***

  She is still sitting there trying, struggling, failing, to process everything, when the answers to What and Why arrive.

  The blotch over the ocean, the spot that warps and stretches the objects behind like some gigantic magnifying lens—something is happening. Something is… coming through?

  That catamaran again. The same one, or one just like it. It grows from an infinitesimal dot—to a ring—to a crescent that extrudes a smudge—that congeals into a boat.

  And then—another!

  The same blurry funnymirror effect yields another craft. Larger than the first, some kind of luxury yacht. The light is fading but as it draws nearer Sasha can tell that it’s not a cheap one.

  The are people aboard, and she can just make out designer suits and evening dresses as it moors at the end of the pier.

  She is tempted to wake Allison but decides against it. The girl would only panic, and for what? There’s nothing they can do right now. If this some freaky noncon voyeur shit that the Old Money are into, then they’ll just have to suck it up now and lawyer up later. Might actually end up the best thing that’s ever happened to her.

  Though they’ve already secured the yacht, the men from the smaller boat seem to be engaged in some kind of prep work. Lighting lanterns along the pier, shoveling and flattening sand in a path towards Allison’s tree.

  The four of them move incredibly efficiently. Two walk back to the yacht and return with something draped over their shoulders.

  No fucking way. A carpet. They’re literally rolling out a fucking carpet.

  And it’s not so dark that she can’t make out the color.

  Of-fucking-course it’s red.

  After a few more minutes, the men have built a runway fit for the Oscars or Milan Fashion Week. Lit by tiki torch along each side and culminating in that newly-carpeted plaza no more than ten yards from Allison’s tree, where the men have just finished setting out an assortment of seats and couches.

  Sasha can’t make out what’s being said, but from the subdued laughter aboard the yacht, she surmises that it’s the standard superficial boilerplate, meaningless drivel wrapped in hollow flattery and pleasantry. She hasn’t heard a peep from the help, she has a feeling those men have done this many times before.

  The mysterious elites have begun debarking and they walk along the carpet toward the seats at its end. It’s dark enough now that Sasha sees them as mere black silhouettes only occasionally, briefly, illuminated by the passing lights.

  Lit from beneath—shadows dancing over brows and ridges and folds—the features revealed look almost alien. She can hardly tell them apart, only vaguely aware that some are women, others not. With all of the probable botox treatment and buccal fat removal, she suspects they’d all look the same to her anyway.

  There are about twenty of them, most not deigning to look her way, content to continue that insufferable chatter as they take their seats, some remaining standing as they sip from glasses promptly furnished and refilled by the help.

  Allison has started to stir and she rolls to her side yawning. “Whaashgoing…whaashgoingon?”

  Sasha says nothing, hoping the girl will stay asleep just a little longer. Her hairs are standing on end, she doesn’t like any of this.

  “Mmmm—what’s going on?” Allison sits up wiping her eyes. “Sasha, what’s go—“ she sees the crowd off to her right, she bolts up. “Hey! Hey! Help! We need help!” She starts running to the plaza.

  Sasha reflexively grabs for her despite being ten feet out of reach. “Don’t!” she hisses.

  But Allison is already to the onlookers, mere feet from them, at the end of her chain, pulling, yelling. “Please, we need help! We don’t know how we got here! You have to help us!”

  But the crowd does nothing. They continue laughing and drinking, a few pause to stare at the screaming girl before continuing on as though nothing were out of the ordinary.

  Sasha yells for Allison to come back to her, but the girl is hysterical. She can no longer make out what she’s saying through the tears and screams.

  She hears his name though.

  “Ethan?! Ethan?! What is going on, why am I here!” Allison has directed her wails at one figure in particular. “Ethan, help me!”

  Sasha can just barely make out what she thinks might pass for irritation on a few of those alternatingly puffy and gaunt—and uniformly expressionless—faces. Zoo animals aren’t supposed to talk back.

  One of the figures in the crowd walks a diagonal through the sand towards her, just out of reach of Allison, who follows and reaches and bellows at the end of her chain like a junkyard dog. She’s yelled herself horse by the time the both reach Sasha.

  “Ethan! What the fuck is going on! Sasha yards against her chain as well. “Get us the fuck out of these fucking chains!”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he says in the silkiest of voices. “Easy, easy, calm down, both of you. Just breathe, relax.”

  She takes a deep breath. “Ethan,” she says again, as firmly as she can. “I want you to take this chain off of my hand, both of our hands, and then I want you to take us home.” She stands square with him. “I want you to do that right now.”

  He laughs, a deep hearty sound, like an insolent teen being told no by the help, or a teacher, or a customer service representative, or a drunk female at a frat party, all of whom he knew to be beneath him and subject to rules that he himself—with daddy’s money and connections—was not.

  “Ladies, please. Calm yourselves, the evening will be much more pleasant for all if you both just relax and embrace destiny.”

  “Ethan,” she wills her voice not to shake, it does in spite. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, I don’t know why we’re here, I don’t know where” —she swallows— “I don’t know where we are, and I don’t care. I want to leave, right now.”

  “Allison, relax, you—“

  “I’m Allison!” The girl’s voice has returned. “That’s Sasha!”

  “Whatever,” He doesn’t even hide the disdain in his voice. “Look, both of you, just be calm, quiet yourselves, yes?”

  Allison was crying now. “You said—you said you loved me. Ethan, please—please, take us away from here.”

  Ethan sucks his teeth, he has stepped away from Allison, even in the dark Sasha can read the contempt in his posture.

  “Ethan? Won’t you help us?” the girl pleads. “Won’t you take us away from here, please? Don’t you” —she is whimpering now— “don’t you love me?”

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  He sneers. That pompous fucking laugh again. He looks at the face of his Rolex, sighs, and starts to turn.

  “Wait!” Sasha says. “Just wait, please, please.” Now she can feel tears brimming in her eyes. “Why are we here, Ethan? Please, just tell me, why are we here? Why did you bring us here and chain us up?”

  Just as the words leave her mouth, a deep moaning sound emanates from behind Allison. Ethan turns his head. The onlookers on the plaza immediately fall silent, their attention focused on—on what?

  Ethan turns back to them, laughing again. But the laugh is different now—darker, more ominous. He leans forward and whispers, almost conspiratorially, “So that you may be eaten.”

  She had expected something along the lines of rape. Like, maybe all those rich geriatrics wanted to run a train on some supple twenny-somethings to remember what a tight cunt feels like.

  She could imagine those old fucks eating sushi off of them, that would be kinda kinky—the geezers could pop out their dentures and suck whipped cream off her nipples for dessert. Or maybe they’d watch Allison and her do some ass-to-ass or something like that. Something that at least made some kind of sense.

  But be eaten? What the fuck did that even mean? The entire time she’d been here she hadn’t seen so much as a gnat flying around. What exactly was supposed to eat them? Certainly not that group of twenty with a combined age of a fucking billion, she’ll fucking kick and scream and break their brittle fucking necks—strangle them with their diamond studded necklaces if she has to.

  She doesn’t even call after Ethan as he walks away, she just stares at Allison, who presumably wears the same look of puzzlement on her face.

  “Sasha, what did he mean? I don’t understand.”

  “I don’t—I don’t know,” Sasha feels like she is in a daze. “I think they… I think…” She is staring over at the crowd of onlookers. Some are leaned to one another’s ears, whispering, some are pointing. “This is just a prank… it—it—it’s a joke—it’s just a—“

  And then it catches her eye: that branch, over on Allison’s tree, was it always like the before? So curled inward, so hooked?

  Her eyes focus on the strange thing—yes—all of the ends wrap in. She hadn’t really noticed before, they all curve around in very peculiar form. They’re much higher than she remembers too.

  If she lets her eyes unfocus just a bit, gazes slightly off-target and lets the branches occupy that contrast-sensitive region in her vision’s periphery, she would swear that they were… moving.

  Her stomach drops, everything in her goes cold.

  whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck

  Another deep moaning sound rises. There is a clinking of links as Allison comes as near Sasha as she can, chain pulled tight.

  There is panic in her voice. “Sasha, please, I’m scared, please ca—“

  There is a sudden heavy sound and Allison is ripped backward several bodylengths.

  “Auahhhh!” she screams out. “Ahh my shoulder!”

  There is more clinking as her shadowed figure crawls toward Sasha, rises to her knees—and is ripped back again.

  “Auahhh!” There is the sound of her being drug through the sand. “Auahhh! Sasha! Sasha, help me! Help me!”

  Sasha has fallen to her knees, her whole body is shaking uncontrollably, she can’t speak and she can’t look away.

  She can see the branches—the arms—of that—that thing. Big heavy things writhing ponderously about, slowly.

  Slowly pulling Allison to them.

  The screaming doesn’t stop. The pleas for help—to her, to Ethan, to anybody—don’t stop. They don’t stop as she is ripped in fits and starts across the beach. They don’t stop when her shoulder audibly dislodges from its socket. They don’t stop when she is pulled far enough from Sasha that her silhouette becomes indistinguishable from that of the squirming, twisting mass behind her. They don’t stop when the snap of the first bone breaking echos out.

  A crack of floodlights at the edge of the plaza and suddenly the monstrosity is real, no longer a half-hidden, half-imagined terror. She watches transfixed at the serpentine curling and knotting, a relief of black tentacles over a blinding sodium lit background.

  She watches the thing seem to flinch in response to the light, retracting from it, as though a patch of grass caught in a gale.

  The lumbering stalk that just snapped Allison’s femur continues wrapping itself around her thigh, as another encircles her waist. Her screaming reaches pitches unknown as the stalks effortlessly dislocate her hip, tear flesh like tissue paper, and pull leg from body. Allison’s hands scrabble frantically at the thing, beating and clawing, as she is pulled toward the hidden center from which the branch-arms radiate.

  Pulled behind a mass of the creature, she is obscured for a moment, and all Sasha can hear are the shrill cries. When Sasha again catches glimpse of her, another two stalks have wrapped themselves around Allison’s torso. There is a wet crunching sound as her ribs burst from her chest. Sinew and muscle stretch until they snap and rip in a multitude of wet pops.

  For an instant, just as she is torn apart, the screaming rises to a howl, a deep, guttural thing, then it ceases, replaced by a pulpy gurgling sound.

  Sasha watches, frozen, as Allison’s twitching segments are pulled toward the creature. She hears a muffled crunching, gnashing sound; what might be queer burps of a sort; and, finally: clapping.

  She watches in disbelief as the audience gives a standing ovation.

  “Marvelous!”

  “Indeed! A sight to behold, truly!”

  “Worth every penny and then some!”

  “I rather do hope to view the next feeding in the full splendor of daylight”

  “Undoubtedly you shall!”

  “The season has just begun! There are yet plenty of opportunities!”

  And then Sasha vomits. And vomits again. And again until there is nothing to come up. Her brain refuses to process any more. She is numb, aware only of her body’s convulsive trembling as the noblesse gradually filter back onto the yacht.

  As the help finish wrapping up the carpet, she sees a figure walking toward her—Ethan.

  “Wha… wha… wha…“ She can’t form the words. Her mouth is dry, tacky.

  “Now you see,” he says, smiling down at her. “That” —he gestures to the scene behind him, to the still quivering thing— “that was a very exclusive viewing you were just privy to. Only a small handful, the crème de la crème de la crème ever have the pleasure of witnessing such an event.” He cocks his head at her. “You’re part of a very exclusive club now.”

  “What is-what is-what is,“ She cradles her head. He crouches down next to her, as if to hold her, he does not. “Wh-Wh-Why me? Wh-Why her? Why did you-did you-did you—”

  “Bring you here to be consumed?” he finishes for her. “Because you were the bartender that night and you took my number, gladly I might add. Because she made my acquaintance at one of the appraisal galas and she liked my car. The same reason any of you Chosen are chosen—because you were there, available.” He looks at her thoughtfully. “Oh, were you hoping that you were special?” He actually manages to stifle the laugh. “That you or her or any of the others mean something? You don’t mean anything, not really. You aren’t special, you’re just new, you look good. It would be simpler to get any old whore off the street, of course, offer a fifty or an 8-ball or something, but they all look like used trash. And the escorts run in very small circles, everyone recognizes their faces, there’s no novelty in that.” A shark’s smile parts his lips. “That’s what they want, what they pay for: good looking fresh faces. That’s what you are.” He gives her an appraising stare, like she were a filet mignon he was preparing to send back. “But you’re not so different in the end really. You’re all the same stock, just whores and sluts.”

  The rage boils over within her instantly. In a flash she leaps forward and strikes him. “Fuckyoufuckyoufuckyou!”

  He staggers back. “You fucking cunt!” he says, holding his jaw. “Fucking bitch!”

  He steps forward to slap her. She bobs, weaves, and hits him again, harder.

  He falls backwards, her chain the only thing preventing her from pouncing on him and sinking her thumbs through his eyes. “You fucking bastard! I’ll fucking kill you, you fucking fuck!”

  “Sir, do you require assistance?” One of the help has started approaching. She can only see his outline, but it tells her that he is big.

  “Nononono! I’mfineI’mfine!” Ethan blurts out as he staggers back to his feet. “Carry on, carry on, see to your duties, I’m fine, I’m fine.” He stands and brushes the sand from his jacket. The big man lingers for a moment before walking back to gather lamps and roll carpet.

  “You stupid whore,” He’s stepped back comfortably out of reach. “Tomorrow you’ll—“

  She spits in his face, he flinches in what she knows is disgust. She can’t read his expression very well in the dark, but from his posture she knows she’s riled him.

  “Fuck you,” she says calmly. “Some man you are, if I wasn’t chained up I’d kick your little pampered bitch-ass.”

  He stands there a moment, she can only imagine this is one of his first experiences with someone fighting back who actually can fight back—or could, were a variable or two changed.

  “Hrrrmph, stupid cunt,” he grunts finally. “You know what? If I wanted to I could call Marlo back here right now, have him hold you down while I fucked you. I’d fuck you til you bled too, and there’s not a damn thing you could do about it. And maybe afterwards I’d let him and the boys have a turn. Fill you up like the worthless cum dumpster you are.”

  “Yeah, how bout’ you unchain me from this fucking tree and see what happens, pussy. You’re not shit without your thugs.”

  He raises his finger at her, she can see him about to speak, he pauses, then that dark laugh emerges once again.

  “Heh, tree huh? Are you fucking blind?” He gestures to where she’d last seen Allison and laughs again. “Yeah right, tree.”

  Sasha’s skin prickles, her heart lodges somewhere in her throat. The power steering is out in her neck and turning her head is like wringing iron. With great effort she looks at the tangled mass not 15 feet away from her.

  She falls to her knees, shaking. Her hyperventilation verges on dry-heaving. Ethan makes it three steps to the yacht before he turns back.

  “Do be wary pulling on that chain too much, Sasha. They’re just starting to come out of hibernation, you see. I do believe, they’ve worked up an appetite something fierce. Now, this one looks content to lie dormant for the night, but I must warn you, they tend to be awfully hungry when awoken, so do be a good girl, yes? Sit there nice and quiet and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  He laughs as he walks to the pier. Sasha lies there in fetal position as the yacht leaves the jetty, retracing some aberrant path en route to a homeport incalculably distant.

  ***