Chapter 2: Hideaway: Chapter 2

Devil’s Night

Six Years Ago

Devil’s Night. This was it.

Our last one.

We were graduating next May, and once the four of us went off to college, we wouldn’t be home unless it was for winter or summer breaks. And by then, we’d be too old for this. We wouldn’t have the excuse of youth to explain why we chose to celebrate the night before Halloween, indulging in pranks and other childish shenanigans, for no other reason than to raise a little hell. We’d be men. It wouldn’t fly, right?

So, tonight would be it. The finale.

I slammed my car door shut and walked through the parking lot, past Damon’s BMW, and toward the rear entrance of the cathedral. Opening the door, I walked into the lounge area, consisting of some tables, a kitchen, a few couches, and a coffee table littered with pamphlets on how to pray the rosary and Fasting in a Healthy Way.

I inhaled a deep breath, the ever-present odor of incense filling the quiet halls. I was Catholic by birth, as was my friend, Damon, but in practice, we were Catholic in the same way Taco Bell was a Mexican restaurant. I played along for my mother, while Damon played along for amusement.

I headed down the hallway to the actual church, but a loud thud pierced the silence, and I stopped short, looking around for where it came from. It sounded like a book dropping onto a desktop.

It was a Friday morning. Not many people would be here, although there were probably a few stragglers kneeling in the pews and praying their penance, since confession had just ended.

“What did we discuss yesterday?” I heard Father Beir’s burly voice from somewhere off to my left.

“I don’t remember, Father.”

I smiled to myself. Damon.

Taking a left, I stepped quietly down another marble hallway, dragging my fingertips over the shiny mahogany paneling on the walls and trying to withhold my laughter.

Stopping just before the open door to the priest’s office, I hung back and listened. Damon’s smooth, calm tone answered Beir as if following a script.

“You’re unrepentant and irresponsible.”

“Yes, Father.”

My chest shook. Damon’s words were always in complete contradiction to how they sounded coming out of his mouth. Yes, Father as if in complete agreement that he’d misbehaved, while at the same time Yes, Father, aren’t you proud of me?

Most of us reconciled in the confessionals out in the nave, but Damon—after many years of failed “redirection” on the part of his father and his priest—was forced to be schooled face to face for weekly counseling sessions.

He fucking enjoyed it. He took pleasure in being anyone’s devil.

Twisting my head around, I peeked into the room, seeing the priest walk around the desk while Damon knelt on a single pew, Beir’s big, black Bible on the stand in front of him.

“Do you want to be judged?” the father asked.

“We will all be judged.”

“That’s not what I taught you.”

Damon’s head was bowed enough for his black hair to hang just over his eyes, but I could see the hint of a smile that Beir probably couldn’t. He wore our school uniform, khakis with his typical wrinkled, white Oxford, cuffs unbuttoned, and a loose blue and green necktie hanging around his neck. We were on our way to school, but he looked like he’d been in his clothes all night.

He suddenly turned his head toward me, and I watched as he jutted out his tongue, moving it side to side suggestively and grinning like an asshole.

I broke into silent laughter, smiling at him and shaking my head.

Douche.

Turning away, I walked back down the hallway, toward the church, and left Damon to finish his “lesson.”

There were many things I loved about this place, but being lectured like that wasn’t one of them. The masses bored me, the Sunday school monotonous, many of the priests distant and cold, and so many of the parishioners vile to each other Monday thru Saturday who suddenly changed their tunes between ten and eleven o’clock on Sunday mornings. It was all such a lie.

But I liked the church. It was quiet. And you could be quiet here without the expectation of forced interactions.

Heading down the aisle, toward the back, I scanned the four confessionals, making sure no lights were on that signaled a priest inside. Since they were all empty, I walked down to the far right, choosing the last one, partially hidden behind a column and the one closest to the stained-glass windows.

I pulled back the curtain and stepped inside the small, dark cubicle, pulling the curtain closed again. The scent of old wood surrounded me but there was something else I faintly noticed. A hint of being outside. In the wind and water.

Sitting in the hardwood chair, I looked ahead at the darkened, wicker screen in front of me, knowing the other side was empty. The priests had all moved onto their other daily duties. Exactly how I liked it. I always did this alone.

I leaned down, my elbows on my knees, and clasped my hands together. The muscles on my arms burned with an involuntary flex.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” I said in a quiet voice. “It’s been a month since my last confession.”

I swallowed hard, always more aware that when a priest wasn’t listening to me, I was. And believe it or not, that was sometimes harder. No one to offer me forgiveness but myself.

“I know you’re not there,” I told the empty air on the other side. “I know I’ve been doing this too long to keep making excuses, but…” I paused, searching for words. “But sometimes I can only talk when no one is listening.”

I drew in a deep breath, my shell falling away.

“I just need to say things out loud, I guess.” Even if I didn’t get the cheap penance that did nothing to absorb the guilt.

I breathed in the smell of water and wind, not knowing where it was coming from, but it made me feel like I was in a cave. Safe from eyes and ears.

“I don’t need you. I just need this place,” I admitted. “What’s wrong with me, that I like to hide? That I like my secrets?”

Damon, I couldn’t imagine, had any secrets. He didn’t brag about his dirty deeds, but he never hid them, either. Will, the other member of our pack, didn’t do anything without back-up, so someone was always aware what he was up to.

And Michael—our team captain, and the one I was closest to—hid only from those around him what he hid from himself.

But me…I knew who I was. And I made a concerted effort never to let anyone see it.

“I like that I lie to my parents,” I nearly whispered. “I like that they don’t know what I did last night or last week or what I’m going to do tonight. I like that no one knows how I like being alone. How I like fighting, and I like the private rooms in the clubs…” I trailed off, lost in thought, remembering the past month since my last confession and all the nights I’d lost myself.

“I like that my friends are bad for me,” I said, continuing. “And I like to watch.”

I wrapped one fist inside another, forcing the words out.

“I like to watch people. Something new I just discovered about myself.” I ran my hand through my hair, feeling the ends rough with gel. “Wanting to be in it, to feel what they’re feeling, is almost hotter than actually being a part of it.” I looked up at the dark screen, seeing just a sliver of it left open. “And I like hiding it. I don’t want my friends to know me as well as they think they do. I don’t know why.” I shook my head, thinking. “There are just some things that are more exciting when they’re a secret.”

Dropping my eyes, I sigh. “But as much as I get off on not being seen, it’s lonely, too. There’s no connection.”

Which wasn’t entirely true if you saw it from the outside. Michael, Will, Damon… we were all cut from the same cloth in a way. We all loved the wild ride and craved the high that only came from doing anything we weren’t supposed to do.

But me? I liked my privacy. More than they did.

And I liked it sordid. As much as they did.

I pushed the shame away, coming back. “So, anyway, I lie. All the time. Too many times to count.” To everyone. “I also resent my father most of the time. I’ve taken the Lord’s name in vain about five hundred times the past month, and I’ve had pre-marital sex to break up the monotony of every waking minute consumed with impure thoughts.” I shake my head, laughing at myself. “Penance won’t make me stop, and I have no intention of changing, so…”

So that’s why confessing to a priest does me no good. Again, I like doing everything I do wrong.

But it felt good to admit it. At least I confessed, right? At least I knew I was doing things I shouldn’t, and that was something.

Closing my eyes, I leaned back against the wall and breathed in the silence.

Fuck me, I couldn’t wait for tonight. Thinking about the catacombs or the cemetery or wherever we ended up filled me with need. My mask, the fear, the chase… I swallowed the lump in my throat, feeling my body heat rise.

The lull of the fountain at the back of the church dribbled softly, and I heard the echo of a cough in the distance. I didn’t know what I’d be doing first, breaking something, screwing someone, or fighting, but I wanted whatever it was now, and it wasn’t even dark yet. Tonight was the highlight of my year.

“There’s a story…” a voice suddenly said, jolting me.

I popped my eyes open, and my heart dropped into my fucking stomach. What the…?

“What the hell?” I burst out, sitting up. “Who is that?”

The voice—a woman’s—came from somewhere close.

Like the other side of the fucking confessional.

I leapt up from my chair, the legs screeching against the marble floor.

“No, please, don’t,” she begged, probably knowing I was about to rip open the door to the priest’s chamber on the other side. “I didn’t mean to listen, but I was already here, and you started talking. I won’t say anything.”

She sounded young, maybe my age, and nervous. I stared down at the screen, her voice inches away.

“You’ve been in there this whole time?” I growled, my head a flurry of all the shit I’d just said. “What the hell? Who are you?”

I whipped open my curtain, but then I heard the shutter on her side of the screen slide open all the way, and her plea, “Please,” she whispered. “I want to talk to you, and I can’t if you see me. Just give me a minute. Just one minute.”

I stopped, locking my jaw together. What the hell was she doing over there? Did she know who I was?

“You can see me,” she said. “Just give me a minute.”

Something about her voice was fragile. Like she was a vase teetering on the edge of a coffee table. I stood frozen for a minute, debating whether or not to let my curiosity pull her ass out of that room or indulge her.

Okay. Just a minute then.

“There’s a story,” she started again when I didn’t move farther, “about The Pope Hotel in Meridian City. Do you know the place?”

I eyed the screen, barely seeing her outline in the dark.

The Pope? That multi-million-dollar waste on the shitty side of the river?

I closed the curtain, taking my seat again. “Who are you?”

“There’s a rumor about the twelfth floor,” she went on, ignoring my question. “It exists, but no one can get to it. Have you heard that story?”

I leaned back just slightly, my body still rigid and on guard. “No.”

“Rumor has it that the family that owns The Pope built a twelfth floor in every hotel they constructed. For the family’s personal use,” she told me. “The entire floor is their residence when they’re in a particular city with one of their hotels. It’s inaccessible to guests, though. The elevator doesn’t stop on that floor, and when it was investigated, there’s not even a possibility for the elevator to stop there. The floor is walled in.” Her voice evened out, and I noticed a touch of excitement in her words. “And so is the stairwell access.”

“So, how does the family get to their secret floor when they want in?”

“Well, that’s the question, isn’t it?” she asked. “That’s the secret. For the longest time, people assumed it was just some mystery promoted by the owners and staff to increase the allure of the hotel.” She paused, and I could hear her draw in a breath. “But then guests started noticing her.”

“Her?”

“A woman—dancing,” she answered.

“Dancing,” I repeated, suddenly a little more interested.

A secret floor? A secret entrance? A ghost girl?

I felt like she nodded, but I couldn’t be sure. “After midnight, when nearly every guest is tucked into their rooms and the hotel is quiet and dark, they say you can see her…” she nearly whispered, and I could hear the smile in her voice. “Dancing by herself—like a ballerina—down in the dark, moonlit ballroom. Dancing to a haunting lullaby.”

I watch her lips move, concealed mostly in shadow, but I could make out the outline.

“Another story tells of a ballerina dancing on the twelfth-floor balcony, too,” she continued. “They could see her from the windows higher up. The light rain, shining as it reflects the city lights, dancing with her as she twirls and leaps in the air. Stories added up over the years, sightings and questions… A girl who never checked in and never checks out, hiding by day and dancing by night.” And then her voice dropped to a whisper, making the hair on my arms stand up. “Always alone, always hiding.”

It couldn’t be true, but I kind of wanted to believe it was. It was like a treasure hunt, wasn’t it? A girl, concealed from the world, hiding. Right under everyone’s nose.

“Why are you telling me this story?”

“Because she’s still there,” she replied. “Hiding on the secret floor. Alone. At least that’s what I like to believe. Secrets and mysteries make life fun, don’t they?”

I smiled to myself, leaning forward and resting my elbows on my knees again. “Yeah.”

Her fingers came up to the screen, and I finally saw a piece of her. Her slender hand, fingertips, and short nails.

“I like your secrets.” She sounded breathless. “And who are you really hurting by keeping them? Right?”

The wind and water surrounded me, and I realized that’s where the scent had come from. I’d smelled her as soon as I stepped into the confessional. She was already here.

“Do you listen to other peoples’ confessions often?” I asked, somewhat amused.

“Sometimes.”

Her reply was so quick, I couldn’t help but admire her. I liked that she felt so at ease being honest, and I kind of hoped it was because of me.

“I lie, too,” she offered.

“To whom?”

“To my family,” she said. “I lie to them all the time.”

“What do you lie to them about?”

“Anything I need to keep them happy. I tell them I’m fine when I’m not. I see my mother, and I’m not supposed to. I lie about my struggle to be loyal.”

“Is it important to keep the truth from them?”

“As necessary as their desire to know my every step, yes.” Her fingers drifted down the screen, her nails scraping it barely. “They still see me as a child. Incapable.”

“You sound like you might be,” I mused. “Young, I mean.”

A scoff escaped her lips, challenging me. “I was ancient at six. Can you hear the sound of that?”

I narrowed my eyes, trying to figure her out. Her voice, everything she said, who she was… Ancient at six. She’d grown up too soon. That’s what she’d meant.

Leaning back again, I watched her dark form shift on the other side of the screen. I wanted to see her, but I didn’t want to stop talking, either. Not just yet.

She said she couldn’t talk to me if I saw her. Did I know her then?

“We’re only ever good, because there are consequences,” I told her. “Take those away, and everyone shows their true self. Kind of like taking off a mask.”

“Or putting one on,” she replied. “After all, there’s freedom in hiding, isn’t there?”

Yeah, I guess—

“Do you like the feel of a mask?” she chirped, changing the subject.

It was kind of out of the blue, and my heart skipped a beat. “Why would you ask me that?”

She knew who I was, didn’t she? She knew it was Devil’s Night.

“I like the feel of one,” she said. “Like this screen and the darkness. They’re kind of like masks, aren’t they?”

Kind of.

“I could be anyone.” Her fragile voice smoothed over, turning playful. “I could be a girl you grew up with. A classmate. Someone’s little sister. The kid you used to babysit when you were sixteen…”

The corner of my lips lifted, and I entertained the idea. Although I didn’t recognize her voice, that didn’t mean I didn’t know her. She could be a girl I passed in the halls every day. Someone I never gave a second glance to. Or she could be a buddy’s girlfriend or one of the gardener’s kids. Who knew?

“And you could be anyone, too,” she pondered. “A friend’s boyfriend, a teacher I had a crush on, or one of my father’s friends. You could say anything to me. I could say anything to you. And there’s no embarrassment, because we never have to face each other. Not if we don’t want to.”

I leaned closer again, trying to breathe in more of her scent.

I wanted to see her. I definitely had to see her.

“I’ll keep your secrets,” I told her. “No matter who you are.”

“You are one of my secrets,” she shot back. “I’m trying to steal you, but I wish I didn’t want to.”

“What does that mean?” Steal me?

“So, what do you like to watch?” she asked.

“Huh?” She changed the subject again. She was moving a mile a minute, and I was having a hard time keeping up.

“In your confession, you said you like to watch. Watch what?”

I chewed the corner of my mouth, hesitant. “I think you know,” I replied, caging. “Figure it out, big girl.”

She laughed for the first time. It was this perfect, innocent sound, and my hands hummed with the urge to touch her all of a sudden.

“And what if I like to watch, too?” she teased. “Show me with your words.”

“I can’t.” I looked down, embarrassed despite myself.

“Please,” she asked again, her voice dropping to a whisper, and I swore I could feel the heat of her breath on my face. “Talk to me. Tell me what you don’t tell anyone else.”

I shook my head, struggling. The way she talked…. Sometimes it was like a woman, straddling my lap with her lips inches from mine.

But just now, it was like a little girl, desperate for a treat.

“When was your last confession, little one?” I prodded, inching further into her territory.

“I’ve never had one.”

“Aren’t you Catholic?”

“No.”

Then why was she here?

But then again, why was she in the priest’s chamber, too? “You’re a little mystery yourself, aren’t you?” I asked, not expecting an answer.

“Come on. What do you like to watch?” she repeated, pushing me.

I opened my mouth, but just ended up letting out a sigh.

Jesus. What do I like to watch? I can’t tell her that. Fuck.

I closed my eyes. I needed to leave. What if she knew me? What if I went to school with her? What if she was someone I’d like? She wouldn’t want to know this shit.

But as if she knew my fear, she told me, “Don’t be afraid. I’m already imagining the worst, and I’m still here, right?”

I shook my head, feeling stupid, but I laughed anyway. “I like…” I ran a hand up and down my face. “One of my friends had a girl in the media room this summer,” I said, starting over. “It was late, we were all really lit, and the mood was getting heated. He started kissing her and feeling her up, nothing I haven’t seen before, but she would look over at me, probably expecting that I would join in, but…”

I inhaled a deep breath. I didn’t feel like I was safe right now. I didn’t feel like I was hiding in this dark, fucking confessional with a screen between me and this girl I may or may not know. I should shut up.

But part of me didn’t want to. Every word brought me closer to the edge. Closer to falling. I wanted to fall.

I continued. “Something kept me rooted in my seat this time. I couldn’t take my eyes off her, but I couldn’t move, either.”

The girl on the other side remained quiet, but I knew she was still there.

“I didn’t want to move,” I confessed. “And she couldn’t take her eyes off me, either. She straddled him, fucking him, but her eyes were on me the whole time.”

I closed my eyes for a moment, remembering the sight of her grinding on him. But it was all for me. Everything she did was to keep me watching. I controlled her.

“I could see her chest moving faster with her breathing, the sweat on her neck, her nervous eyes…. She didn’t know what I was going to do. She didn’t know if I liked what I was seeing or if I was going to pounce at any second. She was scared. And excited.”

She had no idea what I was thinking. How I liked what she was doing for me without laying a hand on me. I wasn’t communicating with my hands or my mouth, just my eyes all over her body, and it drove her crazy not knowing. God, she loved it.

“He fucked her,” I said, “but I was the one who made her come.”

I realized my pants felt tighter, and I reached down to adjust myself, grunting under my breath at the ache.

“Sordid, right?” I said. “Disgusting, sleazy, vile…”

“Yeah.” But I heard a smile in her voice. “So, what did you do about it?”

“What do you mean?”

Her fingertips pressed against the screen again. “You must’ve been turned on after that. What did you do?”

I held in my nervous laugh. She didn’t miss a beat, did she? “You’re skinning me alive right now, kid.”

A breathy laugh escaped her, and I could nearly make out her lips close to the screen.

“How old are you?” I asked.

“Old enough to have seen and heard worse,” she replied. “Don’t worry. Now what did you do after that?”

“I can’t…” I breathed out. “I didn’t…. I didn’t do anything.”

But she waited. She knew I was lying.

I licked my dry lips, dropping my voice so low, I didn’t know if she could hear me. “I didn’t wait for my friends to get up and leave in the car to go get food,” I told her. “And I didn’t wait for the girl to trail down the hallway to the bathroom or for her to step into the shower. I didn’t follow her or turn off the lights, scaring her…”

The memory of her gasp rang in my ears, and the world tilted in front of me. The dark bathroom, the swaying shower curtain, the steam I could already smell…

“It’s okay,” Mystery Girl said when I remained quiet.

“I didn’t like frightening her or making her scream.” I clenched my teeth, dropping my head into my hand. “Or climbing into that shower and grabbing her and feeling her come apart in my hands…”

My fingers slid through my hair, shame burning my face but also a weight lifting off my shoulders. If this kid didn’t run, then maybe I wasn’t so bad, right?

Right?

“And I didn’t love every second inside of her tight body—”

“No, don’t,” she urged, stopping me. “Don’t say anymore. Please.”

I raised my head, my insides shrinking. “I’m scaring you.”

“No.”

“Liar.”

“Yes,” she finally said. “Yes, you scare me. But I like it. I’m just…”

“Just what?”

“I’m just…” She paused, breathing erratically. “Just jealous.”

“Why?”

“Because you hunted her.” Her pale forehead leaned into the screen, and I caught a few strands of rich, dark hair. “Maybe I shouldn’t let you see me just yet. Maybe I should let you hunt me, too. Sounds like you’re good at it.”

I leaned back up, a smile tugging my lips. I was no longer embarrassed. Keeping my eyes on her, I pulled my keys out of my pocket and stuck the sharp one to my car into one of the holes of the wicker screen. Before she even had time to rear back, I tugged the key downward, ripped a slit in the screen, and pushed my hand through, catching her shirt in my fist just as she tried to escape. I pulled her forward and leaned in, smelling the wind on her skin and feeling how small and light she was. I barely flexed a muscle, holding her.

“What makes you think I haven’t been doing that this whole time?” I teased. “Do you think that little story is as naughty as I can get? Should I tell you about last summer and running into my former babysitter one night who was home from med school? She liked how I’d grown up.”

She breathed in hard, shallow breaths, and her hands came up, clasping mine. “Yes.”

I narrowed my eyes, releasing her sweatshirt and, instead, raising my hand to her face. At my touch, she shivered, but she didn’t back away.

The smooth skin felt like water as I grazed my fingertips over her sharp jaw and up her cheek. I drifted past her delicate ear lobe and into her hair, deciphering the softness and the length she hid. Fabric brushed against the back of my hand, and I realized she was wearing a hood.

Her hair was tucked behind her, and everything was chilled. Her face, her hands, her hair…even her ear felt like an icicle.

“You’re so cold,” I said.

But she turned her face into my hand, her hot breath falling into my palm. “I don’t feel cold.”

Her lips barely touched my hand, and I wanted to go the extra centimeter—reach closer and touch them, but I didn’t. She wasn’t getting away from me, and I wanted to drag this out. Sliding my hand around the back of her neck, I held her and grazed my thumb down the front of her throat, feeling her swallow.

She was so still, as if she were really afraid. A sound broke from somewhere in the church, and I briefly registered a basketball bouncing. After years on the court, I knew the sound like it was my mother’s voice.

“It’s Devil’s Night, and the night is young,” she finally spoke up. “Maybe you’ll find someone else to scare tonight.”

I tightened my grip. “And if I want to scare you?”

I felt her body shake with a laugh. “Then maybe I’ll be around,” she said playfully, pulling away. “Happy Hunting.”

And I heard a shuffle and saw light pour into her little room before the door slammed shut, making it dark again.

“Hey.” I pulled my hand back in. “Hey!”

I stood up and threw open the curtain, walking out and looking around before opening the door. The priest’s chamber was empty. I whipped around and scanned the church, noticing only a few people in the pews, none looking like a teenage girl. Walking over to the row of columns near the windows, I looked around them, not seeing anyone there, either.

“What the hell?” Where did she go?

The bouncing sound registered again, and I looked up, seeing Damon round the last row of pews and walk toward me. He must’ve just finished up with Beir.

“What’s goin’ on?” he asked through the unlit cigarette in his mouth.

I straightened and closed my mouth, trying to breathe slower. “Nothing.”

I had no idea how to start explaining what just happened. Plus, it wasn’t wise to put a girl on his radar if you planned on keeping her to yourself. At least, at first.

Holding the ball at his side, he leaned down and lit his cigarette using one of the prayer candles.

“Come on, knock it off,” I scolded, still trying not to look around for the girl. I still felt her there.

Damon rose, the end of his cigarette burning orange and a puff of smoke drifting up into the air. “Like we give a shit.” He took the cigarette out of his mouth and blew out.

“But it’s insulting to people who do. No wonder you’re in confession every fucking week.” I walked around him, growing impatient and not knowing why.

Damon did everything he could to be an asshole, but that was him. He was always the same.

And suddenly, I didn’t want the same old shit tonight for some reason. I didn’t want him to be him or me to be me. I didn’t want to hide anything tonight.

It’s Devil’s Night, she’d said. She knew what we got up to. She knew me. If she didn’t find me, I’d find her.