Chapter Three
Declan
Feeling like the gates of Hell have just opened before my eyes, with the devil’s trusted servant welcoming me in, I take a deep breath and walk beyond the threshold of my new nemesis.
The gate. Upon closer inspection, as I head toward the other end of the driveway, each side of the pathway is engulfed by tall green vines.
The plants are wound together tight, to the point I can’t see where I’m walking through the darkness they create.
A cold breeze funnels from one side to the other, chilling me to the core.
Worried I’ll change my mind about the whole thing, I sprint into the shadows before me until a small light peeks through, approaching on the left.
That must be it.
When I was in second grade, I made a shitty comment to Mrs. Lang, and she sent me to the principal’s office.
I didn’t care. Not really. But it was a bit of a hike across the building to get there.
The school was nice, but far too big for little kids.
I snatched the plank of wood she deemed a hall pass and trudged out of her classroom, head tucked between my shoulders and feet dragging across the ground with the swiftness of a snail.
At the end of the first hallway, I was assaulted by a random burst of air, strong enough to shove me against the wall.
A windstorm indoors made no sense, but what the hell did I know at the age of eight?
It scared the bejesus out of me. I fell to the ground clenching my chest, struggling to breathe, and there, on the ground, bewildered by it all, a brief chuckle pierced my ears.
I told the principal what happened, but he didn’t believe me. Nobody did. Not even my mom.
A doctor later diagnosed me with Asthma, but that doesn’t explain what happened or what I heard. Now, at what I hope is the entrance to Dr. Campos’ house, I’m struggling to breathe after traversing a small jungle, and while I do have an inhaler in my pocket, I seriously doubt it’s asthma.
The door gently opens without a sound, revealing a golden archway, leading to a long and dark corridor. After the events with the belligerent gates and the ghost speaker, I’m curious to meet the crackling voice. And without delay, a woman appears before me in the doorway.
She’s remarkably short. With shiny dark hair highlighted by a small platinum patch.
She’s dressed in slick freshly-polished black leather that clings to her every well-proportioned full body.
Her light tan skin is smooth and looks well cared for, though the crow’s feet tell me she’s likely at least in her forties.
Unnaturally cloudy eyes stare out from behind a crooked pair of glasses that appear to be held together in the middle by a small piece of electrical tape.
I step forward to speak, but I am cut off.
The woman opens her mouth, revealing two rows of perfect pearly teeth behind bright cherry-red lips, and addresses me.
“Welcome, Missster Roberts, to the home of Doctor Campos. I am Miss Paxon, keeper of the house. You may address me as ma’am.” Her voice is even worse in person.
“Thank you,” I say. My grandfather demanded I be polite whenever possible, and truth be told, the words come out automatically now.
“You mean, thank you, ma’am,” Miss Paxon corrects me immediately. Generically looking to the sky, I shrug.
I tried, Grampa.
“Um, sure. Thank you, ma’am.” I hope I got it right. Though I also don’t really care. “So, where is Dr. Campos’ office. Um, ma’am?”
“Don’t be so anxious young man,” she says in a hiss. “There are some rules in this house, Missster Roberts. You should pay close attention and mind every detail if you want to return to this place again. Do you understand?”
I’m puzzled by the woman’s longwinded words, but I also can’t allow it to be an issue.
“Yes, ma’am. I understand.”
“Good,” says Miss Paxon. “Now, listen closely. Firstly, you do not touch anything unless directly instructed to do so. Understood?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I reply.
“Secondly,” she carries on. “You do not speak to anyone in this house, aside from Doctor Campos of course, unless directed to do so. Understood?”
“What about—” I’m interrupted before I can finish.
“No!” Miss Paxon shouts. “You speak to nobody. Are you going to have a difficult time following instructions, Missster Roberts? Because the doctor is very par-tic-u-lar.”
“No, ma’am,” I manage to spit out, taking notice of Miss Paxon’s ominous warning.
“Thirdly,” Miss Paxon adds. “When entering any room in the house, whether leaving one room to enter another, or entering from the outside, you must announce your presence. Understood?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I respond. “Must I say anything specific?”
“You seem like a clever man, Missster Roberts,” she says coyly. “Lastly, Doctor Campos abhors interruptions. Especially whilst in session. Therefore, you must turn your cellular telephone off while inside this house. And I mean off, Missster Roberts. Understood?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Now, follow me,” she instructs, ignoring my question.
Kent and I used to talk about joining the military together. We heard about a buddy system for getting soldiers enrolled, and Kent had been raised for military service by his father, who also served, before joining the local police force.
We took the Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery test during our junior year of high school.
Kent’s score left him with little choice.
Infantry or nothing at all. While my score landed in the top tier, giving me the opportunity of my choosing.
But I’ve never been one for authority, and the idea of getting berated by a drill instructor day after day left me without any desire to join.
Miss Paxon’s stern demeanor is close to what I would have expected from a military boot camp experience.
The attractive, though infuriating woman turns around and takes three slow steps before two double doors open.
Blinding light bursts into the hallway like a can of soda left in the freezer too long.
I jump back, throwing my hands up to shield my eyes.
The initial sensation of losing my sight dissipates a second later, and by instinct my feet proceed to march into the next room behind Miss Paxon.
“What did I tell you?” the bossy lady snaps, staring at me like I’m a child who has been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
“Huh? What do you mean?” I say, confused—my head still hurting from the glaring light.
“Missster Roberts,” says Miss Paxon. “Did you, or did you not just enter a new room?”
“Oh,” I say, remembering the rules. “I apologize. I forgot, ma’am.” The fiery little woman waits, burning holes into my face with her dead stare. “Is anyone here?” I ask, sure to speak up so anyone who may be in the room can hear, but silence is all that greets me.
“Do not let it happen again,” says Miss Paxon. “Now, follow me.”
Remaining a few steps behind my chaperone, I continue surveying the room we’re leaving.
The ceiling is pointed, with solar windows to let daylight in on sunny afternoons.
All four walls are lined with bookshelves, each packed full of literary works spanning hundreds of years.
There’s a coffee table in the middle of the room with four matching oversized leather chairs positioned near each corner.
The ivory floor has four black tiles, one in each corner of the room, with the letters “EC” sculpted in gold in the center of them.
Taking it all in, I manage to lose track of time in a trance.
“This way, if you please, Missster Roberts,” Miss Paxon snaps, calling me back to attention.
The next room is bare, four walls padded white, a floor, and a ceiling. There are no decorations and no lights. It’s simply wasted space.
“Is anyone in here?” I say, learning quickly. Perhaps I would have excelled in the military.
With nothing to see, Miss Paxon proceeds forward.
“Okay, Missster Roberts,” she says, stopping directly in front of the next door.
“This is as far as I go. You will go through this door and find another room with furniture and things that don’t belong to you.
Remember the rules,” she continues, lacking confidence in my ability to be disciplined.
“You will proceed to the door at the back of the room. Knock once and wait.”
“Wait for what?” I ask, intentionally pushing Miss Paxon’s buttons this time. It’s not that I want to flirt. I happily belong to someone already. But I can’t help but see if I can get under this oddly stunning woman’s skin.
She lets out a gruff sigh, almost moaning, before responding,
“For an invitation to enter, Missster Roberts. Is that too much to ask?”
“No, ma–I mean yes, ma’am.” I struggle to find the right answer. “I will wait to be invited in, ma’am.” I look at Miss Paxon’s face, hoping I’ve reached an acceptable response.
“I will meet you here after your session, Missster Roberts,” she says plainly while rolling her eyes in frustration. “I do hope you’ll be a good little boy and abide my instructions. It’s a bit early for...”
“For what?”
By the time I ask, the stern middle-aged woman walks back the room filled with book cases and disappears through a door on the right wall, I can’t pull my gaze from her ass. The fresh leather accentuates her extensive curves in a way I didn’t know clothing could.
When she’s finally gone from my sight, I go through the door before me as instructed, where I find a curious room.
It’s difficult to see at first. However, once I close the door behind me, a light comes on in each of the ceiling’s four corners.
I take a few steps into the room and come to a halt, the heels of my sneakers screeching on the slick floor.
Looking down, my expression freezes in. There, in the middle of this citadel of a house, is a random cliff with a two-hundred-foot drop, which sends my heart into a tailspin.
Around the time I turned seven, my parents signed me up for swimming lessons at the local YMCA.
I was excited to learn how to be like a fish at first, with free time to roam in the open water.
As my mom checked me in and walked me through the facility, the harsh stab of chlorine became all I could smell.
But once we pushed through the double doors and passed through to the next enclosure, my mouth dropped in awe at the sight of the massive Olympic-size swimming pool.
Sadly, any happiness I felt in that first moment was short lived.
Within thirty minutes of the lesson beginning, the entire class lined up by a tall ladder at the far end of the pool.
The task seemed harmless enough, until I got closer to the top rung, where I realized each of my classmates were stepping up to the platform and diving off a long springboard.
I finally reached the top and made my way to the end of the bouncing board.
It wasn’t the lack of balance that took my breath, but the distance to the water when I peered down.
It was only ten feet, but it may as well have been a mile.
I started backing up, retreating the way I came.
But there was nowhere for me to go. The line of impatient classmates left only one way to get down.
Then, without any warning, and before I could even protest, the instructor shoved me off the end of the platform.
The freefall took an eternity. And though I had so few at that point, all my memories passed through my mind.
My body flopped hard into the chlorinated abyss, knocking all the air out of my already shallow-breathing lungs.
The initial impact turned the world black around me for a few seconds.
When I started to come to, still below the surface, I flailed my limbs in every direction.
Just as I felt myself rising to the lights above, the touch of a decrepit hand gripped my ankle and pulled me down.
I lurched my head to see what was grabbing me, but my legs were free.
I kicked my feet again and tried to find my way back up.
That’s when a set of hands scooped me by the shoulders.
Before they tugged me out of the water, I saw them.
A pair of piercing red eyes. Glaring at me from the darkest depth of the pool.
Now, with a twenty-year-long fear of heights, I find myself standing on the edge of a cliff in the home of Dr. Campos, expecting someone or something to send me to my end.
Having long ago given up on getting over the fear, I slam my eyes shut, take a long breath in and two steps back.
This time when I look down, the view has changed.
I instinctively turn my head to the sky, and that’s when I see it—a photorealistic painting of a giant canyon covering the ceiling.
I let out a long sigh of relief as my eyes make their way back down.
The floor in this room is a giant mirror, and the lights are set up at varying angles to create an optical illusion of looking over the edge of cliff.
I’m starting to hate this doctor, and we haven’t even met.
“Hello,” I say aloud, somehow remembering Miss Paxon’s rules. “Is anyone in here?”
When no answer comes, I both feel like an imbecile and walk across the reflective floor to the door on the other side of the room. The long trip from outside the gates of Hell is finally over. It’s now or nothing.
If this guy can’t help me, nobody can.