The Venue

by T J Payne

  She could feel the weight of the cake clinging to her dress and skin. She was covered in its thick frosting. Its sweet smell wafted up to her nose. She hoped she wasn’t inhaling the cyanide. She hoped the poison wasn’t airborne.

  A bottle exploded by her feet as she ran. The people chasing her were throwing things to slow her down. But she didn’t dare look back.

  As she passed Father Dave, lying face down with an arrow in his back, she bent and grabbed the bouquet from his hand. His fingers still had grip and she had to tug at the flowers (what was left of them). He let out a moan in opposition. He was still alive, but Amy didn’t wait.

  She ripped the bouquet free and ran toward the open door.

  Eight more feet.

  A pain rippled through her shoulder. Someone had thrown something sharp at her. Maybe it was still stuck in her flesh. She ignored it.

  Five more feet.

  She blocked out the screams behind her.

  She ignored the knives ricocheting off the wall in front of her.

  A sudden pain seared into the back of her scalp. Like an asteroid collision sending shockwaves around a planet, she felt the pain first block out all sound before it worked its way to her eyes. Blackness overtook her vision.

  Someone must have hit her in the back of the head.

  A flying bottle finding its mark, perhaps.

  With what little control of her muscles she still had remaining, she commanded her legs to jump forward.

  And so, she leapt, or rather tumbled, in the direction of the door.

  She prayed she made it through.

  CHAPTER 25

  The force with which she hit the floor seemed to knock the sound back into Amy’s ears.

  First came the screams. They grew louder. The thundering footsteps gained on her.

  Then came a loud click.

  And suddenly the screams went quiet. Muffled.

  “Please set all weapons in the provided tray,” a male voice said.

  It took a few more seconds for Amy’s eyesight to adjust. The blackness faded and the room she was in began to take shape. It was completely white and seemingly sterile — almost futuristic. Florescent lights shone down brightly on her. The door behind her was sealed shut.

  She took a breath as she realized that she had, in fact, managed to throw herself through the door.

  “Please set all weapons in the provided tray,” the voice repeated.

  Amy looked up. One side of the room had a large glass window and glass door. Two men in red vests, both of whom she recognized as bellhops, stood on the other side of the glass, watching her.

  “I… I don’t have any weapons,” Amy managed to stammer out.

  “Your shoulder,” the man she remembered as being the head bellhop said.

  She suddenly felt a sharp pain piercing her shoulder. She reached behind her and immediately winced as she came in contact with warm metal. A throwing star dangled from her skin. It wasn’t deep, though, and by simply tapping on it, she ripped it free and it clanged down onto the floor.

  “Put it there.”

  In the middle of the room was a clear plastic tub. Amy picked up the throwing star and set it inside.

  “Now stand.”

  She rose to her feet. Chunks of cake fell off her dress as she did.

  The room spun as she stood. Her throbbing head took a moment to adjust. She steadied herself by looking down at her feet. Blood dripped from her shoulder onto the cake and frosting that she had smeared across the concrete floor.

  “Please put your hands up. Turn around.”

  Raising her arms as much as she could, Amy did as told. She turned in a full circle until she came back around and faced the window.

  “Do you have any keys or other metal?”

  She shook her head.

  The head bellhop then slid the window open a few inches.

  “Please present your control device.”

  Amy stepped toward the window. She lifted her left arm and put her hand through the slit. The moment her bracelet moved beyond the glass plane, its lights flashed a red warning and it began to vibrate.

  “No, no, no!” Amy cried out. She tried to retract her arm, but the bellhop’s assistant grabbed her by the wrist and held her tightly in place.

  “Remain calm,” the head bellhop said. “We are deactivating it.”

  On his own wrist, he wore a red staff bracelet. He waved it over Amy’s bracelet as though it were a magic wand.

  Nothing happened.

  The lights on Amy’s bracelet flashed more furiously. It started beeping. The vibrations shook their way up her arm until she could feel them in her rattling teeth.

  “Wait, please. Let me try again,” the head bellhop said as he waved his bracelet over Amy’s a second time.

  The lights kept flashing. She could feel the vibrations grow in intensity. She shut her eyes and braced herself.

  “This damn thing,” the bellhop said. “Someone needs to fix this.”

  “Should we, um, just let it go?” his assistant asked. Amy could hear the concern in the man’s voice. He was, after all, the one holding her wrist.

  “Just give me a moment. Your name, please?”

  “Amy! Amy Holgate!”

  The man clicked on his walkie-talkie. “This is Guest Relations. Deactivate control device for Amy Holgate.”

  Amy reached up to the nylon wrapped around her arm. She put one end in her mouth and gripped the other in her hand. She pulled hard. The fabric constricted, but she kept pulling. Tighter still.

  She hoped it wouldn’t hurt. She hoped she wouldn’t feel it.

  The image of Mariko flashed in her mind. Mariko, who had already lost her arm and fought through the pain.

  The memory of sitting behind that desk with Mariko, smiling at each other, calmed Amy. Her heart rate and breathing slowed, even as the vibrations increased.

  And then…

  Click.

  Amy opened her eyes. No lights. No beeps. No vibrations.

  The bracelet had finally shut down.

  The bellhop’s assistant undid the clasp and slid the bracelet off her hand. She pulled her arm back through the window and massaged her wrist. The bracelet had never been particularly heavy, but she now realized how much it had been weighing on her mentally. Her arm had been tense since the moment she first saw the power of those devices, and for the past few hours, she had been in a constant state of clenching that side of her body, preparing herself for the moment of explosion.

  Now that the bracelet was off, she felt lighter. Her mind, which had been so aching and numb from stress, began to clear.

  “I am now going to open this door. When I do, please step through. Be advised that there is a metal detector surrounding the frame of the door. If any weapons are still on your person, The Venue reserves the right to terminate your life.”

  As the head bellhop spoke, his assistant held up a revolver for Amy to see. It was an elegant, almost antique-looking handgun. He didn’t present it in a threatening manner; he seemed to be displaying it more as a formality.

  “Do you understand what I have just stated?”

  Amy nodded.

  “Very well. Opening door.”

  The head bellhop swiped his bracelet on the door that separated her area from his. The door buzzed and swung open. He motioned for her to proceed.

  Amy took a breath and then stepped through the door and metal detector.

  Not a beep.

  The head bellhop smiled pleasantly at her and then sharply pivoted. “This way, please.” With stiff, precise posture, he led the way down the hall.

  The bellhop’s assistant stood behind her, keeping the gun trained on her back while maintaining a professional smile the whole time. “After you, ma’am,” he said.

  Amy began walking.

  The head bellhop led their little procession down a wide, beige corridor. The area was bland but clean. Occasional unmarked metal doors, all closed and locked behind keypads, dotted the
otherwise empty area.

  They walked on, turning the many sharp corners of the twisted halls.

  As they progressed deeper into the bowels of The Venue, the bellhops’ shoes squeaked and echoed around the deserted space.

  Well, almost deserted.

  Amy and her escorts marched past a set of large double-doors. Laughter flowed from the room. People called out to each other in a language that Amy didn’t know. It sounded like a frat party.

  Two red vested staffers — Amy thought she recalled them serving as waiters — chatted outside the doors. Amy couldn’t understand their language, but they smiled and waved to Amy as she passed, and then they continued their conversation.

  The bellhops turned a corner and the sounds of the staff faded away.

  As they walked, the head bellhop dug into his pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper. He began to read it out loud. “Congratulations on your survival. To protect the interests of The Venue, we require all departing guests to submit to a minor pharmaceutical procedure that will eliminate approximately forty-eight hours of your most recent memories. At which point, you and the nonsurviving members of your party will be placed in an automobile accident scene in a location of our choosing. You will have no recollection of these events. Do you agree to these terms?”

  The words entered Amy’s ears, bounced around a bit, and then sank to somewhere deep inside her numb body.

  “I am afraid I will need to hear your consent before we arrive at the green room. At which point, you may clean yourself. We can even issue you a sedative to help you relax, if you so desire.”

  A sedative. Relaxation. A shower. A nap.

  Amy’s mind struggled to think of anything else she could want. Her feet carried her forward, but she didn’t feel them. She was now drifting through the hall.

  “Do you agree to these terms?”

  “Yes,” Amy said.

  She took a deep breath.

  She had survived.

  It was all going to be okay.

  ***

  Mariko tried to concentrate on her breathing so that she wouldn’t have to concentrate on her pain. She was only somewhat successful.

  She wanted to pass out and then drift peacefully into death. She had lost track of time, but she figured the night must be coming to an end soon.

  What a day.

  As she closed her eyes for what she thought might be the final time, a beefy hand grabbed her shoulder. She felt herself yanked off the floor and pulled up onto the front desk.

  Her eyes snapped open, bringing an immediate clarity to her situation. She was looking into a man’s eyes. He was young, but he was big. Her brain raced to recall who he was.

  A football player…

  Lilith’s cousin…

  Ben?... Bob…?

  No.

  BRAD.

  Linebacker Brad. Lilith’s brawny, but simple, cousin.

  His hand latched onto Mariko’s throat, holding her down against the desk. His other hand raised an old, rusted battle axe above his head.

  “No… No…” Mariko croaked out.

  She tried to twist free, but his grip was tight. Her good hand swung out, trying maybe to claw at his face or get him in the eye, but his arm was too long and she couldn’t strike him anywhere higher than his shoulder.

  She looked up at his eyes. He didn’t have the cold face of a killer. His lips quivered and his eyes twitched as though they were fighting to close themselves so they wouldn’t have to look at what he intended to do. His breaths were quick and panicked.

  He was terrified.

  And sorry.

  “I… I just wanna go home,” he said in a wavering voice that sounded like he might be about to cry. “I just wanna leave. I ain’t never hurt no one. But if I gotta do this to get out of here. Well… I. I’m sorry. You don’t look like you’re gonna live long anyway. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

  His eyes clenched shut and he raised the axe.

  CHAPTER 26

  The head bellhop stopped suddenly. Amy almost walked right into him. He took a step off to the side, toward the wall, and motioned for Amy to do the same.

  As she did, she saw why.

  They were making way for a woman in a suit and wearing a headset. Amy recognized the woman. Despite the lateness of the night, the woman’s hair was still tightly pulled back, her black suit was still crisp, and her posture was still ramrod straight. This was the woman who had hovered behind Caleb and Lilith throughout the reception. They had called her their Event Planner.

  The Event Planner marched down the hall, a mug of black coffee in one hand and a croissant in the other. She walked a few steps past the bellhops and then paused at one of the unmarked doors.

  She looked down at the keypad and then at her hands, both of which were full. With a pleasant smile, she turned to the bellhop.

  “Will you, please?” she said.

  He hurried over, waved his bracelet in front of the door’s keypad to unlock it, and then held the door open for the woman.

  As this was happening, the woman took a moment to examine Amy. A faint grin played on the woman’s lips at the sight of the cake and blood encrusted girl who was leaving crumbs and frosting streaks through her pristine hallways. But Amy didn’t care. She simply stared right back at the woman. It wasn’t out of defiance; she just had no reason to look anywhere else.

  “We hope you enjoyed your stay at The Venue,” the woman said.

  “Thank you,” Amy muttered from some subconscious need to be polite.

  As the bellhop held the door open, Amy caught a glimpse inside the room.

  It was a small room filled mostly with video displays. Two men sat at the displays, working the controls and switching between the various camera feeds. Amy recognized all the locations. The ballroom, the chapel, the hallways, the gym.

  This whole time, they had been watching.

  The two men at the controls then laughed about something. They pointed to the main screen. They seemed to be making some sort of wager.

  At first, Amy didn’t recognize the room on the screen. But then her eyes focused in on that metal, twisted lamp.

  It was the front desk.

  In that instant, the image became perfectly clear. A man was holding a woman down on the desk by her throat. As much as she squirmed and kicked, she couldn’t overpower him. He had an axe raised above his head, ready to strike.

  Amy couldn’t see the woman’s face.

  But she saw that dress.

  That sea-green, silky dress.

  The Event Planner walked inside and the door swung closed, blocking out Amy’s view.

  “This way, ma’am,” the head bellhop said, motioning for Amy to continue following him.

  She stared at the closed door for a moment.

  Mariko was dying.

  And for what?

  There was no higher mystery to the night. No grand reveal. No dark secret cruelty that Amy had inflicted upon Caleb to deserve this. She could have been nicer, sure, but it was high school. Everyone was dealing with their own shit in high school.

  Her parents had died because some self-centered kid had gotten his feelings hurt. Mariko, who hadn’t even been there in high school, would soon die because that kid had held onto that bitterness.

  None of this was proportional.

  None of this was fair.

  Amy felt her muscles twitch.

  The bellhop’s assistant motioned with his gun for her to continue.

  She started walking.

  Her shoulders slumped. Her eyes cast downward. Her feet and body moved with the rigidity of a robot. Or zombie. If anyone were to look at her face at this moment, they would see nothing. Complete emptiness.

  Amy had the look and posture of defeat. The spark of life had been extinguished from her frail frame, and now she seemed to only be guided by one impulse — to follow the two men who were marching her toward freedom. Freedom from death. Freedom from memory.

  That was what someone
would assume by looking at her face.

  Her hands, meanwhile, moved with a subtle urgency. She hugged herself, stroking her arms while clearing off swaths of the frosting and cake. It was nothing that anyone would notice. The bellhop’s assistant marching behind her might have assumed it was a young woman’s subconscious need to clean off the layer of filth that was crusting onto her.

  She had been so covered in the cake that it only took a few wipes of her arms before her fingers were heavy with cream.

  Then her arms dropped to her front, out of view of the man behind her.

  Her fingers rolled the clumps of frosting into a ball, about the size of the balls that her mom would roll dough into when making cookies. It appeared to be an idle movement. Nothing more than a nervous fidget.

  Amy wanted it to appear that way.

  She slowed her pace ever-so-slightly.

  The man behind her walked closer. She could hear his footsteps grow just a bit louder. She could feel his presence just a foot or two behind her.

  And then, she spun around.

  The bellhop’s assistant walked right into her, seemingly startled by the sudden stop. Amy grabbed him by the head and shoved the ball of frosting into his mouth.

  The man’s eyes grew wide with confusion. He tried to respond by aiming his gun at her, but he was too close. She pinned his arm up under her shoulder. Her other hand, the one that had shoved the frosting into his mouth, clamped over his face, sealing off his lips and nose as best she could.

  An instant. That was all it took before she felt him swallow the frosting.

  His look of confusion turned to panic as soon as he realized what his throat had done. His eyes narrowed and darted around, searching for help.

  Somewhere, Amy heard the head bellhop shouting, but it was as though he were calling out from a great distance. She didn’t feel threatened.

  She didn’t feel anything.

  Amy held the assistant in that position for a second or two longer.

  She didn’t know how long cyanide needed to take effect, but she knew how long fear needed. And it had arrived in the man.

  Amy released him, giving him a firm shove in the process.

  He fell to the ground. The gun remained in his possession, but he didn’t try to aim it at Amy. Instead, he swatted furiously at his own face, trying to wipe away any poisonous residue that remained.