juicy erotic stories.

“Without going into the specifics, the farm animals overthrow the humans and take control of the farm. The pigs end up running the show, led by one porker named Napoleon,” Lincoln explained. “This could be a strange allegory to Lucien’s attempt to take control of the Midnight Society.”

“It’s a poor one if that’s the case,” Shadow said. “At the end of the story, the pigs are no different than the humans that they try to overthrow.”

“Well, Lucien was never the brightest,” Lincoln pointed out, “Though he did fool us all.”

Shadow walked to each of the animal heads and examined them closely. It wasn’t until he reached the dog that he stopped in his tracks.

“There’s something in the dog’s mouth,” Shadow said as he reached down the statue’s throat. When he pulled his hand out, he was holding a wooden box that fit into his palm.

“Jesus,” Lincoln cursed. From the look on his face, he was just as concerned as Shadow was.

These two men loved Calisto—one by blood and the other by chance—and for anything to happen to Calisto would tear them both apart.

“Are you going to open it?” I asked. Shadow nodded, though I could tell he was hesitant to.

He pushed open the lid of the box and looked at the contents within. His face was immediately wrenched with anguish and he unleashed a scream that was fused with both anger and agony.

I watched as the wooden box containing a severed finger—a sparkling diamond band wrapped around it—fell to the floor.

I wanted to scream as well, but I held myself together. Shadow was in shock, and he needed me.

“Maybe it’s not Calisto’s,” I said. “That could be anyone’s finger.”

“It’s hers,” Lincoln said, his face ghostly white.

---