Title: High Society

Chapter 19: Dreamscape

Authors: Rabid Raccoons

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

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Markus followed J.T.'s gaze, and watched as Morrison's young guest emerged from Futurista, and stood for a moment, sipping his drink. His eyes played over J.T.'s face. "I have to say, I've never seen you this obsessed."

J.T. flushed, and turned back to him, trying to cover his discomfort with a grin and shrug. "You know me," he said. "Love 'em and leave 'em."

Markus' lip curled, in a nasty smile. "You mean love 'em and dismantle 'em," he countered. "There isn't much left when you get through. Although a few of them seem to thrive on that treatment. Does Ramon still work for you?"

J.T. made a face. "Yes, although I'm not sure for how much longer. He has a nasty jealous streak."

"You could do worse than to stick with him. You two seem to be made for each other."

J.T. shook his head. "He's beautiful, but brainless – and he enjoys the pain too much. There's no sense of conquest." His gaze wandered back to his guest. "Charlie, on the other hand – so intelligent, so innocent – to outwit him, to defile him…," he sighed, and then turned back to Markus with a knowing smirk. "Of course, that's what Fantasy's all about, isn't it? Charlie is my fantasy." His look turned calculating. "Which brings me back to my original request – when will you issue him a gold pass?"

Markus shrugged; his eyes on Charlie. "Perhaps next week. We'll see how he reacts to this visit." He wasn't about to admit it to J.T., but Charles Eppes would be under intense scrutiny in the coming week. He looked at Morrison. "Are you sure he's ready for that?"

"I'll take him into Stairway to Heaven first," replied J.T. "A round or two of the drug du jour, perhaps a roofie or two, and he won't remember a thing. I'll make some videotape of our session, and after that, he'll have no choice but to comply." He turned to look back at Charlie, in time to see him take the exit for the restrooms. "Who knows, perhaps he'll find he enjoys it, and if not, there's blackmail – when it comes to upstanding citizens, it works every time. He won't want to risk his reputation, his relationship with his fiancée; which, thanks to me, is currently a bit rocky. One night in Dreamscape, Markus, and he'll belong to me."

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Charlie made his way down the hallway, following the man with the gold pass. Up ahead, he could see the couple and the woman he had originally spied with the silver cards pass the restroom, and head for another entrance further down the hallway. Judging from the occasional support beam on his left side, Charlie surmised that to his left was an outside wall of the warehouse. To his right was an interior wall; he knew that on the other side of that was the stage. The entrance to the restrooms, and the other doorways that broke off to the right down the hall, all led to portions of the warehouse behind the stage, behind the main showroom – possibly into Dreamscape itself.

As Charlie drew closer to the entrance, he could see that there was a table staffed by personnel wearing the uniforms of the help – the black blazer and pants with the white French cuffs. No – not white, he realized suddenly; these staff members wore silver cuffs. Down the hall, he could see yet another entrance, and it was run by members in pale gold cuffs. He moved to his left so he could get a look at the sign above the doorways. 'Dreamscape' glittered in gold lights at the far entrance– it was apparently another entrance to the back rooms. The gold cardholder in front of him went on down the hallway to that entrance. The silver pass holders had stopped at the table directly before him, and Charlie examined the sign over that doorway – 'Stairway to Heaven,' it read. He got in line behind them – perhaps he could slip in with them.

That idea vanished as he saw that they had to swipe their cards through a card reader to gain access, but he decided to play ignorant – the longer he stood there, the more he would learn. He was rewarded with a quick peek as the doors opened to let in the woman he'd originally followed, and he caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a roulette wheel. A man pushed out through the door as the woman went in; his eyes glazed, with the vestiges of white powder on his upper lip, and the man in line in front of Charlie, exclaimed, "Joey!" Joey's glazed eyes shifted towards him and he broke out in a grin.

"Mike!" he exclaimed, and the two men bumped fists.

Mike's girlfriend grinned. "You've got blow on your lip, Joey."

Joey blinked and wiped his lip, and then grinned. "That's some primo stuff in there," he said.

Mike smirked, as his girlfriend scanned her card. "Hope you saved some for us. Later."

"Later," echoed Joey, and he made off down the hallway, as Mike scanned his card and the couple moved to enter.

Charlie took another quick look – he couldn't see much besides the roulette wheel, but it didn't matter – the rumors of gambling and drugs were apparently true; coke-snorting Joey hadn't left much doubt in that department. He looked at the staff operating the card scanner, just as they turned their eyes on him. There was a woman running the scanner; she, like the performers and their waitress, had a dreamy appearance; her eyes dilated and unfocused. In fact, Charlie was beginning to realize, all the staff seemed to be high on something, except for a handful of very large men in black suits – obviously security staff. They appeared to be sharp-eyed and watchful; one of them was stationed at this entrance, and was giving Charlie some pointed scrutiny. "You can't enter here with a bronze card, sir," he said, and the woman at the scanner turned her dreamy eyes on him, her expression vaguely perturbed.

"Oh," said Charlie, feigning surprise. "This is my first visit – I didn't realize."

"Your sponsor should have told you," the woman said, reprovingly.

"Sponsor?" echoed Charlie.

"The person who invited you," said the man.

"You mean J.T. Morrison," offered Charlie.

A look of surprise crossed both the guard's and the woman's face, and the woman said, "Mr. Morrison should know better." Her voice was oddly flat, as if she were spouting rehearsed lines, without inflection.

"He probably told me – I just don't listen very well," said Charlie, with what he hoped was an engaging smile. "So, how do I get in here?"

"You don't, unless Mr. X approves it," said the man. "You'll have to take it up with your sponsor, and he'll request access from Mr. X. If you're approved, you'll get a silver card, and you can enter Stairway to Heaven."

Charlie's eyes drifted upward to the sign above the door. "And what's in here?"

The man shook his head, brusquely. "If you aren't approved to enter, you aren't approved to know. Step aside, please, sir. When you get your silver card, we'll be happy to let you in."

A group of four had queued up behind him, and Charlie stepped out of their way, and walked back down the hallway, musing. His drink was empty, and he decided to stop in the restroom on the way, just in case J.T. came wandering back there looking for him – the restroom would make a good excuse. He pushed through the door into a large restroom with multiple stalls. There was another exit door on the other side of the room, and its position made Charlie realize that it must lead behind the stage. He stepped over to the sink, set down his empty glass and washed his hands, pondering the doorway. There was a card scanner built into the wall next to the door, and above it, a small sign. Charlie stepped over to grab a paper towel, and took a closer look. Dreamscape, it said, and he realized with sudden excitement that the restrooms must open into the back rooms, also. It made sense, he thought to himself; they'd converted a warehouse into a club, and it was one thing to set up temporary partitions and walls, but another to reposition plumbing. This set of restrooms served both parts of the building.

He took a quick look around; he could hear someone in one of the stalls, and there was a man at the far end, at a urinal, but he was swaying badly, and his back was turned. Charlie crossed over to the door with two quick strides and gave it a pull. Not surprisingly, it didn't budge. He took another look over his shoulder, and then pulled the chain over his head and ran his bronze card through the scanner. There was a small red light in the scanner – it stayed red, and again the door didn't budge. Suddenly, he heard shuffling and a voice on the other side, and he quickly stepped backwards, shoving his card in his pocket, and then darted to the sink again to wash his hands.

A man stumbled through the door, gold card in hand – he'd obviously just run it through a scanner on the other side of the door. He was undeniably trashed – drunk, high, or both, and he slapped his card and neck chain down on the small shelf over the sink, and staggered off down the row of stalls, abruptly turning into one halfway down. A split second later, the sound of retching filled the room.

Charlie turned and stared at the gold card on the shelf, in time to see the metal ball link chain slithering over the edge, threatening to take the card with it. Instinctively, he reached out and caught it, and then just stood there for a minute, staring at it, the chain swinging from his hand. It would be a simple matter to swipe the card, and gain entry to Dreamscape. The man to whom it belonged was so drunk he probably wouldn't even remember where he left it. Still, there was risk. What if J.T. came looking for him? What if there was another check on the other side, and they found out that the card didn't belong to him?

He shot another glance down the row of stalls. The man at the far end had finished his business at the urinal, and was turning, starting to head back toward the sinks. There wasn't much time – and in that instant, Charlie decided he had to take the chance. One quick look, he decided, and he would get out, then head back to the main showroom. He stepped over to the card reader and swiped the card, and when the light in the scanner turned green, he opened the door.

Once through the door, one of his fears was realized – there was another checkpoint set up a few feet down the hallway. Like the others, it was staffed by a beautiful spaced-out person at the scanner – this time a young man, along with a big beefy security type in a suit. For a moment, Charlie was tempted to duck back into the restroom, but they'd already seen him, so he took deep breath, walked forward and presented the card. The young man scanned it, and Charlie held his breath, but after a second, the man handed it back and said languidly, "Thank you, Mr. Sorenson."

Charlie took the card and hurried past the checkpoint before they could question him. He was in a long hallway, which was flanked by doors on either side, all of them closed. Up ahead, however, was a larger opening, and Charlie could hear music and the sounds of people talking, and he headed that way. As he approached the opening and looked in, he saw what appeared to be simply another bar, dimly lit, and filled with people. At first glance, it really didn't appear to be much different than the other lounges, and Charlie felt an odd feeling of something akin to vindication. When it came down to it, he really didn't want to find deep dark secrets here – he didn't want to indict J.T.

A woman in a long sequined evening gown, apparently some type of hostess; approached him. "Hello," she said, smiling, "you're new here, aren't you? Would you like me to show you how this works?"

A look of relief washed over Charlie's face. "Yes, please," he said, and she beckoned, leading him to the side of the room. Several terminals stood there, similar to automated airport check-in screens, and the monitor in front of him read, "Welcome to your Fantasy."

She hit the screen with a forefinger, and a menu came up, with a half-dozen boxes. 'Spa,' read one, 'Conversation,' read another, and Charlie thought to himself that perhaps the back room was somewhat tame after all. That thought vanished as he read the next one, which was labeled 'Narcotics,' and the next, which said simply 'Sex.' The woman glanced at him, smiling at his dumbfounded expression, and pressed the 'Narcotics' button. Charlie noticed that she, like the security men, was one of the few members of the staff who didn't seem to be stoned; she obviously was in charge of the back room.

The 'Narcotics' button brought up another menu, and she pointed to it. "As you can see, you can pick your drug of choice. 'Uppers' gets you amphetamines, cocaine, and more. You'll find heroin under 'Downers,' LSD or mushrooms under 'Psychedelics.' The 'Performance' button gives you performance enhancers, like Viagra, or Ecstasy. Simply press the button you want, scan your card, and a dealer will be over to see you shortly with your order."

She backed out of the menu, and went to 'Sex,' drawing up a second menu with buttons that read,' 'Romantic,' 'Passionate,' 'S&M,' 'Group,' and 'Room.' "Each of these has sub-menus of their own," she said. "For example, you can pick an anonymous partner by selecting age and sex, or you can choose from our cast of performers – if there was one who caught your eye, simply scan the pictures, and select the one you want. It's quite easy – when you find what you want hit the 'Select' button at the bottom, scan your card; and we'll set you up. Don't forget to look at the pictures of the rooms – each one is different, and is equipped differently. In addition to picking a partner or partners, you'll need to select which room you want. What many of our guests do is to have a drink first, maybe a hit of something, and mingle for a while - then they hook up with someone. Of course, you can choose legitimate activities like a sauna or a chess game, but since those can be gotten relatively easily on the outside, most of our guests come here for the other options. It's your fantasy, however; you can make the evening anything you want. Any questions?"

Charlie realized that his mouth was open, and he shut it, looked at her, and shook his head.

"Feel free to browse through the menu," she said, "and then stop by the bar for a drink." She swished off, her hips undulating under the form-fitting evening gown. Charlie's head swiveled back to the screen, and he stared at it dumbly, his heart sinking; then shook himself. He really didn't have a lot of time, and he needed to get as much information as he could. He noticed that the hostess had brought up a screen that contained pictures of the performers – maybe he could get names, something to bring back with him. He punched until he got the screen, and scanned the pictures. There were names underneath, but they appeared to be stage names, single ones at that – names like 'Flower,' 'Star,' and 'Prince.'

He swallowed; he could feel his throat tightening. All of the performers in the acrobatic show were listed – apparently, they were all for sale, even the younger ones. 'They can't be as young as they look,' he told himself, with a feeling of dawning horror, but as he turned to look around the room, he stood staring, paralyzed with growing revulsion. A heavyset, middle-aged man near him was walking out with a young woman half his age, and a fortyish woman smiled as two young men, both in their early twenties, approached her, and linked arms with her. Another man was walking toward the entrance with a boy that looked about fifteen; the youth was smiling, but his eyes were dead, glazed by despair, drugs, or both.

He felt a tug on his sleeve and looked to his right, then down. A girl – she couldn't have been more than ten, looked up at him. She was wearing nothing but a skirt and a tiny halter; and she was made up heavily, with red lipstick and glittering purple eye shadow. "Want to try me, mister?" she said, "You won't be disappointed."

Charlie stared at her in horror, and backed away, then turned and rushed out of the entranceway, half-striding, half-running back down the hall. He darted past the table with the security people, and as he reached the restroom and swiped his card through the scanner with a shaking hand, he saw the hostess step out of the doorway, and stare at him. She motioned to the security guard, and Charlie saw him rise, but he was already pushing his way into the restroom. He had barely made it into a stall before he was bringing up the contents of his stomach, and dimly, even in the depths of his misery, he was aware that he had just provided a good reason for his hasty exit. After a moment, he was aware that the security guard had stepped back outside, and he leaned against the wall of the stall, in a cold sweat.

A door opened and closed; then a familiar voice spoke suddenly from behind him. "Charlie!" said J.T., "I was wondering where you were. Are you not feeling well?"

Charlie was suddenly painfully aware of the gold card that he still clutched in his hand, and he shoved the hand in his pocket, and turned to face J.T. "Actually, no," he admitted;

"I'm afraid something didn't quite agree with me." He tried to muster an apologetic smile, and failed miserably.

J.T. reached out and patted his arm, concern on his face. "Poor boy," he said. "Can I have someone get you something?"

Charlie shook his head. "I'll be okay," he said. "I'll meet you outside." He shut the door of the stall, and leaned against the wall, panting, feeling the sweat evaporating from his skin. He could see J.T.'s feet – he was hesitating, but then the feet moved toward the door, and Charlie heard it open and shut again. He took the gold card from his pocket and hung it by the chain from the hook on the back of the stall door, then pulled his bronze card from his other pocket, and put it around his neck. He flushed the toilet, then stepped out and splashed some cold water on his face, trying not to shudder as an image of the young girl flashed through his mind. Finally, he dried his face, and looked in the mirror. The eyes that stared back at him still resonated with horror, and with an effort, he composed his features, then turned and stepped back out into the hallway that led to the main show room. Cooke and Leach had been right – and it was far worse than anyone had imagined.

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End, Chapter 19