2. Deals With Danger
2
DEALS WITH DANGER
REMIEL
Death isn’t scary. To die means to stop existing. The absence of life means the absence of feeling, and to be snuffed out is almost a gift. There’s no suffering in death, no pain and no fear. It’s the complete obliteration of sensation and feeling, a freedom so infinite I often wish for it.
But Moros doesn’t offer death as freely as it offers something worse, and because of this choice, life as I know it will end, and tomorrow, it’ll be a nightmare of my own making. Because I’ve never even tried to get out and make a better decision.
Why didn’t you leave?
Why can’t you leave Moros and start somewhere new?
Get out while you still can!
The town is a black pit. Why do so many stay?
Because our blood is here. We’re weaved into the roots of the trees and fed by the nourishment in the soil. We’re trapped in a town that owns us, but it’s trapped by us just as harshly. Moros offers a circular pattern of life with no true moment of birth and no finite moment of death. It’s existence and nonexistence. It’s a lifestyle few would choose but so many are consumed by. It’s home because we are addicted to it.
Simply put, if you are bred by Moros, you remain in Moros. Not many get out, and if they do, they aren’t fit to survive in the regular world. Our town is a death trap that tourists visit willingly, but for those of us who are born here, our willingness isn’t up for negotiation. We become as contemptible as our home.
As the front door of Vile House closes behind me, my eyes take a moment to adjust to the darkness of the entryway. My fear from earlier isn’t gone. It’s just different now. More ominous and less imminent. Still brutal. But living in fear is a distinctive part of who I am, so I’m comfortable enough in it.
“This way,” someone says.
I follow the voice and the footsteps without seeing the person. I’m not ready to see them, anyway. My mind is having too hard of a time meshing every bit of lore and gossip I’ve heard about the Vile Boys with the understanding that I’m about to meet them. Or some of them.
It’s said they’re grotesque and deformed, a product of inbreeding and generations of seclusion. I’ve also heard that they’re general members of the public, but their involvement in Vile House is kept secret. It’s been rumoured that they’re town officials, sons of council members, or friends I’ve known all my life. The only fact I know for sure is that they go through an initiation process annually, and when it’s complete, the town wakes up to a partially cleaned bloodbath. On initiation nights, if you’re caught outside of your home, you’re fair game. And since I’ve never wanted to be fair game, I’ve stayed the hell inside.
I don’t know what I believe and what I don’t, but one thing is certain: I’ve always been afraid of this house.
Its sounds chill me to the bone. The clanking and shrieking are either a figment of my imagination or real and dulled. I don’t know, and I mostly don’t want to. I’m here either way. I don’t need to know what else is real.
As I follow a shadow through the halls, the darkness recedes incrementally. Furniture becomes clear in the living room, doors and hallways are dimly lit as we pass, and the man ahead of me takes form.
He’s dressed in black and has a hood over his head, and since he’s leading me, I can’t make out anything descriptive about him. But that’s the least of my worries. The house itself is… daunting.
Still set up as a sanitorium, there are patient rooms and massive wings for multiple patients. There are doors that probably once led to offices, which have likely turned into bedrooms. The furnishings are as old as this place, and it’s giving off an asylum vibe. I shiver, knowing that in another life, I would have been a patient strapped to one of these tables. If I lived anywhere other than Moros, they’d have had me committed when I was a kid. We all would have been.
They must be expecting me, because when we walk into an open room, there are ten figures standing in silence. Glow-in-the-dark Purge masks in ten different colours stare at me, their hands clasped in front of their waists. Dressed in black but not in any uniform, they wait until I’m all the way inside the chamber of the room before the door shuts behind me. Whoever led me here is gone now, and I can’t decide if I’m more comfortable without him or not.
I’m sweating but chilled, my palms rubbing together just to give them something to do. I don’t know how these things work. Other than bowing down to the conformities of my so-called family curse, I’ve never made a deal with danger. As far as people who grew up in Moros go, I’ve been fortunate thus far. Dabbled in a cult against my will, and have been stalked for years, but everything changes tonight. The deal I’m about to strike will set my life on a new path, and to be fair, no path leads out of Moros. To be even more blunt, if it ends in death, I’ll be lucky. As long as my bargain is met first.
I step forward, unsure how these deals start or if I’m even worthy. None of them have moved, but they aren’t all still either. One is jittery, another is shifting from foot to foot, and someone else is leaning against the wall, crossing and uncrossing his arms. Most of them are standing with their legs apart, hands still clasped in front of them, defiantly still.
“Uh, I’m Remi. I’m… I’d like to make a bargain.” I don’t want to do it, but I add my last name. “Remi Sauder.”
That makes a few of them stiffen or jostle. The Sauder name is notorious in Moros. Not because we’re powerful, but because we’re intriguing. There’s a curse on the Sauder family, specifically the men, and despite being morbid, it’s the topic of several studies and dissertations.
“Mine,” someone claims me. A deep voice, muffled by the mask but jittery too, like the word wanted to come out faster than his tongue allowed.
Coloured masks turn towards the purple one at the end, the one leaning against the wall. The teal mask grabs him by the front of his shirt, hissing threats and something sinister from beneath his mask. I obviously can’t see their faces, but they appear surprised. A few of them look like they want to fight him on it, and hushed whispers fill their side of the chamber. I can’t make out any of the words, but my palms continue to sweat until they hush.
The door behind me clicks locked from the outside, making my throat clog, and then every colour except purple leaves through a door to their left. The teal one looks back, shaking his head at purple. When it’s just him and me, the room grows bigger. My breath echoes around the cavernous space, the beat of my heart creates a rhythm his doesn’t match, and my legs tingle, weakening with nerves. It’s nothing new for me, but the intensity of it is crippling.
His mask, all black but the purple that forms a neon face, tilts as he cocks his head at me. I have no idea what comes next, but I don’t have the ability to speak. I’ve done all the talking my voice will provide, and now it’s up to him to accept my life in exchange for the ones I want… dealt with.
“Sauder,” he says. It’s not a question, but my chin jerks to nod anyway. “Hmm.” He pushes off the wall, arms uncrossing.
I can’t help but tremble when he nears me. Or that my knees wobble and my back straightens at once. It’s hard to keep my eyes forward when he walks around the back of me, making my nape prickle again. I’ve been studied and scrutinized most of my life, but this feels like an eye-rape. He’s tearing me apart bit by bit with his gaze, shredding my well-intact armour to expose my vulnerabilities. My walls are fortified, but he rips through them with ease, stripping me bare until my spine is no longer straight and my weakened knees are threatening to give out. I thought I’d be more capable of withstanding scrutiny.
I choke. On nothing. Air and breath and fear obstruct my throat, forcing a sound out that draws him back around to my front. The bright purple of his face mask draws my attention, that feeble part of me trying to hold on to something bright within all the darkness. Reality settles in as he tilts his head again. I’m in Vile House. I’m offering my life to him in the form of a bargain. I’m exchanging my free will for the death of someone else’s, and I have no idea if he’ll find my bargain desirable. Or what happens if he doesn’t.
“Are you legal?” he asks, voice still shaky.
“Twenty-six,” I tell him. “With identification.” Which is what he wants to know. Because many who live in Moros aren’t legal citizens. They’re ghosts the governments don’t know about, and they like it that way.
“Show me.”
I unclasp my sweaty palms to pull my wallet from my pocket. I hate that my hands shake when I hand it to him, and I hate it even more that my breath catches when his gloved hand grazes mine. He steps back to read it, but the energy of his body doesn’t stop shrouding me. He’s volatile and calm about it. He’s churning with something that has the ability to explode but lacks the capacity to rue the effect. He’s dangerous while judging my worth.
When he looks up from my driver’s licence, the glimmer of his eyes peeks through the mask. Pale and vibrant, they pulse. Something lives within them, and if it ever rattles its chains enough to break free from the confines of his eyes, I’ll find myself in a fate worse than death—the one Moros hands out more freely than a finite ending.
My teeth chatter.
“Your life for… what?”
I’ve never considered striking a bargain with a Vile Boy, so I haven’t had a lot of time to word my negotiation. All I know is that I can’t fall prey to the man stalking me earlier tonight, and if I do, my body won’t be the only one missing. My brother will be next.
“Three lives exchanged for mine,” I tell him, voice sure and chin high. “You take three lives, and I give mine to you.”
He cocks his head again. “Forever?”
“Do I have a choice?”
He thinks about it. I’ve heard that lives and the rights to them are given forever, and that the Vile Boys won’t accept anything less than a lifetime. Honestly, I once heard that someone who had struck a bargain with the red-masked one died from an illness, and the red-masked man forced the person’s son to fulfill the rest of the bargain. After a few months, that son was never heard from again.
“Mine. Until I free you,” he says. It’s not much better than forever, but I nod to accept it because I don’t have the illusion of another choice. He pockets every piece of identification in my wallet before handing it back. “If you succumb to the Sauder curse, I will end it by eradicating your family.”
My eyes drop to the floor, and dread consumes me. I can’t promise him that. I can’t guarantee that I won’t end my life. Because that is the Sauder curse. Every man with the Sauder last name, spanning back hundreds of years, has died by suicide. We’re all driven mad eventually. The age varies, but the end result is the same—a cemetery full of Sauder men who have taken matters into their own hands. Some think it’s control, a way to die on our own terms, the absolute death we all hope for around here. Others believe we’re cursed, pledged to repeat the past because our inferior genes have continuously created ticking time bombs.
Me? I believe we’re doomed from the moment we’re born. Because the life of a Sauder man isn’t a good one, and eventually, when it gets to be too much and we can’t take it any longer, the prospect of death is such a welcome embrace that we flock to it freely. It’s not a supernatural curse by any means, but there’s only so much one mind, conscience, and soul can take, and when we hit that limit, it’s better to end it before it swallows someone else whole.
“If I succumb to the curse, you can end my bloodline,” I agree, because there is no other choice. “All except my sister. You have to agree to get her out. Out of Moros.”
When his hand darts forward, fingers clamping around my throat, my knees finally give out. I crash onto them, the impact of the stone floor travelling up to my stomach to make me sick. I choke for real when he squeezes my throat, bile filling my mouth.
“If you succumb to the Sauder curse, I will kill off your bloodline. Are we clear?”
I should have known not to negotiate, but I had to try to save my sister. I nod in his grip, the edges of my vision darkening with black spots. My fingers grasp at his, trying to pry them open while panic sets in. My head fills with pressure and my eyes struggle to remain open while feeling like they’re popping out of my skull.
“Agree,” he demands.
Croaking out an agreement, I sway on my knees. When he lets go, I buckle forward on all fours, coughing spit and bile onto the floor.
“Names,” he demands while I’m hacking.
“Reeven Matterson.” Cough. “Gregory Malone.” Choke. “Soren Sauder.” Defeat.
If he’s surprised by my brother’s name, he doesn’t react. “Dead?”
“Dead or… missing,” I correct. “But Soren just… gone. Temporarily.”
“Deal,” he agrees. “Until I free you. Bargain struck?”
Deep breath. “Bargain struck.”
With that, the bargain is etched into my future. My life belongs to the Vile Boy in the purple mask.