Page 27 of A Light in the Darkness
I’ve played this part before, though never under the scrutiny of other men. And I never claimed to be a good actor. “I’m not a monster, you know?” John looks at Kent in the rearview mirror as he turns the key in the ignition. He’s quiet until the gates appear ahead of us, and he blurts out, “I was just lonely. I didn’t know when I first came what they… what they really do here.”
Kent squeezes his shoulder in what looks like reassurance. “We’re just a couple of friends here for a good time, okay, John? No judgement, no concerns. You’re just sharing the wealth.”
John nods, pulling up to the gate and swallowing back his fear as he presses the call button that’s situated between the statuesque legs of a woman’s form.
Classy.
The callbox next to the statue hums to life with static, and then a gruff voice says, “Ja?”
“I’m here for my appointment.” John says, craning his neck a little to speak louder into the box. “It’s John Smith.”
“Password, John Smith?”
“Vagabond.” John clears his throat, waiting for more from the guard on the other end of the callbox. But he says nothing, and a moment later, the gates grind open to allow us to pass.
John adjusts his hands on the steering wheel, and I can tell from over here that he’s sweaty. If he doesn’t calm down, he’s going togive us away before we even walk through the door. Fortunately, Kent is good at talking him down. He feeds him the assurance he needs, warning him that he has to get it together for his girl, and that seems to be all it takes to renew his confidence.
By the time we park and approach the big double doors, John seems to have taken on the confidence of a complete stranger, walking with his shoulders squared and not the faintest bit of nervousness. He presses the call button again, presumably gets the same guard he spoke to last time. He repeats the process as he did before, this time with a different password, “Voyeur”.
I’m sensing a theme, but I keep it to myself.
The doors click as they open automatically, and John pushes his way through them with a swagger. They close behind us automatically, just as they opened, and Kent and I focus on following John, taking in our surroundings just enough to pass off the illusion that we’re customers. There’s a desk set up in the center of the massive room, a great dark wood table with a woman sitting behind it, her eyes trained on the papers spread out before her. She doesn’t offer us any greeting as we approach, waiting until John stops before her. “Hello, Natalia.”
The woman looks up and manages a smile, though it’s tight and uninterested. “Hello, Mr. Smith. You’ve brought friends?”
“I did.” John nods for her. “I was telling some of my colleagues about this place, and they wanted to come check it out for themselves.”
“Of course.” Natalia agrees, standing and smoothing the black pencil skirt clinging to her thighs. “Right this way, gentlemen.”
She doesn’t spare a glance at Kent or I as she leads us off to the right, down a hall where iron bars block the path. She gestures to the baroque looking gold couch next to the gate, and I follow John’s lead, sitting down as Natalia passes a clipboard to Kent and another to me. “You’ll need to fill out your intake form, and I’ll need a copy of your I.D.s.”
I glance at Kent anxiously as he reaches for his wallet with zero hesitation, pulling his ID out and passing it between his fingers for her to take. I didn’t bring a fake, and Kent seemed confident that my real identity won’t blow our cover, so I reluctantly hand mine over as well.
Natalia leaves us with our IDs in hand and saunters away on her heels, little clicks echoing through the drafty old walls. It’s weird, how quiet it is here.
It’s unsettling, and I’m not even sure why.
I turn my eyes to the paperwork before me, wondering whether I’m applying for a loan or visiting a brothel. I know Davos takes the utmost precautions with the auctions, but I never imagined his process here to be so… sophisticated. I scan down the page, filling out the waiver, agreeing to their privacy policy, and releasing them from any liability that may occur on the premises.
Kent fills out his form easily, like this isn’t the most barbaric thing he’s ever done, and I start to second guess him as my stomach churns at what we’re about to see. John, meanwhile, stands with one hand in his pocket and his phone in the other, scrolling as if he’s bored.
When Natalia comes back to return our IDs, she takes the applications and nods toward the gate, where she presses a small doorbell. A guard appears a moment later, dressed in the uniform I’ll be stealing off of his body. His face is obscured by a wide-brimmed cap, which is weird given that we’re indoors, but I don’t contemplate it as he fits a key in the lock and slides the grate open to allow us entrance.
John leads the way, entering the long hallway. It’s dimly lit, but I can see another grate at the end of it, and realize we’re caged in now, without any weapons of our own. I fucking hope that Kent knows what he’s doing.
There’s an alcove to the right and one to the left a little further down, the space lit by torches even though I know the place has electricity. I guess they like the medieval ambiance. The guard leadsus to the first alcove, where he demands we empty our pockets, take off our belts, and runs a metal wand over us looking for any bits of metal. I suppose they really do treat it like a prison.
Once he’s been assured that we aren’t smuggling our own weapons in, he leads us into what I can only consider an armory. Guns sit displayed in a glass case, resting upon a velvet cloth, and knives adorn the long wall behind them… they have varying lengths, different striations in the teeth, different materials for the handle. My stomach twists again as I look at them, and when I tear my attention away it only gets worse. “If you’d like to take anything from the a la carte menu, you may add it to your purchase now.” The guard says, his thick accent sounding uninterested.
The sex toys are in a glass case to the right, and I’m not sure if I should be more outraged about them using the same toys for all their prisoners or the fact that they allow weapons to be used upon them. They’re both despicable in very different ways.
Kent taps his mouth thoughtfully as he runs his hands along the edge of the case, appraising the offering of dildos in varying colors and lengths. I recognize some of it—gags, clamps, handcuffs, vibrators. Other things, I don’t recognize. I turn my eyes away from them and glance up at the wall of knives again, looking for one with a clean edge. I’m not looking to make a mess.
John chooses some stuff that makes me think is his usual order, while Kent picks out a horribly huge double-ended dildo, handcuffs, a serrated knife, and a gun.
When I catch his eye, he smirks. “I like to stuff all the holes at once.”
I squeeze out a laugh that feels like I’m choking on desert sand, and we follow the guard back through the hall to the main room, where he passes us off to Natalia to make our payments. None of us balk at the quarterly cost, choosing an hour without hesitation, and Natalia runs our cards as a set of men come out of the long hallwayopposite.
