Midnight

her and walked toward one of the windows, turning on her phone flashlight to examine a heavy plaque covered in gold that was fastened to the wall, attempting to read the deep inscription.
         It is never wise to enclose oneself in a room in which one does not belong, but Elizabeth was inebriated just enough to forget this time-tested principle. She was standing in front of the plaque, holding up her phone’s flashlight to read the scripted award, when she heard a voice approaching, and the doorknob turning. Quickly turning off the flashlight, she slid behind a drape, pressing herself to the glass behind and waiting with sudden dread, that horrible pit in one’s stomach when one realizes their error.
         The door opened. It shut. There was a shuffling footstep soft in the carpet, and another, and someone sighed heavily.
3.    Behind the Drapes
 
“Some secrets are meant to be known- but once known you can never forget them.”
―
Pseudonymous Bosch, The Name of This Book Is Secret
         “No one, no one.”
         It was the unmistakably deep voice of the Chief of Staff, Snyder Reed. Elizabeth’s heart skipped a beat. She wished she could be anywhere else in the world.
         “Come on, cheer up. Tell me, what’s wrong?”
         It was still Reed, he must be on the phone. A long pause.
         “Well what are you worried for, then?” He said patiently.
         Another pause.
         “I’m not worried, and you shouldn’t be either. This is an unprecedented event. It is flawlessly done, there are no loose strings.”
         Pause.
         “Sweetheart, calm down,” he continued, speaking coolly and collectedly. His voice grew so soft that Elizabeth could barely hear it. “Yes, this is a secure line. Now, I spoke to the generals and I spoke to everyone I needed to at the Pentagon and the one at Quantico, today. We are completely prepared for this. Nothing will go wrong. It’s done so flawlessly. They’re all ready for it - as ready as they’ve been since the day we started the movement. We are about to witness the greatest social change this country has ever seen. It will be rough going at first, but when it’s all over, the survivors are going to bring this country back to what it was before - powerful, smart, strong. And you and me - we will be right on the front lines of making it like that.”
         Elizabeth’s throat tightened and she felt the beads of perspiration break out on her forehead. A cold chill crept over her skin and goosebumps rose on her arms and at the nape of her neck. She kept listening, her mouth dry and the air seeming to tingle around her. Survivors?
         Pause, and some shuffling as he paced slowly.
         “Good,” he said. “Now where are you? I didn’t see you after dinner.”
         His pacing brought him closer and closer to the window with each round. The drape did not quite reach to the floor. Elizabeth breathed shallow and light, trying to suppress every natural movement or sound that she would have made in breathing. As the seconds ticked on, she found herself inexplicably short of breath, and her palms grew increasingly clammy. She felt as though the air was trapped in her lungs and wouldn’t come out or in.
         “I see. Well, rest up. Tomorrow, we will have a long ride to Chimaugua.”
         Chimaugua. The word sounded familiar. Where had she heard it? It inspired a strange feeling of fear, as if it was a heavy word weighted with misfortune. A report--she had heard it in a report. The man giving the report--he was tall, and blonde, spoke in a clipped voice--he was from the Department of Defense. She remembered his uniform. Chimaugua! It was a nuclear fallout bunker. The blonde man had told them of its energy independence as a model for other bunkers. She hadn’t paid much attention to the report; it seemed unimportant for her purposes.
         “Goodnight.” Reed’s voice sounded muted through the barrier of the drape. She heard the door open, and shut, and there was silence.
         Elizabeth remained behind the drape for a few minutes, her heart racing. Her hands were ice cold. Her tipsiness faded into grave sobriety as the weight of the words hung in her mind like a sinister dream. What would necessitate Reed going to Chimaugua? What was he planning that would necessitate survivors? Why were the Pentagon and Quantico involved? What the hell?
This couldn’t be real.
She shivered. She should tell Haley.
Pulling aside the drape, she slipped back out into the room and then stepped into the hall. The bright light of the chandeliers above made her squint and she looked both ways, scanning for any passersby. Not a soul appeared, and she walked quietly toward the gala.
         Upon entering, she found herself again surrounded by silk dresses, gems, and tuxedos. Noises echoed; laughter and music and meaningless words. Like figments of a bright imagination they swirled and danced around her. White sparkling teeth and bubbling champagne flutes. There was Haley--standing and speaking with someone unfamiliar. Elizabeth soon found herself at her friend’s elbow. Haley turned with a smile that disappeared instantly when she saw her friend’s frightened expression.
         “Elizabeth! What is it?”
         Haley pulled Elizabeth to the side of the room, turning her away from the crowd.
         “I’ve got something important to tell you, but we can’t talk here.” Elizabeth tugged at Haley’s elbow. Without a word Haley sensed the urgency, and nodded. The two made their way towards the door, Haley walking in front. They had reached it and were about to walk through the awning when they found themselves face to face suddenly with the Chief of Staff, Snyder Reed.
         He smiled benevolently.
         “You aren’t leaving yet, are you?”
         “I’m afraid we have to,” answered Haley, in forced cheerfulness. “We have work early tomorrow.”
         “And you too, Miss Elizabeth? I’ve heard such reviews of your work on China that I had half a mind to ask you to