NightWhere Read Free Page B

gunshot. A moment later, someone screamed. And then the snaps of Rae’s shoes were all that echoed in the night air.
    Her steps quickened.
    “Not crazy about the neighborhood,” she breathed.
    Mark shook his head. “Gotta agree. Though the architecture is tres modern.”
    Rae snorted. “Modern Ghetto?”
    This was the industrial section of town; the broken sidewalks snugged to brick walls that held no trace of architectural motive, despite Mark’s jibe. These were walls that were simply that—walls. Steel-framed windows flanked in crumbling concrete occasionally interrupted their unwelcoming façade but mainly…these were barricades. Proud factory faces that had grown old and creased with time.
    The factories were gone now, and this South Side Chicago neighborhood remained quiet most of the days. Except for the warning shots of gangs and drug deals gone wrong.
    “Well, I didn’t figure they’d set up shop at the Four Seasons,” Rae admitted. “But I still don’t like it!”
    “It’ll be different inside,” Mark promised.
    At last they arrived at the door. There was no sign. No Playboy symbol silhouette or kitschy neon sign saying Open 24 Hours . It was just a door, with the numbers 2367 in rusting letters nailed to the front.
    “They could have at least gotten an address like 6969,” Rae said.
    “Always looking for the extra kisses, aren’t you?” Mark laughed.
    He lifted his hand to knock, but before his fingers touched the wood, the door creaked open six inches.
    “Invitation?” a masculine voice demanded.
    Mark pulled the folded paper from his front pocket and handed it to the hand that extended through the narrow opening.
    The hand disappeared inside.
    Mark looked at Rae. Her eyes were narrowed, her anxiety visible.
    Mark leaned in to kiss her and she smiled just a little before gently pushing him back and nodding. “I’m okay,” she whispered.
    The door opened.
    From inside, a sinuous drum-and-bass combo pounded strongly. Blue and red lights reflected off the dark eyes of the doorman, who now revealed himself to them. He was tall, maybe five feet eleven inches, and thin. He wore a black, button-down shirt and dark jeans. Over his shoulder, Rae could see wisps of fog and the movement of tousled hair. A dance floor.
    “You’re first-timers,” the doorman said simply. His tone left no room for argument, and Mark nodded.
    “I will tell you this now,” the man said, his eyes unblinking. “And I will tell you this only once. You have been given a gift to come here. Very few people receive this invite. But there is a reason. What we do here? It cannot be revealed. Where we hold the club? It cannot be revealed. NightWhere exists where we want it, when we want it. Any member who reveals anything about this club outside the walls of this club…will be killed.”
    The man smiled. Thinly. His lips were pink and drawn.
    “I’m not joking here,” he said. “If you breathe a word of NightWhere to anyone, you will not live to see tomorrow. We are serious about this; it is the only way that NightWhere can survive.”
    The man smiled then, and his teeth were shark white in the shadow. “Go in and sin.”
    He moved away from the door and Mark stepped past him uneasily. Rae followed fast, both of them walking past the doorman until they stood in the open foyer. After weeks of wondering whether the subject of the furtive whispers was real, Mark and Rae got their first look at NightWhere.
    Rae slipped her arm around Mark’s waist. “It looks normal enough,” she said.
    He nodded. “Looks,” he said.
    In front of them, a couple dozen men and women moved on an impromptu dance floor, dry-ice smoke jetting out in plumes between their feet. Now and then, when the grey cement of the warehouse floor was fully obscured, Rae could only think of one thing. They were dancing on a cloud.
    “This is just the doorway,” Mark said. “Let’s have a drink and get the lay of the land.”
    “I thought we were just