Chapter 2 #2
NO CONTACT. The box my parents checked when they gave me away.
The knowledge had made me an NPC in my own story.
When I ran from that bus this morning, I wasn’t just ignoring Pythia’s warning.
I was running from Sister Agnes’s words.
Running from the feelings that flow through the taps and are consumed at St. Catherine’s daily; that I should be grateful just to be alive.
But I want more than survival. I have always wanted more than that.
I want to matter. I want to be the MC in my own story, and to become that I must take risks.
A voice in my head asks, Even if it kills you?
Yes, even if it kills me, at least I'll have tried, I tell myself, defying the Sister Agnes’ whisper, ready to face whatever fate awaits.
The Devil’s voice echoes in my mind, reminding me, ‘There are worse things than death.’
Cal senses my apprehension. “I really wish I could offer you more time to think about it, but the owners insist on quick decisions.” His tone is sympathetic as he taps the contract.
“We've had other employees go to this same location. Denise, for instance. She ended up settling down in the same area and marrying a man in the military.” He pulls up what appears to be a social media photo of Denise looking radiant with her new husband and a recent ultrasound pinned to her profile. “You see, she's very happy.”
I lean in closer to study the image. Denise does look happy, glowing even, but there’s an unsettling perfection to the image.
The lighting is unnaturally flawless for a casual picture.
And her husband, while handsome in his military uniform, has that generic stock photo quality.
Even the ultrasound image looks oddly pristine, like it was pulled from a medical textbook rather than a real appointment.
My survival instincts are screaming at me to walk away from this opportunity, but they’re overshadowed by a louder, more insidious force—hope. Dangerous, desperate hope, whispering promises of a better future, and I can’t help but listen because I feel like I deserve something good to happen to me.
Cal's voice softens. “It’s a fantastic opportunity and one very few people qualify for.”
I look directly into Cal's green eyes. Then, I pick up the electronic stylus and sign my name.
Eve Eden. It was the name given to me by the nuns who raised me.
I used to hate it because the other children would tease me.
But when I got older, I accepted it, and even dressed as “sexy” Eve a couple of times for Halloween, looking for any man dressed as Adam.
The closest I got was finding a few men dressed as Frankenstein's monster, who, to add insult to injury, thought they were dressed as Frankenstein.
As I press the stylus to the glass, signing with a flicker of digital ink, locking me into five hundred and thirty-five days of I-don’t-know-what, a thought runs through my mind, something Sister Agnes used to say, “Doors and cages can share the same hinges.” My anxiety surges just for a second before I thump it down.
It's done.
I’ve signed.
I have to accept whatever waits for me on the other side of this signature. I feel giddy and scared at the same time.
“Is there anyone you need to notify before you enter immersion?”
I shake my head. “No one.”
Cal extends his hand. “Your phone and any other electronic devices, please.”
I blink. “I thought that would be taken during training, not now.”
“This is the start of your training,” he says. “We’ll store your devices until your probationary period ends.”
Against my better judgment, I reach into my faux leather bag and hand him my phone.
Our hands touch as he takes it. “I promise if anything happens, you can always call me.” Then he tucks it away in a drawer and hands me a black, square, metal card etched with unfamiliar script.
“The moment you're at the Spire, you'll be taught how to use this. It connects directly to me, no matter where you are.”
I eye the strange glyphs. “All right.”
“Now any other electronics?” he asks knowingly.
“I’m not giving you my e-reader.”
He reaches out his hand again. “I understand. But if you want to keep it, you’ll have to give it to me so that I can update it and put a security lock on it.”
“What kind of security lock? I need to be able to read my books…” I leave off saying exactly what kind of books I’m worried I’ll be locked out of, but we both know.
“I promise not only to update your e-reader right now, but to download every book on your wish list as an added bonus. Is that a fair trade?”
I hand over my most beloved possession slowly.
Cal takes it and says, “Everyone wants you to be happy. Now, it’s a long drive to the airport, then a private flight. I think it’s best you use the ladies’ room before you go.”
A thought hits me. “Wait, I don't have a passport. If I'm leaving the country...”
“When people have this level of wealth, passports become irrelevant.”
I can't argue with that. I witnessed firsthand that the richer you are, the fewer borders apply. I stare at the black square in my hand, wondering if I made the right decision. This is what I wanted, wasn't it?
As I head to the employee bathroom, I can't shake the feeling that I've just signed my life away. But to what, I have no idea.
My inner voice, the one that's kept me sane through the first twenty-two years of my life, chimes in with its usual helpful commentary.
Maybe the Celestial Spire is a remote castle where I'll serve a mysterious lord who only appears at night.
He'll have fangs and an insatiable appetite, but not just for blood.
The “specialized medical team” is there to treat all the swooning and neck injuries.
The five hundred and thirty-five days is exactly how long it takes to fall completely under his dark spell and beg him to make me his eternal bride.
I read too many romance novels. They have taught me to long for dangerous men. Now I can't tell fantasy from threat.
I smile to myself. Sister Agnes would be horrified to know how many bodice rippers I checked out from the library once I moved out of St. Catherine’s.
But honestly, being ravished by some tortured immortal in a Gothic mansion sounds infinitely more appealing than my current existence.