SUSY Asylum

by Michael Pierce

  Darius followed her in and slid into the booth next to Desiree. His portion of the booth faced the tinted door on the adjacent wall from the hutch.

  I immediately retracted my hand from Desiree’s leg and went back to reading my menu.

  “Can I start any of you off with drinks or appetizers?” Lindi asked.

  “How about one of your finest bottles of champagne for the table,” I said immediately.

  “Absolutely; I will bring it right out.” And Lindi was off in a flash and disappeared through the tinted door before the hutch even had time to reach its closed resting spot.

  “Didn’t she notice I don’t have a perm—and you two don’t have either kind of ID,” Darius said with a tone of noticeable concern in his voice. “She didn’t check for anything.”

  “I’m as surprised as you are,” I said. “I just figured your drinking age is lower here—like in Europe.”

  “Where?” Darius asked.

  “Never mind. Hey, they didn’t card us—I don’t know why—but let’s enjoy it.”

  “I just hope I can afford it. There’re no prices anywhere on this menu. There were prices on the menus last time I was here. And this room…I never knew this room existed. It’s pretty freakin’ exos, but how did we get it?” Darius asked, examining the room.

  My eyes were drawn back to the wolf head on the back of the hutch—but it was gone. I looked more closely and finally noticed the faint outline of the carving, but it was no longer backlit and blended almost perfectly with the wood of the hutch. I suspected Darius wouldn’t notice it unless someone else came in through that hidden door.

  “We’ll order light,” Desiree said.

  “From now on,” I added. “We’ll find a way to pay you back, somehow.”

  “If my minor bracelet gets rejected, then we’ll probably find ourselves doing a weight of dishes,” Darius said.

  “I don’t believe that’s gonna happen,” I said and sat back in the booth confidently.

  Lindi returned quickly and quietly like a ghost, with the champagne bottle perched in a bucket of ice in one hand and three flutes dangling upside-down in the other. She popped the cork and poured us each a bubbling glass, returning the half-empty bottle to the ice.

  We ordered our food—which looked more familiar than the menu items at the café—and clinked glasses in cheers to the beginning of a fantastic evening.

  “I’ve never had a waitress be so attentive before,” Darius said after taking his first sip of champagne.

  “And I thought it was just me,” I said, pretending to have no idea why we were getting such preferential treatment. I found myself using my left hand to hold my glass, unintentionally keeping my right hand in my lap, out of view.

  “Darius, we have something to tell you,” Desiree started to say.

  “Yes,” I said, butting in. “I told the hostess that I was going to propose tonight at dinner and asked her if she could help make the night special.” I shrugged. “It seems to have worked better than I would’ve thought.”

  Desiree glanced over at me, her eyes asking the question of what I was doing. I just smiled and clinked her flute again with mine.

  “Happy, darling?” I asked playfully.

  “That explains it,” she said, finally deciding to go along with my story.

  After a little more fabricated back-story, Darius seemed convinced.

  I wanted to allow him the perk of a wonderfully free meal before we got into the heated debate about what Desiree and I had really done.

  “And maybe we’ll even get a discount on the champagne,” Darius said.

  “Maybe so.” I smiled.

  When our food came, I ordered one more bottle of champagne. Desiree protested, but I ordered it just the same. When Lindi brought it in a fresh bucket of ice, Desiree handed her flute back to our waitress and asked that she take it away.

  I was a little hurt that Desiree decided to stop drinking already. Between the three of us, it wasn’t like it was that much. Darius seemed a little apprehensive to share the bottle with me, but again, I insisted.

  “It’s not like we can return it. Would you have it go to waste? And we have to drink Desiree’s share now,” I said.

  “Leaving some to go to waste wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world,” Desiree said. And she sounded serious—or annoyed.

  “Darius is paying top dollar for this. The least we can do is drink it,” I said jokingly.

  Darius didn’t find my comment funny—but it really wasn’t meant to be funny to him.

  When it came time for dessert, I was stuffed. I couldn’t eat another bite or take another sip of champagne, even though we still had half the bottle left. Desiree however, thought differently. Since no one else stepped up to order dessert, she asked for three spoons and demanded Darius and I help her finish her chocolate cake/brownie/cookie/pudding thing. I couldn’t quite describe it, but it was decadent.

  “Thank you so much for allowing us to serve you this evening, and I hope all of your food was perfect,” Lindi said as she collected the leftover dishes still on the table. “It’s been such a pleasure.”

  “Everything was wonderful, thank you,” I said first.

  Desiree and Darius expressed their gratitude for the food and service as well.

  “There is no rush and I see you have some champagne left to finish. When you’re ready to leave, just tap on the emblem and the hutch will open for you. Have a lovely evening with whatever else you have planned.” Lindi gave us a strangely formal curtsy and disappeared once more through the tinted door.

  “I can’t drink anymore,” I said.

  “It didn’t sound like we were getting a bill,” Darius said, sounding quite confused. “It’s hard to believe they’d comp our entire dinner just for a proposal. And you two aren’t even alone. Wouldn’t they think that’s weird?”

  “They pride themselves on superior customer service,” I said.

  “It’s time, Oliver,” Desiree said.

  “Let’s not do it in here,” I said, getting up from the booth. “We don’t know who’s watching, or listening.”

  “Do what? Who’s watching or listening? What are you guys not telling me?” Darius demanded.

  “You’re about to find out,” I said, walking over to the back of the hutch and tapping the emblem in the wood. As soon as I did, the Lorne wolf head lit up and the hutch began sliding into the room to create the opening for us to exit.

  Darius gasped, his eyes glued to the ominous symbol. “Do you have any idea what that is? Do you realize where we are?”

  “Let’s discuss this outside,” I said to Darius while offering my hand to help Desiree out of the booth. “Don’t look so nervous. You’ll give us away.” It was hard to take my own advice because I was petrified. The dinner had gone well—perfect actually—but Darius’s expected reaction, mixed with the alcohol I had drunk was making me paranoid again.

  Once we were back in the main dining area, I couldn’t for the life of me remember if I was supposed to do something to bring the hutch back in line with the wall. But instead of trying to figure it out or ask someone, we all raced out of the restaurant.

  Darius wanted to get a safe distance away from La Dominga before stopping and demanding an explanation.

  I finally showed him my right hand, so he could see the wolf head Desiree had painted onto it with his own eyes.

  “Put it away,” he said after a moment of staring. He nervously looked around at the people passing on the sidewalk. “I can’t be a part of this.”

  “It looks real, right?” Desiree asked.

  “It looks like suicide,” Darius snapped. He leaned in so the three of us were almost knocking heads and spoke in a forceful whisper. “Commodore Chaos describes the Lornes locking up people who know about the other planes in the SUSY Asylum. What do you think they’d do to someone impersonating them? They’d either flat out kill you or feed you to your mirror.”

  “It’s the only way we can get around
here,” Desiree said.

  “And look, it worked. There are obviously too many of them in the different planes for regular people to keep track of. They are just conditioned to fear the tattoo, not pay attention to who’s wearing it,” I said.

  “It was great seeing you guys again,” Darius said, patted my arm, then took one of Desiree’s hands and kissed her knuckles. “But I can’t be a part of this. It’s far too dangerous. Please do yourselves a favor and go home. I now think Madame Matilda had a point.” Darius held onto Desiree’s hand for a brief moment and walked off down the sidewalk.

  Desiree called after him, and when he didn’t turn or acknowledge her, she carefully ran after him in her thin heels. She caught him a few hundred paces away, where she forced him to stop and talk to her.

  “You have no focus, Oliver Lorne, but you do have some guts.” The voice of my mirror had returned. I was alone. I was at my most vulnerable. “What happened to the search for your father?”

  “I haven’t strayed from that. I may actually be on the right track with this little stunt since no one’s going to actually take me to him. I’m taking a calculated gamble. You’ll see,” I whispered. No one passing by on the sidewalk seemed to pay me any attention.

  “A calculated gamble is still a gamble, and gambles can go horribly wrong. I already told you I can take you to your father. The Line awaits and your father is not all that far away.”

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll trust in myself over you,” I said, watching Desiree continue to talk with Darius.

  “And you’re willing to risk your girlfriend for your selfish cause? Is she part of your calculation?”

  Desiree gave Darius a long hug.

  “Maybe she’s not really interested in you after all. Is she here as collateral for the damage you’re expecting to cause in your calculated gamble?” My mirror mocked me.

  “She’s here because she’s my friend, maybe more, maybe not—but certainly not collateral.”

  My mirror laughed in my ear.

  Desiree turned and began walking back to me alone.

  “Go away,” I said to the irritable voice and it left me—for now.

  When she finally made her way back, she was noticeably bummed that Darius had left, but certainly not crushed. It was back to just the two of us and I intended to make the most of it.

  “What now?” she asked. She seemed unsure, but it wasn’t like she immediately asked me to take her home.

  “Now we continue our night. It’s just getting started. I don’t want you to have gotten all dressed up for nothing. Provex City has just met Desiree Behring!”

  Desiree perked up with my enthusiasm.

  “Don’t let him scare you. He’s a spooked conspiracy theorist,” I said. “This city is ours! Are you with me?”

  And she was.

  I hailed down a hovering cab, which took all of five seconds. The tinted passenger window became clear and disappeared, and I leaned in to speak with the driver. I casually placed my arms on the top of the door, and with my sleeves pulled back, the tattoo displayed prominently. The driver noticed immediately.

  “What’s the most popular club in town?” I asked.

  He thought for a moment. “I’d probably have to say Level Seven.”

  I turned to Desiree. “Isn’t that the club that Darius mentioned?”

  “It sounds familiar,” she said.

  “I think it is,” I said, turning back to the cabby. “We’d like to go there.”

  The back door of the cab popped open, and Desiree and I slipped into the back seat. The night traffic didn’t allow us to move at much speed, but the city was just so bright and spectacular to look at through the windows that I didn’t care. It was also much more comfortable to share the back seat with only Desiree.

  “May I ask your name?” the cab driver asked, eyeing me through the rearview mirror.

  “Oliver—Oliver Lorne.”

  “I’ve only had the privilege of meeting a few members of your family. It’s such an honor to have your patronage.”

  “That’s kind of you to say,” I said.

  Desiree scooted closer and took my hand in hers, placing them in her lap, and laid her head on my shoulder. I sat taller than I ever had before and suddenly felt what Jeremy must have felt when he was here, living in the city with Kafka—power, celebrity—I felt untouchable.

  We pulled up to a curb in the middle of the city, at the corner of Alexandria Boulevard and 77th Street, and the cab driver pointed to the red building towering over us.

  “Level Seven is in there. I forget which story it’s on, but it will be listed on the directory in the lobby. Enjoy the rest of your evening and thank you for choosing me.” The cab driver passed me his business card over his shoulder. “If you need a driver later tonight, then please give me a ring and I’ll be here in a flash.”

  “What do I owe you, my good man?” I asked, obviously expecting the Lorne family rate of free service. If I did happen to owe him money, then we were in trouble. But with the way he was treating us, I couldn’t imagine him charging me.

  “Oh—your money’s no good here. It is just my pleasure to serve you,” he said happily.

  “Thank you, and in that case, I have a small gift for you instead,” I said and pulled out my wallet and handed the cabby a twenty dollar bill. “Have you ever seen anything like this before?”

  The cab driver took the bill and examined it closely, turning it over and over in his hands. “No, I never have.”

  “It’s a little something from a faraway land. My gift to you for your service and generosity,” I said and helped Desiree carefully—and decently—scoot out of the back seat.

  “Thank you!” the cab driver called from the open passenger window, waved, and pulled away from the curb, seamlessly sliding back into the steady flow of traffic.

  Desiree and I walked hand-in-hand up to the red tower extending skyward to infinity. External glass elevators zipped up and down at the corners of the building, disappearing into a low level that extended out for the bottom few floors. Pillars of color-changing light shot up from the low-level roof.

  We passed through the massive front door that had a photographic image of a beautiful woman’s face, part of her upper body, and one arm extending almost the entire length of the glass opening. The picture reminded me of a cosmetics ad.

  The inside of the building echoed with the many different sounds of people walking on marble flooring in a space with three-story-high vaulted ceilings. The expansive room buzzed with activity.

  The directory we found was a glowing ten-foot-high hologram of the building with floating names and arrows pointing to different sections and companies within the building. We found the Level Seven club on the seven hundred seventieth floor, occupying seven floors of the east section of the building. We looked around the open lobby for the East G elevator, and Desiree spotted it a few hundred feet away—or at least the East elevator lobby.

  We followed an eclectic flow of hip-dressed couples into an elevator that had a logo across the glass: Le7el. The tube-shaped elevator easily fit ten couples, and without a break in people’s conversation, we were rocketing up into the air—shot through the roof of the building’s lower levels and up along the exterior of the tower. As we climbed higher, some of the smaller towers fell away and we could see over them for miles. The light from the city seemed to extend forever, the colors bright and blending into the horizon.

  Pushed close to Desiree, I looked around at our elevator companions, the cool clubbing elite ranging from early twenties to mid-thirties. The girls had elegant flowing dresses, some with thread strands made of some kind of florescent light material that didn’t shine too brightly, but just enough to make their dresses really pop. The men had shirts or jackets made with similar types of material—shirts with the florescent strands in the stripes, and jackets with glowing bands down the sleeves or florescent insignias on the backs. A few of the girls also had strands of what looked like shiny and ref
lective confetti of different thicknesses and colors woven into their hair. We didn’t look as fancy as the people standing with us, but we didn’t look out of place, either—except for obviously looking the youngest in the group.

  Desiree leaned into me as we looked out at the sublime cityscape. How could something that looked so peaceful and beautiful be dangerous?

  The elevator slowed and stopped at our dizzying floor and we followed the crowd through the glass and onto an open outdoor terrace. There was a slight breeze, but strangely the air was no colder than it was at street level. The whole area seemed to be pumped with extra oxygen because it felt incredible to breathe. Taking a deep breath was an intoxicating experience. Or maybe it was some of the leftover champagne in my system. Or a little bit of both.

  The terrace had a full bar with benches, couches, and tables to accommodate hundreds of people—the overflow from the club or maybe the people who couldn’t even make it inside. Small groups of social people prattling on at the combined level of a dull roar were spaced out all over the terrace. The curved edge of the building only had four-foot-high glass with red coating to match the outside of the building, topped with a cylindrical crystal railing. Music from the club flowed from speakers by the bar, and red light pulsed through the railing to the beat of the bass.

  We turned toward the entrance of the club. A long line of party-going hopefuls zigzagged back on the far side of the door. Four bouncers held the loud and lively crowd back. There were always people—thinking they were more important than they were—walking around the crowd and right up to the bouncers to make some desperate attempt to bypass the line. They hoped they’d have some compelling reason to be granted admittance like a VIP. It didn’t work back home and it didn’t seem to work here.

  I heard one of the bouncers say they were at maximum capacity and no one else was getting in right now. The deflated guy trying to hustle his way inside was told to go to the back of the line and wait. I was nervous again. The tattoo had worked several times today, but when was my luck going to run out? I felt like we were upping the ante every time I whipped it out from under my sleeve.