by Scott Blade
Barbara shook her head. She now had a topic for her thesis.
8
Lucy and Barbara walked to the art gallery. Barbara wanted desperately to see the painting. And she wanted Lucy to take her. As they walked, Lucy talked about things other than art.
“Barbara, do you like boys? I mean are you a lesbian? My sisters think that you’re a lesbian,” Lucy said.
Barbara found herself staring at Lucy’s top while her sexuality was being questioned. Unfortunately, Barbara was only wondering how tight Lucy’s top was. It was hard not to look at Lucy’s chest. She was skinny, not as skinny as Barbara, but thin. Her bust was quite large and perky for a thin woman. Barbara was slightly jealous.
“Lucy, of course I’m a lesbian. That’s why I can think of nothing better than clamping down on your...” Barbara said, jokingly. She started giggling.
“Barbara, if you’re not going to take me seriously then you can go look at your stupid painting alone. Maybe Professor Blake will keep you company,” Lucy said, playfully poking at Barbara’s sensitivity.
“Okay, I'm sorry, Lucy. Why are you asking me about my preference of sex?”
“Okay!” Lucy said. Suddenly, her eyes filled with excitement, and she stopped Barbara’s march to the art gallery. “As you realize, this school doesn’t have a large female populace.”
“I noticed,” Barbara said.
“The sisters of my sorority were asking about you.”
“So?” Barbara said.
“So? So?” Lucy repeated her.
“Lucy, what do you mean?”
“What do you mean, what do I mean?”
Barbara rolled her eyes.
“Forget it. Let me tell you what my mother used to say when she was very furious with me. ‘What the fuck are you trying to say?’ ” Barbara said. A smile came across her face as she thought of how sprightly her mother used to be.
“God, Barbara. Your mouth is not very ladylike. I guess American boys like that sort of talk.”
“Lucy, get to it,” Barbara said.
“My sorority sisters are asking me about you because they are considering you for rush!”
“Oh no,” Barbara said. “No. No. I don’t do sororities, knitting and bake sales.”
“Come on, Barbara,” Lucy said. “It’s not all like that. We do lesbian stuff too.”
Both of the girls giggled.
“Seriously, Barbara. It looks good on your transcripts, and you will make friends for life. It’s not like you’ve made a lot here.”
“I have friends, Lucy.”
“You have classmates, not friends,” Lucy said.
They began walking toward the art gallery again.
“So you have friends? Like who?” Lucy asked.
“I have you,” Barbara answered.
“I'm your roommate; we are assigned together. Who else do you know?” Lucy asked.
Barbara shrugged.
“Hmm, no girls, I see. What about boys?” Lucy asked.
“I met a boy,” Barbara said.
“You met a boy? When? Where?”
“When I first moved here. Near one of the gardens.”
“Who?”
“Just a boy. He was very mysterious.”
“Mysterious? What is this mystery guy’s name?” Lucy asked.
“Evan.”
“Evan? Evan? Wait. You mean the groundskeeper?”
“Yeah. So what’s wrong with him?”
“Barbara? He isn’t mysterious. He’s weird. I’m going to tell the sisters to rush you. At least they’re a bunch of sexy girls. Maybe we can just turn you into a lesbian and wash you of this Evan nonsense,” Lucy said. Both girls started chuckling as they opened the doors to the art gallery.
9
Barbara stared at the painting as Lucy wandered near the sculptures. She was much more interested in the erotic ones. The Secret of Lions hung inside the gallery, near the back of the first floor, just as Professor Blake had described. The painting was magnificent, glorious, far better than the slide that Blake had of it. Barbara became intoxicated by it––drawn to it.
10
The entire next week Barbara thought about the painting while she avoided her roommate’s hints about rush week.
“Get ready,” Lucy said. “The girls are coming for you.”
Barbara didn’t want to deal with the sorority girls. The only thing she wanted to concentrate on was the painting. She spent her free time in the library, reading anything that mentioned it.
Thursday night was windy. Her class ended a few minutes early, which was typical of Professor Greene. She always ended class early. Some of the other students joked that she was secretly dating one of the students. The reason why she ended class early was to meet up with him across campus. Barbara wasn’t sure about that, but she was glad to get out early.
Barbara walked out of the Liberal Arts building and headed toward the commons. She wanted nothing more than to eat a pizza from the little Italian pizza place that her mother used to take her to in Brooklyn. It was called Ole Stone Pizza.
She began her trek to the library. The wind picked up even more than it already had. The leaves on a small oak tree rustled vigorously. The tree grew out of a humble garden which rested in the darkness in a desolate alley.
Out of the darkness, Barbara heard the rustling as it grew louder. When she had nearly passed the alley, she heard a faint word. “Barbara,” whispered out of the darkness.
It was nearly silent, but she was certain that she had heard her name.
Barbara turned back to the alley. “Is anyone there?” she asked.
“Barbara,” a voice whispered.
“Hello?” she asked. Cautiously, she inched toward the edge of the darkness.
There was no answer from the whispering voice. Barbara moved a little closer.
Suddenly, a figure leapt out toward her. The figure opened a dark, burlap sack. Quickly, the sack covered Barbara’s head. Before she had a moment to struggle, she felt multiple hands gripping her tightly. The hands restrained her, and she was helpless.
She felt them lifting her body up off the ground. She began to kick her feet, but it was to no avail. The sorority girls had her now. She would have to endure their hazing rituals; there was no amount of kicking that would stop them.
11
Barbara stood with her hands down by her sides as if she were in the army. The burlap sack was gone. Barbara could see, but the room was only dimly lit by an array of candles, as if for a secret, cultish ceremony. The scene reminded her of the furtive masons.
Barbara wasn’t sure where her captors were, but she knew that the room was large, probably made of stone. Every word that was uttered echoed high into the darkness, bouncing off rock walls.
“Sister. Sisters. Sisters. Today you have been abducted from your old lives,” a very attractive girl said. The girls who stood in front of Barbara were known as the inner circle. They were the leaders of Lucy’s sorority. Every girl wanted to be a part of their sorority house. It was the nicest house on campus, but more importantly, it had an abundant number of successful alumni.
“Your old lives are over. Forget about them. Leave them behind you. Each of you has been chosen for greatness. You have been rushed to become our newest sisters.”
“Get on with it,” Barbara murmured under her breath.
Barbara glanced to her left. Two other girls stood next to her, awaiting their hazing.
She felt uneasiness in her stomach about the entire prospect.
“We have a very special challenge in store for each of you. Each of you has been nominated by a fellow sister to be here among us. Each of us assisted in devising a tailored ritual for you.”
The sorority’s blond leader was like a siren––beautiful and seductive. Not even Barbara could resist her calls. Every word that she uttered sounded practiced, rehearsed, and for some reason, sensual. As the leader stepped closer to the line of rushes, Barbara was stunned by just how attractive
the leader was.
The blond stopped just in front of Barbara.
“The first challenge is for you, Miss Howard,” the leader said. Her gorgeous blue eyes gazed into Barbara’s with a gravity-like grasp.
Suddenly, Barbara realized that three other sisters stood directly behind her.
“What do I have to do?” Barbara asked. She was reluctant about joining, but she felt a sense of duty to Lucy, to her mother, and to herself. She was here. She had made it to a prestigious art school. Few women were ever admitted as graduate students at the college, and she was among them. Barbara had overcome many obstacles to get to the point where she was. She had come too far to be intimidated by a British sorority and its sexy, blond leader.
“Take your clothes off,” the leader said.
“What? Why?” Barbara asked.
“Sisters,” the leader commanded.
Forcefully, the girls standing behind Barbara grabbed her by the arms and waist. The leader moved closer to her.
“I’ll do it for you,” she said. She grabbed a tight hold on Barbara’s dress.
Before she could protest, Barbara was stark naked. The girls had stripped her bare. The dark room they stood in was freezing.
“What am I supposed to do now?” Barbara asked. The shivering was apparent in her voice.
The leader’s only reply was a deviant smile. Suddenly, Barbara regretted being Lucy’s friend.
12
Deep in the campus, the art gallery usually resided in a silent, blanket of darkness. Tonight, however, something stirred inside it. Barbara’s new sorority sisters carelessly fumbled about the halls of the gallery. They brought Barbara to her obsession, to her muse, to the painting The Secret of Lions.
“Here is your precious painting, Barbara,” the leader announced.
“Wha...wha...t am I s...s...supposed to do here?” she asked with a shiver in her voice. The ceremony Barbara had participated in earlier had taken place upstairs in a secret room in the art gallery’s Italian Renaissance exhibit. The rooms in that exhibit were decorated with Botticelli’s Primavera and Michelangelo’s The Last Judgment.
She didn’t have to walk far in the nude, but the art gallery was freezing. The air was chilly and felt like the cold isolation of an empty grave. The floors were a desultory combination of brick and hardwood. Each texture amplified the coldness on the bottoms of her feet. On the path to The Secret of Lions, Barbara slowly exhaled each breath to distract her from the cold sensations that surrounded her.
“We are told that you have an obsession with finding the artists who created this painting. We are going to leave you here for about an hour. Your assignment is to remain here in front of the painting for the next hour. You are not to move. You must stand. And you must remain naked. We will return to retrieve you. Then you will be a full-fledged sister to us.
“Your clothes will rest on that bench. If you choose that warmth is more important to you than membership, your pledge will be forfeited. Any questions, pledge?” the leader asked.
“No,” Barbara said.
13
Barbara was alone. She stood staring at the painting. The black lion looked out over the horizon, his muscles clenched, his body poised; his fur fluttered in the breeze.
Barbara had been alone in the gallery for approximately forty-five minutes.
The sorority sisters left her a single candle. She grasped it tightly, but her shivering forced the flame to shiver and convulse as well. The air was chilly, but she had grown used to the cold. Still, she ached for the sisters to return.
“They’ll come through those doors any moment,” she said to herself. “I am waiting here for the sorority sisters to save me. To save me.”
14
Evan stared at the ceiling of his flat. He lay on a platform bed with tattered, black blankets. He peered down at his shirtless body. He stayed in great physical shape out of necessity. His torso was muscular but not bulky. It was important to his survival to stay lean and agile. He had learned that a long time ago from his training. Often he tried not to think about his training, but it was imperative that he never forgot it.
Evan stretched his arms out; his fingertips reached for the ceiling. Afterward, he ran his fingers across a set of long, deep scars across his torso. The scars brought back memories of the black lion, the creature that had left the physical gashes across his chest and abdomen. It was a creature that had haunted his dreams.
The night air spilled in through the cracks in the wall above the window. Evan’s flat had a living space that he painted in and a small, creaking staircase that led up to a loft. Only his bed was at the top of the loft.
Evan looked out the window at the cloudy, moonlit sky. His view was slightly obstructed by the top of the neighboring building.
Evan couldn’t sleep. He rarely slept longer than four hours a night. Bored, he gazed at his watch. It was time for a nighttime stroll across campus.
He climbed down from the bed, pulled a hooded, long-sleeved shirt on, grabbed a flashlight, and headed out the front door.
15
Barbara still waited in the cold of the art gallery. It had been over an hour; she was certain. She stopped looking at the painting. She spent more time looking at some Holocaust paintings across the hall. Holocaust art was a macabre movement in which the images were mostly graphically violent.
Often they portrayed dead people with lots of blood and gore. Suddenly, a thought fired through Barbara's brain. She remembered that Professor Blake had shown her the slide of Hitler with The Secret of Lions. She wondered why it was placed in this part of the gallery. Why across from the Holocaust artwork? The department must have thought that it was more than just artwork to Hitler. Somehow he might have been connected to it.
“Barbara?” a voice whispered in the darkness.
She felt frozen. Naked and once again shivering, but not from the cold, but out of fright, she stared off into the darkness beyond the reach of the candle’s light, beyond the painting.
“Who’s there?” she called out. “Sisters? Is that you?”
There was no answer, but she could definitely hear breathing. She squinted her eyes and studied the darkness, trying to make out any sign of movement.
“Come closer,” a voice whispered.
As she moved closer to the edge of the candlelight, she made out a figure watching her. Abruptly, she froze again. The shape was a man’s. It was not Lucy’s sorority sisters.
“Who are you?” she demanded. But the fear in her voice was apparent. She trembled. Her arms and legs shook under her weight.
“Who are you?” she repeated. Slowly, she backed away from the figure in the dark. Her fear grew. Quickly, it turned into sheer, white terror. The figure dashed toward her. A gust of wind from his attack blew out the candle. She dropped it and fell to the floor.
Barbara barely missed her attacker’s grasp. She instinctively jumped to her feet and fled the gallery. She felt her pursuer closing in on her as she ran. Her bare feet let out muffled clopping sounds. She could hear the intruder’s heavy shoes stomping on the floor as he ran.
He got so close to her that she heard his breathing.
She hit the front doors hard, barreling them open. She fell past the foyer of the gallery, outside the doors, and hit the pavement outside.
She looked up to see the sorority sisters standing in the walkway. The blond leader stood in front, staring down at her in shock.
“What are you doing, Barbara?” she asked with a dropped jaw.
Barbara peered back into the open doors to the gallery, but there was no one there. The figure had vanished.
“Barbara?” Lucy said as she stepped out from behind the group of sorority sisters.
Some of the girls were giggling at the fact that Barbara lay on the pavement, stark naked, but Lucy was more concerned with the frightened look on her roommate’s face.
Again she said, “Barbara. Are you okay?”
16
Barbara realiz
ed the gallery was not a place to be at night. There were stories of campus muggings and hoodlums attacks.. The campus police had been sending out bulletins and warnings to all of the departments for weeks, warning students to be on the lookout for suspicious visitors.
Barbara didn't report the attack on her in the gallery to anyone because she wasn’t supposed to be in the gallery at night. The sisters had broken into it. Naturally they didn’t want campus authorities knowing that they were breaking into school buildings at night and making their rushes stand naked in front of school property.
For her discretion about their activities, they rewarded her with membership to the sorority.
For safety reasons, she decided only to visit the art gallery during early morning hours. Every other morning, she found herself alone with the painting, but at least it was daylight outside.
She sat on a bench across from the painting, staring at it. Her sketchbook rested on her lap. She made multiple sketches of the painting throughout the sketchbook. She had drawn the painting from almost every angle that she could achieve. She tried to draw as well as the artist did. She didn’t feel that she would ever match his skill.
She spent so much time studying the style of this artist that she felt confident she’d recognize his other work immediately. The problem was that she had already spent hours and hours looking at other contemporary works. Yet she still couldn’t find anyone who drew or painted in the same style as the unknown artist. He was truly one of a kind and very well hidden. She, like the rest of the art community, was stumped.
The only breakthrough that she felt proud of, the only theory that separated her from other scholars was that she believed that the artist had something to do with the war, directly. Perhaps he even had some connection to Hitler.
And so, she spent the rest of her time browsing the library. She read books on Hitler’s life. She read books about his politics. She read Mein Kampf. She even read a book that claimed Hitler’s death was actually a murder made to look like a suicide. She guessed it was to save his honor. With all of the research that she had done about Hitler, Barbara had become an expert on him. Still, she was having trouble piecing it all together. She was certain that she was closer than anyone had ever been.
