30. Jet #3
A waiter weaves invisible and efficient through the throngs. Sev and I each take a whiskey from his tray.
“Stay sober, will you?” Sev says.
“I’m always sober,” I say, swallowing the contents of my glass as I search for Amal.
Sev shakes his head and in his usual manner, simply holds his glass, not even pretending to drink.
We stand just inside the great hall and take in the three-stories high ceiling. Candles burn from the dozen wrought-iron chandeliers, and I realize the entire hall is lit only by candlelight casting everything and everyone in a gold, almost ominous glow.
Men and women drift along the dance floor and past us and as I take in the costumes and masks, I see the hierarchy before me and although I doubt I’d recognize members of The Society of Scotland, they know who’s who, or at the very least, who is where in the pecking order.
Then, just as the quartet begins to play the next tune and partners get into position for the dance, I catch a glimpse of someone across the room.
No.
Not someone.
Something.
A bony hand wraps itself around the back of my neck, fingers like ice. Like death itself. They curl all the way around to my throat and tighten.
“Jet?” I hear. The voice is my brother’s, but it sounds like it’s at the other end of the world.
Or I’m at the other end of the world.
In another place.
Another time.
The mask vanishes in the crowd, that sensation of death gripping me gone and I can breathe again.
But it’s momentary, that reprieve. The mask reappears and this time, the wearer turns his head to look directly at me.
The scene before me is suddenly distorted, flashing in and out as if someone is turning the lights on. Off. On. Off. On. Off.
Cold sweat breaks out all over me.
And then it’s gone. He’s gone. The mask replaced by someone else. Something else. Plague doctor with his beaked nose. The Phantom of the Opera. All manner of masked couples to get lost in.
But I know what I saw. I know.
“Jet?” A hand is on my shoulder, shaking me.
I turn to look at the man beside me.
It’s my brother. My brother. That’s all. It’s Sev.
“Jet, what the fuck?” Sev gives me a hard shake.
Behind him that masked man appears once again. The same man. Or maybe a different one. Maybe multiple ones. No, just one. Or is it? No. No, there’s a second man. A third. All in the same mask, that fucking mask that’s burned into my memory. And they’re all looking at me.
I can never, never banish it and no matter how many years pass, no matter the fact that my grandfather is dead.
He can’t hurt me. None of those men can.
No matter that I could and would rip apart any man that dared tried with my bare hands, I’m right back there.
I’ll never escape it. I know that, don’t I?
Haven’t I always known that? Even when I stuck that knife in my grandfather’s neck and felt his blood soak my hands, I knew he would always, always hold that power over me.
“Jet!”
I blink, set my hand on the arm that is shaking me.
“Hey. It’s me. It’s Sev,” my brother says, pushing his mask to the top of his head.
My eyes, focus on his face, slow to sharpen. My breathing is shallow, a droplet of sweat sliding down my forehead into my eye.
“Jet. What the fuck is happening?”
“I saw it. Jesus. Fuck. I saw it.” I whip my mask off and when a waiter passes with a tray within grabbing distance, I snatch a whiskey and swallow the full contents of the tumbler. The familiar burn should ground me, but a fog blurs the edges of my vision. “I need some air,” I tell my brother.
I turn to walk against the crowd back the way we came, back to the open front doors, fighting my way through what seems like a mass of hundreds.
I need to get outside. Get some air. But the castle doors are closed, and two men stand sentry, so I turn into an unlit corridor needing to be away from all the noise. All the people.
“Jet. Slow the fuck down.” It’s Sev but I don’t slow.
I walk as far from that room as possible until I can’t go any farther and, after trying several doors, I throw my weight into the final one, breaking the lock, stumbling in while tearing the top button of my shirt in my haste to get it open so I can breathe.
Although the room is dark, I can make out a window from the lantern burning outside it and throw it wide open.
I lean my head out and vomit, only calming when icy rain hits me, wind or the sea howling in this miserable night on this wretched island of horrors.
“What the fuck just happened?” Sev asks me, hand on my back as I stand half-bent, hands curled around the casement trying to catch my breath. “What did you see?”
It’s impossible. What happened happened over a decade ago. Our grandfather is dead. He’s long fucking dead. Those men? They’re not here, whoever the fuck they are. They’re not here. Not a single one. They can’t be.
“Jet?” Sev asks, worry etched in his face.
I straighten, wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, feeling clearer. “Grandfather’s mask,” I tell Sev. “The one he used to wear. The one he made them wear. I saw it. I swear I fucking saw it.”