Stolen
Her eyelids could have been laced together; opening her eyes met with so much resistence. It would be so much easier to just sleep; thoughts moved sluggishly, like snails through molasses, making concentration impossible.
Something nudged at her through the fog. Her consciousness instinctively curled away from it, clinging to numbness that like a wet blanket draped over her senses. But it was insistent, penetrating, like a sudden blast of cold air to her slumbering mind.
There was chanting, somewhere far off. So noisy… The voice was familiar, but Lise was too tired to make any sense of the words. It was annoying, persistently vying for her attention. God, what time is it? Can't they just let me sleep?
Recollection suddenly flooded her consciousness—mere sensations, at first, as parts of her body reawakened from the stillness of death. Warmth from a mug of tea cupped in her hands. The strong scent of lemon in her nostrils. A bitter taste in her mouth, more pronounced because of the honey it was mingled with.
It was too late by the time she noticed the strange taste; she couldn't unswallow the poison. Everything had faded suddenly; the curtain had dropped before she could give voice to her alarm. Light had given way to blackness, and consciousness closed to nothing. She didn't remember dropping the mug or hitting the floor.
The chanting was louder now; the present was becoming increasingly important. There was a sensation of heat close to her head, the smoothness of wax against her bare arm. Something hot dripped onto her flesh and cooled quickly. The pain was enlightening. Candles? More things clicked into place. The words were Enochian, the voice, Carl's.
She forced her eyelids apart, blinking blearily as the world came back into focus. Carl was indeed there, his lined face set in concentration, supervising a pentagram of candles around her naked torso. Where the fuck are my clothes? Her thoughts were forming with increasing clarity, picking up speed as she struggled to escape the last of the sleepy haze. Belatedly, she pulled the bed sheet up to cover herself, careful not to upset the candles. Now that the sluggish feeling had mostly faded, her head was pounding.
Carl cut off with a harsh syllable and a dismissive gesture. His face relaxed somewhat, but there was still concern in steel blue eyes. "Good. You're back." He paused briefly, surveying her. She wondered what he saw; if her appearance reflected the way she felt, she probably looked a shade paler than death. Lise couldn't suppress a shiver beneath the thin sheet.
His frown deepened, reading her expression. "I'm glad you're better," he added, his voice stern, but not utterly lacking in compassion. "Now… What happened?"
I was about to ask you that.
How am I supposed to answer? That I drank something more than tea? Where's Kenji? Where are my clothes? Tears somehow managed to swim past the lump in her throat, though words could not. She blinked them away furiously, anger rising fast. I'm going to kill him for—
Carl was reaching for her shoulder, about to shake her into attention. She flinched away, upsetting the two candles at her left side. Wax spattered and dripped onto the sheets as the flames went out. He had already withdrawn his hand, startled by the movement that was more violent than she'd intended.
"Calm down." His words were molded in an authoritative tone, but his mere presence was commanding enough. Salt-and-pepper hair and a goatee gave him a distinguished air, contrasting with a build suggestive of a more active youth.
Lise swallowed hard. This is bad enough already. You don't need Carl to think you're some hysterical nutcase on top of it.
"Lise." His tone was softer, but not much. "I need you to tell me what happened," he continued, speaking slowly. She'd gotten to know him well in the past three years; this patience wouldn't last long. "If you need a moment to collect your thoughts, you may have one, but you're going to have to talk about this soon and at great length. There's no point in putting it off."
Strife and power, right? The more pain, the better. Stupid Tytalan— Lise inhaled deeply. She wished the throbbing in her head would go away, even if it meant undoing his magic and slipping back into drug-induced torpor. He's right. You need to calm down. "Can you…" she began, but broke off, not trusting her increasingly unsteady voice. Her fingers balled into fists beneath the sheet as she fought briefly for control. "Can you at least let me get dressed first?" she finally managed to mumble.
Carl sighed and began picking up his things—candles, a few fragments of chalk, a flask of red liquid. "All right," he assented, "get dressed. I'll be back when I've put all this away." He stood slowly and made his way to the door, stepping around a small heap of clothing near the end of the bed. The door closed behind him with a faint thud.
Lise closed her eyes again. Everything would be so much easier if I'd never woken up. She would have liked to lie there, eyes closed, mind blank, for much longer than the few seconds that she had, but Carl would return mercilessly in only a few moments.
She started to rise, still clutching the sheet to her chest. The closed door made her nervous; it wasn't locked, or maybe not even latched; it was hard to tell, from this angle. She still didn't know where Kenji was. They couldn't have— He couldn't possibly still be— No. They aren't that stupid. He…drugged me. He did something to me! He— Lise murdered that thought before its completion. Carl wouldn't let him just wander freely.
Lise forced herself to discard the sheet and bridge the two yards between the bed and the mound of clothing. The shirt on top wasn't one she recognized; Lise belatedly realized that the grey silk wasn't hers. A splash of red and a small fringe of lace peeked out from the bottom of the stack, folded neatly beneath Kenji's garments. She felt ill.
She was mostly dressed, half-heartedly pawing through her closet for a shirt that matched face it, a shirt that doesn't make you look like…look like a… when she heard a curt knock on the door. She grabbed the first blouse that came to her hand, something black and vaguely demure, and pulled it on, heading for the door. It seemed too small; the way it hugged the contours of her body bothered her for the first time. The knock came again. Since when do you bother to knock twice, Carl?
She jerked the handle, and the door swung open. Lise took a half-step back, surprised. It wasn't Carl in the doorway, but Arturo. Her mentor wore an expression of grim determination on his aging features, as if he'd come expecting a battle and planning on facing casualties. His jaw was immutable, clenched in anticipation, with a serious weight that matched respectable iron-grey hair and an iron-strong will.
He seemed to look her over a minute, evaluating what he saw before speaking. "Carl said you were better," he began gruffly. There was another long pause. "Are you all right?"
Lise found herself nodding slowly. Her response was colorless, automatic. "I'm fine." It was what he wanted to hear.
Arturo cleared his throat before continuing. "Carl wants to have a chance to talk to you before you decide anything, but I've already spoken to Jane. She's in the process of summoning a tribunal. You need to think about what charges you'll bring, and how you're planning on being respresented."
She nodded again. So we're past the uncomfortable issue of whether I'm okay and back into familiar territory—stupid chantry politics. Arturo was still talking, obviously relieved at the lack of messy displays of emotion from his apprentice. Nod when appropriate. Say yes. No. A sense of emptiness was growing inside, spreading further with each response that denied the present situation. She didn't even have to listen to him anymore to reply.
This isn't happening to me.
Carl finally appeared in the doorway behind Del, no longer laden with foci. What took him so long? Arturo turned at his approach, and the two friends exchanged glances.
She didn't listen as they discussed handing her off between them like a baton in a relay race. Now it's Carl's turn to deal with the problem. Like either one of them really has to deal with it.
Lise slipped away from the doorway, back into the bedroom that had been a sanctuary yesterday. There was nowhere else to sit, so she sat on the still-unmade bed, among tousled sheets. She absently smoothed out a few of the wrinkles, waiting for Carl to enter.
"He's in one of the cells downstairs. I don't think this will be a difficult case to present," Arturo was saying. "He doesn't deny drugging her, though he claims he never intended to kill her…"
She clenched her fists, digging her nails into the palms of her hands until she couldn't stand the self-inflicted pain. I shouldn't have trusted him. I shouldn't have trusted Marcus to not have friends like him.
"She'll be all right as far as that goes. It would have been far worse if he hadn't realized that she wasn't breathing and gotten help," was Carl's reply.
Good for Kenji. He almost killed me but he called for help in time—does that make this better somehow? It's okay to do this to someone as long as—
"I'm going to try to sort through what happened. For all Deepa's screaming about Lise being raped and murdered, she's still alive and well. Kenji says that Lise was will—"
I'm not listening to this. I'm…not…listening… Lise barely resisted the urge to cover her ears with her hands, a gesture that would undoubtedly have attracted unwanted attention from the men in the doorway who were calmly discussing her anguish. I want to throw up. I want to kill him. I want to kill Marcus for not stopping him. Tears were rising, unbidden, in her eyes.
There was a hand on her shoulder. Lise jumped, startled. This time, Carl didn't pull his hand away. Lise hastily wiped her eyes and belatedly glanced toward the doorway. Arturo had gone; the door was still ajar a few inches, neither open nor closed. She was alone with Carl.
"You need to compose yourself." His tone was hard, unmoved. "I know that this is going to be uncomfortable for you, but if you're planning on seeing this through, it's going to get worse before it gets better." Lise only stared at him with accusations in her eyes. He ignored them. "I need to piece together exactly what happened before your friends turn this into a circus. I'm going to ask you some questions, and the more quickly you answer them, the sooner I can move on to someone else," he continued, business-like.
She clenched her teeth, letting her gaze drop away from his. An interrogation, now? Hot anger whitened her knuckles. How dare you treat me this way? A circus indeed—is that what you think I wanted? A circus! Do you think I deserved this for not following your stupid ideas about who an Hermetic was allowed to be friends with? This is just more of your prejudice against the Cult—
"I will take your silence to mean that you're going to cooperate." She could feel his eyes boring into her—or more than just his eyes; it was subtle, but she felt the silken fingers of ars mentis rifling through her thoughts. I hate it when you do that!
Carl cleared his throat quietly. "Kenji's story, from what I gather, is that the two of you arrived at an arrangement by which you would consume recreational drugs and engage in sexual intercourse," he stated, nothing in his tone or expression betraying the nature of his words. How can you say that so blandly, as if it could be true? Don't you know me by now? Your apprentice is my boyfriend! "He says that you took too much of the barbituate he offered and became ill, but that you willingly took it from him and agreed to sleep with him." Disgusting—lying—I'll never forgive him for this—
"Lise."
She glared at him, her gray eyes sparking passionately. "That isn't what happened," she spat. "I can't believe that you would assume—that you would believe—" She broke off, shaking her head. "Don't you realize that I'm not like that? I only met Kenji a few days ago, and, in case you haven't noticed, Matthew and I have been together for—"
"This isn't about how well I know you," Carl cut in emphatically. "I'm not going to tell you to calm down again." He paused, scrutinizing her; she forced the venom to drain from her expression. "I'm sure Arturo told you that they're bringing this before a tribunal. In order to prevent everyone involved from looking like complete and utter fools, I am trying to compile this afternoon's events in some semblance of coherence." He inhaled deeply. "That is what Kenji had to say for himself. If he was widely believed, he wouldn't be locked up downstairs. Now, I want you to tell me what happened."
And I want you to go away! "I don't know what happened," she snapped. "I wasn't conscious for it, and no one has seen fit to tell me yet!" She watched as Carl struck a match and reached for a candle on the bedside table. And now you're not even listening! Anger was slipping back into her tone, but she didn't care. "Everyone's been too busy demanding explanations to give me one! All I know is that I woke up with a splitting headache and my clothes were gone and—" A cool breeze wafted through her thoughts, melting away a good portion of her frustration. I… I hate it when you do that.
"I assumed that you were aware of what had transpired. I apologize if you weren't," he continued calmly, carefully setting the now burning candle back on the table. It smelled faintly of jasmine. "I'll elaborate. Kenji gave you enough drugs to kill a horse. Since you don't seem to recall the event, I assume that it was after this that he removed your clothing. When he realized that you weren't breathing, he tried to get help. Deepa nearly killed him when she saw what was happening. I heard the shouting, ascertained that you were not yet dead, and started to work on cleansing the poison from your system. Deepa has been raving about Kenji raping and murdering you for the past hour at least, and she would probably appreciate being informed that neither part of her assumption is true."
He waited a moment, letting that last bit sink in. Neither part is true. Something tight in her chest unwound. I hadn't been sure…
Lise swallowed. "You know… You know I've been having nightmares. I know that you and Arturo thought that they would pass without intervention, but Kenji offered to help…" She glanced at Carl, who was listening calmly. Nothing in his facial expression reflected any reaction. "He brought me some tea. He said it would help me relax."
There was a moment of silence. Carl shifted impatiently. "And then?"
Lise scowled. "I drank the tea! It tasted bitter. I don't remember anything else." She inhaled, taking a whiff of jasmine in again. This isn't fair. This is just as bad…I don't want to be sedated. And…and I can't even get upset over it!
Carl nodded. His eyes and hands were busy sliding the things on the night table around into a sort of lop-sided triangle, with the candle at the center. "When he gave you the tea, did you know that there were drugs in it?" he asked frankly.
"No! Of course not!" Wasn't that perfectly clear already?
"Have you ever used drugs before?" He made a minute adjustment to the arrangement of candle, lamp, hairbrush, and clock on the nightstand.
Sacred geometry, at a time like this? I feel better. But I don't like it. Lise shook herself slightly. Carl asked me a question. He's doing a little too well with the calming effect… Drugs. "Nothing like that," she answered defensively. "I know you and Arturo think that everything is bad, but—"
"Just answer the question, Lise," Carl interrupted. "Have you taken anything before?"
"Marcus used to give me stuff at parties," she mumbled. This has nothing to do with anything, and now…and now Arturo is going to be so disappointed in me. "Nothing like whatever was in that tea. Stuff like hash, little colored pills."
Carl sighed. "What you do in your free time is your own business, I suppose. But earlier—you didn't know there was anything in the drink, correct?"
A little bit of irritation crept through her calm. "No, I didn't know there was anything there," she retorted.
"Was it your intention to have intimate relations with Kenji?" he continued without missing a beat.
"No!" Lise heaved a pillow at the bed table, upsetting Carl's arrangement. The rage, pain, and humiliation flooded back into her mind. "No, I didn't invite him up here so we could fuck! Why don't you just ask it that way? Isn't that what you really mean?"
"Watch your language," Carl warned.
She leapt to her feet, shouting. "Watch my language, as if I'm the one doing something wrong here? How dare you come up here and accuse me of things like this?! I'm not some slut who just bangs every guy who seems halfway interested—I'm not the kind of girl who screws around on her boyfriend on a whim, and I've had enough of this from you!"
Carl made a sharp sign with his left hand and uttered a single harsh syllable. Lise opened her mouth to continue her angry rant, but found that her breath stirred no sound. Bastard! Finding herself thus thwarted, she contented herself with a rude gesture.
Carl stood, carefully avoiding the broken glass from the shattered lamp. His expression remained calm. "I think we've established that Kenji's story does not agree with yours. I am going to question your friends, and see what excuses Kenji is still making for himself," he informed her icily. "I would recommend that you remain here and vent your fury on another inanimate object. Your lamp is broken, but I'm sure you can find something equally suitable."
Your stupid face, maybe, you goddamn asshole…bastard…asshole!
He strode toward the door without casting a backward glance, but paused upon reaching it, his hand on the handle. "I know you're upset, Lise, but this kind of anger isn't going to accomplish anything." A moment of silence passed. Don't tell me he's expecting some kind of a reply. "I'll speak to Matthew when he gets back. He isn't going to take this well." Carl exited the room, shutting the door behind him with a gentle thud.
It took several moments for her fury to subside; she glared at the wooden door, the fragments of glass and porcelain on the floor, the pile of her clothing mingled with Kenji's, and wanted to explode. Finally, she merely dropped to the bed.
The white plaster ceiling was confirmed in its flawlessness by thorough scrutiny that seemed to last days. Lise glanced to the clock on the floor. The face was cracked, but the hands continued to march determinedly, telling her that only an hour had passed.
She closed her eyes, rolling back over onto her back, where the ceiling consumed her field of vision. It was better not to look at the rumpled sheets she lay on and the sharp fragments on the floor; it was easier not to see the entire scene reflected in the mirror.
Lise could hear Arturo's voice in her head, low and creaky, reeking of age. Do you really think that you're dressed appropriately, Lise? Your clothing is far too provocative most of the time. You have to realize that people respond to the way you present yourself, and if you're going to present yourself as some… Ahem. You should show people that you're intelligent, that you have class. I don't think your choices reflect that.
She'd been mildly annoyed at the time, mostly tuning him out. It hadn't been the first time he'd expressed his disapproval regarding some facet of her presentation—clothing, speech patterns, body language. She'd dismissed his criticism as the cranky ramblings of a decrepit old man. But had he been right?
It was harder to recall Jane's words. Something about the confidence resident in her tone was difficult to bring to mind at the moment. The chantry leader would have been more understanding, would have grabbed Lise by the shoulders and shaken her if she could sense the guilt in Lise's heart. Are you seriously buying into the idea that this is your—
Maybe Matthew's jealousy had been justified. It seemed like Matthew was always jealous. He would never be able to forgive Marcus for the fact that he and Lise had dated for a while; if she spent too much time in conversation with someone who made him feel threatened, Matthew became childish and irrational. He wasn't around now because of the argument they'd had this morning. Why are you always defending him, Lise? He's a cracked-up drug addict who's brought a friend along to mooch off of the rest of us! This is it! Last time I checked, our chantry wasn't here to support the drug habits of homeless Ecstatics! That punk should leave, and if Marcus likes him so much, he should leave with him!
She'd tuned that out, too.
Barbituates, she remembered, were one of the drugs that Marcus had recommended against. Some drugs expand your horizons—they awaken you to life, let you live the potential of your senses. Some drugs just shut you down. We don't use them. Stick with what I pass you, okay? Arturo and Matthew would be mortified to know that she'd ever taken anything from him at all; they probably wouldn't make the same distinctions that Marcus had.
I fail to see how your behaviour is an appropriate representation of the Order of Hermes. If you wish to join the Cult of Ecstacy, I'm sure you can find a willing teacher elsewhere.
You expect me to believe that this wasn't on purpose? You've been fooling around with that shit for how long now and what, you have a bad trip or something and I'm supposed to care? Fat chance, Lise—you got what you had coming for acting like some druggie slut!
"Shut up..." Her whisper came through new tears, but her own voice seemed no more or less real than the echoes in her mind. Would they be that cruel? Lise tried to conjur their voices again, speaking kinder words.
Even willingly taking the drugs would not have been the same as—
I'm going to kill that bastard! He's not going to get away with taking advantage of your friendliness, Lise. He's going to pay—this is his fault, not—
She shook her head slightly. The words sounded hollow, unreal. They lacked the body lent by fervent imagination. She might wish to hear her mentor and her boyfriend speak in her defense, but realistically she knew that words of condemnation were far more likely. And what else do I—
Even Marcus would take his side. Kenji was another Cultist, after all. They're probably lovers. He'll just say that I'm being too…too uptight, and stuffy, and…that Kenji did me a favor. He'll just be angry that Kenji's in trouble, and he'll probably take his side at the tribunal, and…
An angry sob cleared the stillness. Marcus, always gentle and kind, supporting something this cheap and brutal—seeing Marcus in that light had the same jarring effect as smashing a mirror. He wouldn't… Come on, Lise, you know he isn't like that. He wouldn't blame you for this. But where is he now? He must know—everyone must know by now. He's probably with Kenji. He pretends to care, but when it comes down to it, Arturo is right, and there isn't a way for an Hermetic to really be friends with an Ecstatic. He pretends to care, but he's really just looking out for his own. Kenji stuck a lethal dose into that tea, but Marcus will just say that he didn't mean to kill me, like that makes everything better. Because that's what everyone will say. That he didn't mean to kill me, that Carl saved my life anyway, that he didn't rape me, so everything is fine. Every…thing…is…fine.
Lise's eyes were dry again, still stinging, but the desire to wash them with cool water seemed to belong to someone else. She suddenly had the mad urge to jump up, to dance and sing, walk out through the door and slam the door on everything that had happened in this room. She felt disconnected from her body, severed; that arm, that leg, seemed to belong to some stranger, not to her. The weight of her breasts, the girth of her hips, were alien links in a chain that tethered her to something she wasn't. I don't care what they say. It's not my fault. I know it isn't. I don't care what they say!
A heartbeat passed. It was silly, being angry with people who weren't there for things they hadn't said yet. But they'll say them. This just isn't fair. It isn't my fault that I look like this. I didn't ask to be pretty. But that's stupid—I should be allowed to be pretty without worrying about assholes like Kenji. They'll never realize that. They'll never stop blaming me for the way I look.
I've always… She wished she could shed her skin like a snake. I've always read that it's a crime of power, not—
Furious pounding on the door shook her from contemplation.
"Lise! Are you in there? What's going on?" Not now, Matthew. More pounding. "Open the goddamn door!" Please just go away.
The door shook in its frame. "Open up, Lise! What's going on in there?"
It took her a moment to find her voice and form a coherent reply. "Matthew, just… Go ask Carl." She knew she sounded tired and weak, but she didn't have the energy to shout back.
There was a brief pause. "Open the door, Lise." Matthew's voice was calmer, but just barely. She could picture him, standing there, his face red with anger and frustration, his jaw clenched, his eyes boring holes through the wooden door.
She took a deep breath. "Go talk to Carl. He wanted to explain it." Only half a lie; I'm sure he'd rather not, but he knows things won't go well if I try…it'll just be another fight. At least Carl knows how to deal with Matt.
"Explain it? Explain what?!" Pound, pound, pound. Lise tried to ignore it, curling onto her side and clutching a pillow around her head. The thumping was muffled somewhat, but Matthew's yelling and hammering on the door were still clearly audible.
"Hey." Lise tentatively pushed the pillow away. Matthew had suddenly stopped shouting, and there was another voice in the hallway.
"Leave her alone. She's been through enough—"
"What has she been through? What's going on?!" Matthew demanded.
"—and I'll explain the situation to you as you accompany me to my workroom," Carl concluded, his meter unbroken by Matthew's interruption.
The argument continued but grew softer in volume; they were retreating down the hallway.
Her room was silent again.
How long until this starts? Maybe until tomorrow… I wonder what they're doing. She reached down and picked up the broken clock. A little over an hour had passed in silence and solitude. It seemed like a long time, but there was nothing to break it into smaller segments. One moment stretched into infinity.
Matthew hasn't been back. Carl must have told him, but… I'm surprised he hasn't come back. I don't really want him to be here right now, but I want him to come back.
Maybe he went after Kenji. I could see him doing that. He always gets so mad when other guys talk to me—but I think he'd be back up here afterward, to brag and yell at me for provoking the situation. Besides, they probably have him locked up somewhere where Matt can't get him.
It was starting to get late. The drawn curtains no longer glowed with sunlight streaming against them. Lise felt empty, vaguely hungry, but the thought of leaving her room to obtain food made her want to vomit. The thought of eating wasn't much better.
What I really want is…is…a shower. To feel clean again. … I guess that's cliché. Ha, I've seen too many Lifetime rape-movies-of-the-week. Maybe it will make me feel better, anyway.
Lise slowly raised herself from the bed, reluctant to quit the relative safety I used to feel safe here of her bedroom. Sharp pain made her fall back onto the bed as soon as her feet hit the floor. Dammit. Blood welled up around a crescent-shaped piece of glass lodged in the sole of her foot.
She pulled the sliver out slowly, examining the pink-tinged sharp edge. A few drops of blood stained the carpet, but the cut stopped bleeding quickly, leaving only a lingering soreness. It could be worse.
More carefully this time, Lise stood. She dropped the shard into the trash can. I'll cut myself on it again when I empty it. She walked to the bathroom door, pausing to retrieve the damp towel that lay in a heap in the corner where she'd last discarded it. The door was slightly ajar and the light was still on. What a waste of electricity.
Her motions were robotic and automatic as she kicked the door closed behind her, turned on the water, and undressed. She stood there for a moment, staring at the reflection of a body that didn't feel like hers because someone stole it from me until steam clouded the mirror, softening and smearing the image.
Lise drew back the plastic curtain and stepped into the shower. The water was scalding, painful, but Lise gritted her teeth and stood in the spray until her skin stopped complaining. Water ran in her eyes, blinding her, and she had to open her mouth to breathe.
She fumbled through the bottles on the shelf. Matthew never understood why I needed all of this junk. … He might have come back while I was in here. I might not have heard the knocking.
Wake up, Lise.
Her fingers closed around the blade of a straight razor. She yelped in surprise and dropped it. It fell to the tiled floor with a clatter.
Lise balled her hand into a fist, sheltering the shallow gash across her palm. Blood-tinged water streamed from between her fingers. She squeezed tighter, making it bleed more. Matt's. I forgot he left that here.
She shoved the curtain aside and stumbled out of the shower. I need to let it stop bleeding first, right? Just like nicking myself shaving…
The rug next to the shower was soaked, and the rest of the floor glistened as one puddle. Lise stood there, dripping. The cut was still oozing slightly, and it stung. She digested the sensation. It was warm, like the steam in the air, and more alive than she was.