Guest of Honor

The darkness fell upon them suddenly, without warning. No storm ushered the way, no meteorologists or news anchors cautioned them about the power outage. One minute there was light, the next there was none.

Close to seventy people had gathered that night for the party. It was Sebastian Beck’s forty-fifth birthday, and his closest friends and colleagues had been invited to celebrate at the Attic, the newest, swankiest bar on the outskirts of Chicago. Most nights there was a hefty cover charge to gain entrance to the Attic, but of course Beck had booked and paid for the entire bar for the night of his party. The place was rather small, as all of the most exclusive venues are by nature. All of the guests fit inside the building, but a certain sense of personal space was lacking.

Monica De Leon was a journalist who had recently started working for Beck. In an effort to make the best possible impression, she had spent the Saturday morning before the party perfecting her look. Her cocktail dress, a black, sequined number ruched at the waist, was perfectly fitted by her tailor, and her wavy dark brown hair had been elaborately pinned in a stylish up-do by her hairdresser. She hoped that the final look was attractive but not too attractive. Monica admittedly liked Sebastian and occasionally imagined him becoming more than her boss one day, but she wanted to come across as professional and serious, not a schoolgirl with a crush. He was a distinguished man and would certainly be turned off by any immature behavior on her part. Though Monica was twenty years younger than Sebastian, she was sophisticated and attracted her fair share of older men.

Arriving at the party at 8:30 p.m. (just late enough to make people think she was as busy and important as they pretended to be), Monica spotted Beck across the bar and then began mingling with the other guests. Best not to appear eager; she would slowly find her way closer to the man of the hour and introduce herself properly after a while.

One hour and two martinis later, Monica’s feet were aching in her stilettos and she was growing increasingly bored. Growing up on the west side of Chicago, Monica met all sorts of people from various socioeconomic backgrounds, but she had never met people like this. These were the rich, the upper-class, the elite. Extraordinarily wealthy people seldom commingled with regular folk. They were like sasquatches; rarely seen in the wild and a bit unbelievable. For all her hopes of hearing fascinating stories about their opulent lives, the disappointing truth seemed to be that rich people were dull. Everyone she met that night either droned on about taxes and stocks or complained endlessly about the help. They were completely intolerable.

Just as Monica made up her mind to finally approach Sebastian Beck, the lights went out. A few people in the crowd gasped. Someone dropped a drink and the sound of the glass shattering made Monica jump. For a moment or two, it was practically silent as the guests adapted to the abrupt change in atmosphere. A few of the more inebriated celebrants loudly asked no one in particular why it was so dark.

Sebastian Beck spoke up. “Let me take this moment to thank you all for coming tonight! Throwing a birthday party at my age feels a bit ridiculous, but I love a good excuse to celebrate with all of you wonderful people. I hope you are enjoying yourselves as much as I am! We appear to have lost power; I am going to make a few calls to find out what caused the outage, and surely everything will be up and running again in no time. No need to panic and certainly no need to leave just yet!”

Monica fished her cell phone out of her handbag as Beck finished up his speech. She wasn’t planning on making any calls herself, but the light from her phone would help her find her way out of the building. Despite Beck’s reassurances, she took the power outage as a sign that this night was a bust and decided she should be on her way.

Though her phone was fully charged when she left for the party not two hours earlier, for some reason it wouldn’t turn on. Voices started whispering in the dark, lamenting their own cell phone failures. By some bizarre coincidence, not a single person in the Attic seemed to have a working phone.

Monica took a deep breath and weighed her options. She had a vague idea of her location in the building and the direction she needed to go to find the exit. She might accidentally bump into a few people on her way out in the total darkness, but she surely wouldn’t be the only one. As she turned around and started to make her way back towards the front door, Monica tripped, catching her heel on something and twisting her ankle. She yelped as the sharp pain shot up her foot and grabbed on to a table to stop herself from falling.

Dammit, these stilettos cost more than my first paycheck. She was feeling like this night was a failure more and more every minute. Now limping, she continued weaving through the group. Suddenly someone walked straight into her.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Excuse me.” Monica stammered.

“No need to apologize, it’s darker than a tomb in here. Where are you heading in such a rush?”

“I’m calling it a night. The party’s been great, but it’s getting late and I can’t see a thing in here. Have a good night.” Monica leaned forward but the man was still standing in her way. She stepped to the left and he mirrored her.

“Look, I’m tired and my ankle hurts and I’m not in the mood to dance with a stranger in the dark right now, so if you’ll excuse me…” Monica’s tone was no longer charming. She hoped she didn’t sound as irritated as she felt, but she needed to come across as firm and direct with a man like him.

“Well, isn’t that cute! You aren’t in the mood? What makes you think I care what kind of mood you’re in, Monica?”

Monica’s blood turned to ice. The man’s voice did not sound familiar. Although she couldn’t name everyone she had met tonight, she was certain that she had not talked to this deep-voiced stranger. How did he know her name?

“Now, little lady, the party is just getting started. Come with me.” The man grabbed Monica’s elbow forcefully and led her back towards the center of the bar.

“Get your hands off me!” Monica shouted as she tried to pull her arm free and shove the man away from her. “Help! Someone get this creep away from me!”

A moment ago the other attendants were laughing and chatting amongst themselves. As the mystery man dragged Monica further into the bar and she screamed for help, the guests grew quiet. No one moved to assist her. No one spoke up.

Sebastian Beck began to speak. “Monica De Leon. My newest employee. Thank you so much for showing up tonight. I didn’t mention this before, but you are my guest of honor! I can’t tell you how happy I am to have you here.”

Monica laughed nervously. “Thank you, Mr. Beck. That’s very kind of you to say. I had a lovely evening. Would you be so kind as to escort me to the exit? I really must be going.”

“Going? No, you won’t be going anywhere. As I’ve said, you are the guest of honor.” Beck’s usually pleasant voice was hardening.

“I don’t understand... I am so grateful for the invitation, but it is late and quite dark and I want to go home now, please. Happy birthday, Mr. Beck. Goodnight.”

After this last plea, the entire roomful of people burst out laughing. Is this some kind of prank? Did I say something embarrassing? Monica had stopped drinking when the power went out, but her head was growing foggy and the darkness was disorienting.

The man who had forcefully dragged Monica across the bar abruptly picked her up and laid her upon a long table. Hands reached towards her from all around; big hands, hairy hands, manicured hands, cold hands; hands holding her down as she writhed and squirmed in a desperate attempt to escape. Before she blacked out, Monica heard one line, repeated by each party guest in unison: You are the guest of honor.