The Dancer and the Masks by Bea Paige

Chapter 32

CHRISTY

The air thrums with heat, it’s thick and cloying. The scent of cigarette smoke lingering, a blanket of silvery-grey clouds hangs above us. The theatre we’re performing in is small, intimate and situated on the southern side of the castle where the guests are to remain this evening. The theatre seats a maximum of twenty-one people around three round tables.

Every seat is filled.

Faceless men and women sit in the audience wearing gowns, dark suits and masks. Konrad, Leon and Jakub are seated amongst them, one at each table. They talk in low voices, laughing and entertaining their guests as wine and food are served by the castle staff. Tiny candles flicker on each table, and high above them Two is perched on a swing, gently swaying back and forth in the darkness, waiting for her moment to perform. Right now it’s the break between acts. Half of the numbers have already performed, the rest will do so after my solo dance.

In less than two minutes I will step onto the stage and dance for these men and women, for The Masks. I will show them a glimpse of my soul. A piece I choose to share, not something they’ve ripped from me.

I will make The Masks see what they’ve enslaved, trapped.

I will prove to them that I’m more than a number, more than a toy, more than a puppet.

By the end of this performance I will become Christy the girl.

I will become human.

At least that’s what I’m hoping for.

Then I will escape as the girl they brought here, not the number they reduced me to.

“Are you sure about this?” Three asks as she ties the ends of two long lengths of string around each of my wrists and hands me the small pair of scissors I requested.

“I am.”

“One won’t be pleased, she hasn’t approved this.”

“I don’t care.”

“And the dress… I thought Konrad told you to wear something else?”

“He did. I’m not.”

“You’ll be punished,” she says gently, her voice wracked with concern.

“I don’t care.”

Three sighs. “Okay. Then are you ready?”

“Yes,” I say firmly, nodding my head, feeling claustrophobic beneath the mask I’ve been given to wear. Ironically, it’s the same shade of pale pink as the dress I wasn’t supposed to wear and covers my whole face, not revealing even a glimmer of flesh. Of all the Numbers, I’m the only one wearing a mask, a last minute addition that I’ve been ordered to wear. I guess this is The Masks’ way of claiming me as theirs, of letting their clients know subtly that I belong to them, despite me performing in The Menagerie.

“It’s time to get on stage,” she says, hugging me before stepping back into the shadows of the backstage area with the rest of the Numbers who aren’t performing.

Breathing in deeply to settle my nerves, I step onto the stage. One begins to play the grand piano, a spotlight switching on and covering her in a soft white light that makes her seem impossibly beautiful. The chatter in the audience dies down as they listen to her play. She’s naked except for a sheer black kimono that hangs off her shoulders and flows over the stool she’s sitting on, revealing her pert breasts and perfectly toned body. The grand piano itself is made of white lacquered wood, contrasting her dark hair, dress, and soul perfectly.

Despite it all, I get a rush of adrenaline as I take up my starting position, still steeped in darkness, and watch her delicate fingers move over the piano keys. As she plays, another spotlight flicks on revealing Six and Seven as they stand to the right of the stage. Six is wearing an emerald green bustier with heeled black pumps, showcasing her curvaceous hips and legs. Next to her Seven stands with his chin tilted up and his chest bare. He wears sheer red trousers, his cock and neatly trimmed pubic hair on display. They’re both stunning.

A shiver cascades down my spine as I watch Seven draw in a deep breath. When he opens his mouth, that first exquisite note passing his lips, my whole body shudders. This song, Dancing After Death by Matt Maeson is utterly perfect for the way I’m feeling. There’s a morbidity to the song, a gentle sway of secrecy, sorcery, that fits this night and the darkness in this room perfectly.

Seven’s voice rings out around the theatre, a perfect accompaniment to One’s piano playing. The beauty of his voice is haunting, emotional, eerie. When Six joins in, harmonising, it becomes goddamn orgasmic.

I’m wet just listening to them sing.

They’re both sin and virtue. Celestial and fiendish.

They’re exquisite, rare, utterly irreplaceable.

I understand now why The Collector acquired them, why they’re so attractive. It isn’t just their looks, it’s their ability to lift your soul, to make your skin cover in goosebumps, to take you to another place with their voice, their talent. The way they sing, it isn’t just about a series of sounds that’s pleasant to the ear.

Six and Seven make you crave pleasure. They make you want the darkness. Revel in it.

After the first verse, a spotlight appears before me. This is my cue to begin. This is my time.

With one final shuddering breath, I grasp the scissors tightly in my hands then step into the spotlight and dance.

I let go.

My body becomes a vessel for the lyrics and the music. I’ve practised this dance over and over again these past few days, but those practised steps become perfect now as I move across the stage, the length of string pulled taught from above.

I’ve become their puppet.

Ignoring the dull ache from the blisters on my feet and refusing to acknowledge the sharp pain as my stitches pull free once again, I dance with every fibre of my being, fully aware that this could well be the last time.

It’s not safe here. I’m not safe here.

But like the song suggests, I dance in the face of danger. I dance as though I’m already dead. As though I’m a ghost. There's freedom in that. A lightness. A purity.

The skin on my back tingles. It’s a portent, an omen, warning me that I’m close to the truth.

But it doesn’t deter me. It gives me the strength to really let go, to free myself from the chains these men have inflicted on my soul. If death is close, then I shall live in this moment.

It won’t stop me from running. I’m not scared to flee.

But I will give them something to remember me by.

I will dance as though death is merely a gateway to somewhere better, somewhere far away from here, where I’m free in all the ways that count. Free to dance, free to love the people I want to love, free to live, free to be who I am, scars and all.

So that’s what I do.

Lifting onto my pointes, I dance like I’ve never danced before. Teasing the floor with my silk pointes, I open my arms wide, twisting and turning, then unravelling the ropes that hold my arms aloft. My hair flows out behind me, around me as I move. My dress is a ripple of material that does nothing to hide my flaws, but highlights them.

The audience takes a collective breath as I lose myself to the incredible music. I pitch low, dragging my fingers over the dusty floorboards, then lift up high, leaping into the air in an entrechat, my feet crossing several times before landing in the fifth position. Kicking out, I spin in a pirouette, moving across the stage with a deftness, a lightness that I haven’t felt, well… ever.

It’s a contradiction in itself because surrounding me are people with darkness in their hearts. It sits heavily around us, like an eclipse that devours the sunlight, any light.

It’s oppressive, frightening. It’s the heavy beat of danger just waiting to pounce.

There are three men in this room who’ve claimed me. Who wish me harm. Fate has given me over to them, and in a small way so have I. I’ve given up pieces of myself in order to save my life, my sanity whilst imprisoned here.

I’ve felt empathy for them. Hated them. Lusted after them.

I’ve been twisted up, abused, used, tortured.

I’ve been beaten and I’ve fought back.

But the one thing I will not do is love them.

As the music comes to an end, and the last notes spill from Six and Seven’s lips, all I’m left with is the final instrumental verse. Right now, I’m supposed to dance my way over to One. Instead, I walk en-pointe to the centre of the stage, lift my hands to my mask, and remove it, revealing my face. Dropping the mask to the floor, I take the scissors and snip the string, releasing me.

It’s my final fuck you to The Masks.

They want to keep me hidden. They want to claim me as theirs. They want to keep me as their toy, their puppet.

Screw that. Only I have the power to give myself up to them and I won’t. Not ever.

The audience erupts, clapping and cheering as I curtsey, dipping low.

“Encore!” the crowd shouts.

I just stand, breathing heavily, shocked by the audience's reaction, until eventually the lights go out and I run from the stage.

Straight into a hard chest.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

No.

“Jakub?” I ask, peering up at him in the dim half light as he grabs hold of my upper arm tightly. “What are you doing back here?”

“You’ve caused quite a stir, Nothing. Disobeying us like this. Do you want to be punished?”

“Let me go!” I demand, but Jakub shakes his head.

“It seems that you’ve caught the eye of the Baron. He has a thing for redheads. Apparently you remind him of his daughter.”

“What?” I say, swallowing hard as Jakub backs me into a darkened alcove, the rest of the Numbers getting ready for the next portion of the show behind us. My back hits the wall and Jakub presses his chest against mine, resting his forearm beside my head. He’s wearing his black mask again, accompanied with a black suit and shirt. He's every inch the shadowed man of my visions.

A predator.

A monster.

A Mask.

“He’s willing to pay a very, very handsome amount of money for you. Enough to make me question just how much you really are ours. Money makes the world go round, after all.”

“You’re not suggesting…” My throat dries out, my pulse thumping erratically.

“Yes, I am. The Baron wants to fuck you because he can’t fuck his own daughter. The question is, am I willing to let him?”

“No! Don’t you dare!” I push against Jakub’s chest but he just grasps my wrists and pins them above my head, leaning in closer so that his whisky breath feathers over my skin.

“Why shouldn’t I? You tried to kill me yesterday, you beat Leon. You disobey us at every fucking turn. You’re a problem.”

“It’s no more than you deserve!”

“You’re a liability.”

“And you’re a monster!”

“I don’t deny it. I never have. So what do you think? Should I let the Baron take your virginity? Should I let him fuck you whilst he thinks about his child as he does it?”

“I would rather die first,” I hiss.

“I thought you might say that. Which is why I’m giving you a choice, Nothing.” Gripping both wrists with one hand, Jakub reaches into his jacket pocket and brings out two tiny vials.

“What are they?” I ask, staring at the two bottles, one labelled A, the other B.

“They’re elixirs. Two of Thirteen’s most potent. One will render your body useless, unfeeling, whilst your mind stays intact. If you choose this option you won’t feel a thing, but you will remember every minute detail. The other elixir will shut your mind down completely, you won’t remember anything, but your body will remain awake. It will bear the marks of your ordeal and you'll be tormented with the knowledge that you’ll never know what happened.”

“That isn’t a choice.”

“It is the only one you have.”

“And the Baron? How does choosing one of these bottles have anything to do with him?”

“Oh it doesn’t. When we say you are ours, we mean it. He won’t touch you.”

“So what then? What’s the purpose of all of this?”

He shrugs, brushing his lips against my birthmark before whispering in my ear. “To have a little fun, of course, and to show you that no matter what you think, we are in control. Always. That show of defiance you just performed has done nothing but bind you to us further. You’ll never be free of us.”

“I hate you!”

“Hate me or don’t. This is how it is. If you choose the elixir that shuts down your mind, you will be taken to Thirteen’s room and allowed to sleep it off. No one will touch you, not even us. Not tonight, anyway.”

“And if I choose the other?” I ask, blinking back my tears, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing how terrified I am.

“Then we will deliver you to the Room of Fantasies alongside the other Numbers. You will watch everything that happens there, but your body will remain useless, unfeeling. You’ll be a living breathing corpse, for want of a better word. You’ll just have to hope that no one oversteps the mark because you sure as fuck won’t be able to get away if they do.”

I look from him to the two tiny bottles, wishing I’d run sooner. I’m so so stupid.

“I choose B,” I say quickly, not wanting to think too hard about it.

Jakub drops the bottle labelled B back into his pocket, then pops the cork out of bottle A and smiles. “Then you’ll drink A,” he says with an evil grin.

“Wait, no!” I protest, but before I’m able to fight him off, Leon and Konrad step out of the shadows.

“Good evening, Zero. You danced beautifully tonight,” Konrad says, pressing a gentle kiss against my temple, before wrapping his arms around me whilst Leon grips my jaw and pinches my nose, cutting off my air supply.

I try to shake off Leon’s hold, but he just grips me tighter, his green eyes sharp and unyielding. “This is your punishment, take it like the good little puppet that you are.”

In my head I’m screaming every obscenity I can think of so that I can hold my breath for as long as possible. Of course I’m only delaying the inevitable.

It’s useless.

No matter how much I want to keep my mouth shut, the instinct to survive takes over, and the second I open my mouth, gasping for air, Jakub tips the elixir onto my tongue and Leon forces my jaw shut.

“Now be a good little puppet and swallow it down, Nought,” Leon demands as he tips my head back. All I can do is swallow so I don’t choke.

Within seconds my limbs lose all sensation, but my mind...

My mind stays intact.