Page 2 of Broken Empire
“Oh.” I blinked and nodded robotically. “The art auction?”
Robert gave me a beatific smile. “That’s right,” he said, taking my arm. “Now, be a good girl and come along.”
He led me through the gallery, passing groups of well-dressed patrons and blank-faced waitstaff. None of them seemed real to me. Instead they seemed like non-player characters from a video game. I figured if I turned and looked again, I’d probably find them all standing in a fixed place, staring at a wall until I interacted with them.
The thought made me giggle and stumble. Robert smiled and tightened his grip on my arm to stop me from falling over. “What’s so funny?” he asked.
“They aren’t real,” I said breathlessly, pointing at a man in a suit. “I can tell.”
“I see.”
“You aren’t real either. I’m…. what’s that thing?” I blinked again, trying to stave off the dizziness that was threatening to overwhelm me. “Lucid dreaming. That’s it.”
“Of course you are. This way, sweetheart.”
Robert led me toward a wooden door at the back of the gallery. It registered in my mind as a familiar sight, so I knew I must’ve seen it earlier, but I couldn’t remember what it was. A back exit, perhaps, or an entrance to a storage room.
“Champagne,” I mumbled. “This is where they keep it. Are we getting some more?”
“That’s right.”
“Wait, no… I thought you… you said we’re going to buy some art,” I mumbled, rubbing my forehead again. I could barely form a coherent thought now, let alone a coherent sentence.
Robert ignored my remark and opened the door in front of us. “Come on,” he said, gently pushing me into a dim hall. “Walk faster, please.”
We walked for what seemed like forever, though I only registered taking ten steps. Time was difficult for me to comprehend now, stretching out endlessly and compressing at the same time as I counted my footsteps. It didn’t make sense, but nothing else did either.
Black spots appeared in my vision, and I stumbled again. “It’s okay,” Robert said soothingly. “The worst part will wear off soon, and you’ll feel nice and calm.”
We stopped in a double-wide entryway, and I cast my bleary gaze around the room in front of us. It was large with wood-paneled walls and bronze sconces. Red velvet-backed chairs filled most of the space, facing a stage with a dais and a large photo on a wooden mount.
“That’s me,” I whispered, recognizing the photo as a headshot from my acting portfolio.
“Yes. This is all for you, remember?” Robert said.
The room filled with the buzz of chatter and laughter as people from the gallery followed us inside and made their way toward the chairs. A man in a black robe stepped up to the stage and stood at the dais, hood pulled over his face. He tapped the microphone a couple of times to make sure it was working, and then he lifted his chin and addressed the room. “Welcome, everyone. Please take your seats. You’ll find your bidding paddles beneath them,” he said. “Tonight’s article will be displayed momentarily.”
Robert’s earlier speech about selling me seeped back into my mind, one word at a time, but I wasn’t afraid anymore. I felt calm and compliant. Ready to submit to anything.
It’s the drugs,a little voice in the back of my mind told me.You have to fight it. This isn’t normal!
I tried my best to concentrate on the voice, but it faded away along with its dire message. My mind returned to its calm, breezy state, where nothing was real and everything was fine.
Robert took my hand and led me up the wooden steps on the side of the stage. “This way,” he said, guiding me toward a spot on the dark hardwood. He put his hands on my hips to maneuver my body toward the audience. “There we go. Stay there.”
A bright light switched on over my head. I squinted and lifted a hand to shield my eyes as I looked ahead, and a hundred pairs of eyes looked back at me. Hungry, lecherous eyes.
Who were these people? I couldn’t remember. Was this even real? Or was I having a nightmare about being onstage in a theater production where I’d forgotten all my lines?
I blinked, trying once again to clear my head. A woman in the front row inclined her head slightly and mouthed a few words as her gaze locked onto mine, and I realized she was on the phone to someone.
A hazy memory floated back. She was the woman with the posh British accent who approached me in the gallery earlier. She said something about having a potential buyer on the other end of the line who couldn’t be at the gallery in person because he was in Russia. She also said something about him wanting to see the item up close.
Clarity hit me like a cold slap in the face.Iwas the item the woman was aiming her phone camera at earlier. Not the painting behind me.
With that, the rest of my memories from earlier in the evening flooded back, along with an acid wash of fear.
“No,” I whispered, panic rising in my chest as I looked around the stage for an escape route. I wanted to run, but my legs felt like lead and I could barely even lift a finger, let alone a foot. “No, no, no…”
