ID#36142
Mychael read the invitation again as he stood outside of the
door to the Rho Alpha Delta, or R.A.D., fraternity house, wondering why he
would have been summoned to join their New Year’s Eve festivities. He didn’t participate
in any of their events during Rush Week. He didn’t know any members, that he
knew of. In fact, before he got the letter, he never heard of the group.
“What
do I have to lose?” Michael asked, emboldening himself to walk up the stairs to
the front door. “Could be fun, right?”
The
house was quieter than he expected as he walked up the stone steps, but the three-story
house was constructed out of large stone bricks making it virtually soundproof.
The stained-glass windows bore metal grates over them, giving the entire
building a medieval cathedral vibe. Two upright mastiff figurines completed the
aesthetic as they flanked the entrance like guard dogs.
If it
weren’t for the flashing lights twinkling behind the windows and the long red
carpet flowing from the door to the street, Mychael wouldn’t have believed any
social event would be taking place inside. A hand-scribbled note on college-lined
paper hung on a golden chain in the statue to the right’s mouth.
Music is loud. Don’t knock. Come on in.
If his
flight hadn’t been canceled for his trip back home for the holidays, Mychael
would never have been here. He far preferred quieter, more cerebral activities.
Board games or trivia contests with his small group of friends. Playing poker
and winning extra bux while fleecing entitled rich kids who had the funds to
burn. Solving crossword puzzles from the Sentinel News’s all-time hardest collection
his parents sent him for Christmas. Mychael ran his thumb over the lucky totem
on his keychain kept in his coat pocket.
Even
though luck couldn’t be proven by any mathematical equation he’d seen so far,
he believed in it. Luck never guaranteed the certainty of good things, but it
did explain some of the more unexpected results in his young life. Praying to
it never hurt either.
Out of
habit, he politely knocked on the heavy wooden door and waited for a response,
which didn’t come, before opening it. As soon as it cracked open, loud music
burst out into the quiet night air. If it had been possible, the stone statues
might have winced as the wall of sound struck them. He recognized the song, a
popular E.D.M. number called Heroes Rising by Darksound. A large group of
people danced in the room past the small alcove of the entranceway, their hands
bearing Solo cups of every color held high in the air.
Mychael
slipped in and closed the door behind him, not that anyone seemed to notice
him. He saw an empty set of pegs on the wall to his right, recognizing it as a
place to hang garments. He moved his keys to his pants pocket and shrugged his
coat off, grateful to find a place to hang it. The music continued to play
loudly as the horde of people danced in the next room, which spurred a question
in Mychael’s mind.
Why
weren’t there other outside clothes hanging here with so many others in the
house? And why could he hear the music but no other sounds coming from the
party? No shouting? No calling out? No YOs, BROs, or F$&#s which were the
nature of people his age?
Something
grabbed his arms, pulling them behind his back as rough cloth engulfed his
head. He struggled, but being more brains than brawn, he couldn’t break free. A
strange, unpleasant chemical smell filled his nostrils, making breathing even
more difficult within the bag tightly pulled over his face and taught at his
neck.
<tbc>
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