four Selena
four
Selena
Tapping my phone screen, I stare at the only social media page I can find for Shadows.
It looks legit, but right now, I have no idea if any of it is real at all. I’ve spent the last two days looking into anything and everything I can find about Shadows. Marcy gave me two weeks to get a story together, and I need to devote every second of the day to this.
Sucking in a deep breath, I type out a message.
Me: Hi, I’m an independent journalist interested in your venue. I would love to chat, even off the record. Can meet at your convenience. Please let me know. Thanks. I want to know more about Shadows. Will you talk to me?
I hit send, even though I know it’s pointless. The email does not bounce, which means someone owns the domain. That’s something, maybe. I checked the “sent” folder compulsively for the next hour. No response. Not even an auto-reply.
A shudder goes through me. I feel every nerve in my forearms, the way my spine locks up when nothing moves forward.
At 4:12, the DM on the forum is marked as “read.” That’s all: no reply, no emoji, no nothing.
I stare at the word “read” until it becomes unmoored from language.
Then I close the laptop and breathe through my teeth, refusing to scream.
I sit in the dark, anger curling in my stomach, and I promise myself: if they won’t answer, I’ll go there in person.
I’ll do it, even if it means getting dragged out by security or blacklisted from every club in Sunnyvale.
If they want to be invisible, they’re going to have to try a lot harder.
I scribbled one more note in my book: “SHOW UP.” Underline it twice.
I leave the laptop on, just in case. I run a hand through my hair.
A forest of broken pens is scattered on the desk, one rolling off and hitting my bare ankle.
I’m old-school when it comes to notes. My dad used to leave Post-it notes scattered all over our house.
He believed that if he didn’t write it down, it wouldn’t happen.
I take after him in that sense, and now that he’s gone, it’s a way that I can feel closer to him.
The next morning, I woke up with my phone glued to my cheek. I fell asleep watching the message to see if anyone would reply.
Groaning, I close the message and sit up. No sooner do I do that than I hear a chime on my phone. There’s a post from Shadows.
Saturday night. Ten pm. Shadows. Tickets will reveal the address thirty minutes before doors open.
I stare at the post and then take a screenshot with my phone.
Adrenaline shoots through me, and I jump out of my chair and scream.
A link appears in a post, and I quickly purchase a ticket.
At first, I thought about snagging one for Madison, too, but before I drag her into this, I need to confirm that everything is real and safe.
I’d never forgive myself if I got Madison into trouble.
The ticket arrives in my email, along with a list of rules and regulations.
I read over everything carefully and almost laughed.
They really want this to remain private.
Everyone must wear a mask, or you can’t enter.
If you take pictures, you are thrown out and banned.
Bring your sexual appetite, but understand this isn’t an escort service or sex club. Only consensual acts are allowed.
A nervous flutter fills me, but I can’t tell if it’s because I feel like I’m one step closer to a juicy story or because this feels like too much.
Sure, I’m no prude, but am I really going to go to a secret sex club?
What if I have to do something? Will I be brave enough to give in to desire or run away if I’m scared?
Fuck it, I guess I will just have to find out. I need to get an outfit, a mask, and the courage to step into Shadows.
“You got a ticket!” Madison screams as we sit on her couch.
She almost knocks the wine glass out of my hand as she jumps. A fight is brewing between two housewives on the television, but right now, the real show is Madison’s excitement.
“Yes, I found their social media. They posted the link for twenty-four hours only. I bought the ticket as soon as it went up. It was a hundred dollars!” I claim.
“When are you going?” Madison asks. Our television show is now long forgotten.
“Tomorrow night. It’s very exclusive. You only find out a day or two before the event. I don’t even know the address yet. It’s all so secretive,” I explain.
“Oh shit, this is really happening. You have to tell me everything, and then if you go again, I want a ticket, too,” she squeals.
I take a sip of my white wine and nod. I feel a pang of guilt for not getting her a ticket, too, but I can’t worry about Madison while I’m trying to uncover my story. I need to be clear-headed. “I swear, next time you can come with me.”
“Fine, but if you aren’t home by sunrise tomorrow morning, I am calling the cops,” she says, offering a pitiful smile.
“Sounds like a plan,” I laugh.
“Ok, seriously. We need to plan your outfit. Is it true that you have to wear a mask? Are there a lot of rules?” Madison begins firing off questions, and I tell her what I know from the rules I was sent in my email.
“What did Marcy say?” she asks, after I finish going over the rules I was given.
I bite my lip and look away for a second.
I haven’t told Marcy yet because I don’t want to get her hopes up if this is a bust. I would be so embarrassed if I talked up this huge story only for it not to go anywhere.
This could be a scam or a prank for all I know.
I’m about to walk into something I don’t even know if it’s real.
“I haven’t exactly told her yet,” I say.
Madison’s eyes go wide. “Why not?”
“If this is just some stupid scam, I would die of humiliation, and Marcy would never give me another big story again. I need to find out if this is real, and then once I have a story, I will tell her. Right now, she thinks I’m researching everything,” I tell her.
Madison nods her head. “I understand that. This could be huge, though,” she gushes.
“I really hope so!” I try not to sound too eager, but I can’t help myself.
Everything I’ve read about Shadows makes it sound so dark and exciting and terrifying all at once. I have no idea what to expect, but I know that I can’t back down now.
“What are you going to wear?” Madison asks, pulling me from my own intrusive thoughts.
“I guess I need to go get something. I don’t think I have anything,” I say.
Madison claps excitedly. “We are going shopping first thing in the morning,” she demands.
We finish our wine, and I agree to meet her in the morning to head to a few boutiques in Sunnyvale. That night, I fell asleep for the first time before sunrise, and I’m eager about what the next day will bring.