Craig was escorted to a large brick house. The house was off an unused exit on the highway. The grass had overtaken the exit from the highway, and from the car it was not clear that this was even an exit leading anywhere. The green sign showing the exit had fallen off its metal posts some time before. Craig did not recognize this part of the country. He hadn’t even realized that the highway went further than it did.

Mr. Gonzalez and the man known as Mr. Samson drove a gray, late-model Ford in silence. Craig Stevens tried to start up conversations with the two men, but they did not respond. The car was eerily quiet. Craig was not used to being with people who were not speaking. He enjoyed talking and took offense when they did not share his enjoyment of his favorite pastime. If they were ordinary people and not government agents, he would have much he wanted to tell them.

They drove in silence for an hour before turning off on the exit. They followed the paved road for a few miles before turning off onto an unpaved road. The road turned bumpy but was clear of debris and the car made good speed and time. In this part of the country there were no lights except for the headlights of the car leading down the unpaved road.

They stopped in front of a red brick house. It was a large house. Craig figured it was probably built as a farmhouse a long time before. Now it sat in the middle of an untended farm far off the main road. There were lights from various windows in the house. The car stopped in a cloud of dust and Mr. Gonzalez and Mr. Samson opened the door and stepped out. Mr. Gonzalez opened the passenger side door in the back to let Craig out. He held the door open and waited for Craig to leave the vehicle.

“Nice house you have here,” Craig said putting on his most winning smile. He had attempted many such openings in the car but they had not bitten. He figured he would just talk and if they didn’t want to listen, that was fine by him. He had no need for their companionship, and he figured they may just learn something from him. He also thought that perhaps if he talked, he would be able to convince them to let him go. He was nervous how this was going to turn out. For now he would follow them. He remembered the statistic that said that most people who were kidnapped and got into the kidnapper’s car were never heard from again. The advice he had given a few months ago on kidnapping was run and fight before you were taken away. He knew the statistics were not in his favor. Much was not in his favor since he had his failed interview with Frankie Names.

“My house is going to be empty again tonight. They’ll find that I’m not there tomorrow morning and start asking questions. You have two choices: you can let me call my lawyer so I can let him know that I’m safe, or you can drop me off. I’m a famous man, and there will be lots of people looking for me. I told you that already, but the two of you are setting yourself up for bad trouble.”

Craig could have gone on, but Mr. Gonzalez and Mr. Samson took one arm each and led him into the farmhouse. The front door was surprisingly heavy. It had three locks which took three different keys. Each of the men had two keys that they put into the locks and turned. It took Mr. Gonzalez a few pulls to open the door. The door slid open quietly on its hinges, its acceleration almost too fast for Mr. Gonzalez to slow it down before it banged all the way open.

Warm cooking smells escaped the house. Craig noticed how cold it had grown outside when the heat hit him. He also realized he was hungry. He didn’t think he would be hungry at this time. He had dinner a few hours before and usually did not eat snacks after dinner. But the kidnapping and the running away from the agents must have built up an appetite. Even though he was not sure how he would eat at a time like this, all he could think about was food.

“That smells awfully good,” he said to his captors. They didn’t respond. They both wore dark cheaply cut suits. Craig hadn’t seen it before, but they were both wearing black sneakers instead of shoes. He would not have been surprised to find that they were also wearing white socks. They each had a distinctive smell. It was not a fresh scent. It was something old and filled with mothballs, it was almost like he was smelling his grandparents.

They walked through the heavy doors and into the house. The first thing Craig noticed was the old worn red carpet that covered the floor. It had gold scrollwork along its edges, and there were places throughout the room where it had worn past threadbare. The door opened into a sitting room with large uncomfortable looking chairs with heavy cushions. The smells of a late-night dinner were even stronger inside the house.

Mr. Samson was the last through the door and with effort managed to close the door behind them. The inside of the doors required a key to lock or open, and Mr. Samson and Mr. Gonzalez took turns locking the door from the inside. Craig realized this was where they were going to hold him. He looked over to the windows and saw that they were made of old, thick glass, with gates on the inside and outside. This house seemed to be designed to both keep people inside and out. Even with the heavy door and gated windows, the house felt warm. It was more than the heat and the smells of cooking. There was something almost peaceful about the house.

Craig noticed that Mr. Samson and Mr. Gonzalez did not look comfortable. He realized that in the car they had started to look more and more worried. He had thought that they were trying to intimidate him in the car, ask him questions until he broke down. He now realized that instead of trying to intimidate him, they were growing more uncomfortable with where they were bringing him. There was something here that scared them. He worried that whatever it was that would scare them must be truly terrifying.

Mr. Gonzalez led the way through the ornate living room into a hallway. The hallway was covered with glass framed old photographs. The paper used in the photographs was yellow and old. There was only one color photograph and it was of a group of people dressed in finery lined up like a school portrait. It was in the middle of the wall and there was a small space between it and the surrounding photographs as if it was in a place of prominence. The hallway itself was very wide and long. There were quite a few doors leading into the room along the hallway. Each of the doors looked similar. At the end of the hallway there was an ornate door similar to the front of the farmhouse. Craig guessed that was their destination.

The hallway was wide enough for them to walk three abreast. Mr. Gonzalez took the lead and Mr. Samson hung back a bit. Craig heard talking as they passed some of the doors. The talking was quiet, almost whispered. Craig watched Mr. Samson and Mr. Gonzalez as they walked past the doors. There was a longing on their faces. They wanted something that was behind the door. They alternated between accelerating toward the door at the end of the hallway and slowing down. It was almost like part of them wanted to get there, but the other part wanted to do everything they could to avoid whatever was behind those doors.

“Any hints before we get to that door? Am I to meet the President or something?” Craig asked again, still turning on the charm and smiling, hoping one of them in their nervousness would answer. But like the rest of the night since they left the woods near his home, they did not answer. He was wondering if they just pretended to know how to talk earlier. Maybe they were trained animals when it came to such things.

They finally made it to the end of the hallway and Mr. Gonzalez reached up to the door and knocked on it before stepping back and away from the door. There was silence on the other end for a few minutes, and three of them stood back waiting.

“Perhaps nobody’s home?” Craig continued to talk for his own benefit. He was not worried anymore about entertaining or making friends with any of the agents. He just wanted to know his fate. He was worried it would all come to nothing. The beginning started when Frankie Names agreed to interview. It had been that silly associate producer that had set up the meeting. What was her name? Something like Esther something or another. While she had a part in setting up the initial meeting, Craig knew that it was his reputation and ability to bring the audience in to his confidence that enabled him to get the interview. That the interview turned out as it did still worried him a bit. He wondered what would have happened if everything had gone as planned and he had debunked the entire thing.

Finally when Craig felt like he could not take the wait anymore the door opened up. Craig did not see the man who opened the door. The room was filled with bright lights. He did not realize how dim the hallway had been until he saw the lights in the room. The room was not large. For such an ornate door he expected to see a huge door. There were three windows along the back of the room and a large wooden folding table near the windows. There were three people seated along the table facing the door with one seat empty. The table was a cheap folding table, the type they set up at events and then stack away in storerooms when not in use. The chairs were simple green folding chairs. Papers covered the table. Some of the piles were organized, others were scattered in front of the participants.

A short man who had opened the door walked back to his seat at the end of the table. Mr. Samson gave Craig a small nudge into the room.

“You have done well, Mr. Gonzalez and Mr. Samson,” the lady in the middle of the table sat. She was an older Japanese lady and she spoke slowly and with a strong accent. Her face was large and very flat, her nose barely coming out of her face. Her eyes were large and a dark brown that looked black in the bright light. She wore a simple business suit that would was unremarkable. There were two neat piles in front of her, and between the piles there was a sheathed katana, the blade facing toward the door. Even from the doorway, Craig could see that the hilt looked well worn. The sheath was nicked but still shiny. The hilt was hanging over the edge of the table near the Japanese’s ladies hand.

“So you’re Craig Stevens in person,” she said.

Craig stepped forward. Mr. Gonzalez and Mr. Samson started to walk backwards. They seemed reluctant to leave the room.

Craig gave the woman his best television smile. He felt the warm air hit across his perfectly white teeth. He was in his element. He had an audience and they seemed actually ready to speak with me.

“Before you guys guy, I wanted to thank you for your hospitality. You were most gracious on the drive over. I’ve never had a more sparking conversation than what the two of you provided.”

The little man at the end of the table laughed a bit too loudly. The other three people at the table turned to look at him and he swallowed the laugh with a guttural sound.

“Thank you for your efforts,” the woman said to the agents. They nodded but seemed reluctant to leave the room.

“We thought. Well, you said after this one,” Mr. Samson said quietly to the lady. He looked down at the ground sheepishly. Craig didn’t understand what was going on, but he did understand the nervousness. These must be the leaders of this organization. It was clear they were not government related. The four people sitting at the table varied in nationality. It was almost like they were chosen by a corporate diversity committee to show off how advanced their hiring practices were.

Mr. Gonzalez took a step backwards away from where Mr. Samson was standing.

The old lady in the middle of the table stood up and removed the sword from the sheath so quickly that Craig did not register what she was doing until she had already jumped over the table and stood facing the three of them near the door with a naked blade. He could not imagine how she moved so quickly. He did not think a young person could move that quickly, let along someone of her age.

She was a small woman, much smaller than she looked sitting at the table. For her small size her moves were graceful. Each move practiced and with little effort.

“Mr. Samson, you have been quite helpful to our movement. We’ve promised you the secret to join our order. The government is thankful for all of your help.” Her accent was less as she began to speak more quickly. It was almost as if her accent had simply been an affectation to her speech.

Craig followed Mr. Gonzalez’s lead and stepped aside giving the old lady with the naked sword a clear view of Mr. Samson. Mr. Samson stood his ground, his hands behind his back. Craig saw him grab a handle that was tucked underneath his belt buckle. Craig couldn’t see if it was a gun or another sword. Whatever it was, he did not want to get between the Mr. Samson and the old lady if it kept to a fight. He backed his away out of the doorway and stood against the wall, trying to make himself as small as possible. The people at the table continued to look his way, not taking any note of the drama unfolding in front of him.

“You let this dog into the organization, but will not share the secrets with me?” Mr. Samson said, his voice raising, his confidence reinstated by whatever he held behind him. For his sake, Craig hoped it was a firearm of some sort. He could not imagine Mr. Samson would have much luck with a melee weapon at the speed at which the old lady could draw her blade and fling herself over the table.

Craig tried to concentrate on the drama in front of him, but Mr. Samson’s words bounced in through his head. He was somehow being let into the organization. This must an organization related to whatever it was Frankie Names had whispered into his ear during that commercial break. He had cast the incantation every night, not understanding the words that were spoken, but feeling the power of the words. Even now he felt the ball of power in the pit of his stomach. It was not like a physical feeling. It was spiritual in its root. Whatever it was, he had taken hold within him and had changed something in his body. Each morning he would wake slightly different than the night before. The symbols of the incantation having more meaning each morning after chanting them.

Mr. Samson pulled a gun from behind him and held it out. He pointed it directly at the old woman standing in the middle of the room. “You promised,” he screamed and pulled the trigger. The gun blast was quieter than Craig expected. Craig smelled the gunpowder immediately after the sound. The old woman moved quickly after the gunshot. She launched herself down and away from where Mr. Samson had been aiming. Craig watched in fascination as the old woman’s blade sliced upward and cut Mr. Samson almost in two. Mr. Samson’s body folded in two and he fell straight to the ground.

There was no dramatic death scene. Mr. Samson’s body just crumpled onto the floor. The old woman slid quickly backwards, her sword point pointing down to where his body had fallen. The gun fell to the ground next to his body. Craig looked over and thought about grabbing the gun. He decided against it looking at the crumpled and ruined body of Mr. Samson. Craig knew his limitations. He knew he was not a fighter, he was a talker.

Craig Stevens stared at Mr. Samson’s body. He had never seen a dead body before. He avoided funerals like the plague. He always felt awkward providing sympathy to people. He was happy to give eulogies on television, but when it came to actual people who had suffered a lost, he did not want to associate with them. He had never been to a cemetery or a funeral home. He had seen dead bodies on television, of course. And sometimes his own program would show the atrocities of the world. He was comfortable with those images.

Mr. Samson’s body surprised him. He thought he would feel different about seeing the dead body. He thought he would feel empathy toward Mr. Samson. Sure, he had kidnapped him and chased him through the woods. And then there had been the entire silent three hour road trip to this strange farmhouse. Even with all of that, he thought he feel something at the sight of a dead body. Mr. Samson’s eyes were still opened, frozen in the slight squint that he had made as he took aim at the old woman’s body.

He looked over to the old woman. She was wearing a long blue dress, and a dark wet spot appeared on her side. The three men who were still sitting behind the table looked almost hungrily at her. She walked calmly back to the table and grabbed the sheath. She did not look at anyone as she pulled the blade into the sheath with a large banging sound.

“Mr. Gonzalez, unless you feel similar to your former partner, I recommend that you take your leave from us. Sensei Young will assist you with opening the front door.” A tall Caucasian man stood from the other end of the table and walked toward the door. He stepped over the body of Mr. Samson without a glance, carefully stepping over the pool of blood that had formed to avoid getting the blood on his wingtip shoes. He was dressed in a well-tailored blue pin-striped suit. Seeing him stand next to the cheaply dressed Mr. Gonzalez was stark. It was clear there was a hierarchy here, and it was equally clear that the men who had scared Craig earlier were at the bottom of the totem. He worried that he had been so scared of such obviously inferior people, how would he feel about their superiors.

Mr. Gonzalez and Sensei Young left the room and disappeared down the long hallway. The old woman walked over to a wooden wardrobe and opened it. She pulled out a long knife and slit her dress where she had been stabbed. Large drops of blood continued to pour from the wound on her side. The old woman looked at the wound and squeezed it a bit starting another avalanche of blood down her side. She made a tsk sound and started wrapping a rolled up bandage around her midsection, crossing over the remains of the midsection of her red dress.

She took a glass vial from the shelf and kneeled by Mr. Samson’s body. She carefully knelt avoiding the pool of blood and held the vial over his body. She began to chant in the same language as the incantation that Craig had learned from Frankie Names. He still did not understand any of the words but the intention was clearer. It was like learning a foreign language. You did not understand any of the words, but over time you began to recognize the language. He knew the next step was learning a couple of the words.

Craig watched in fascination as Mr. Samson’s body began to glow a bright white color. The skin disappeared in the light and then the clothing fell to the ground. The light formed a gaseous cloud and flowed into the vial. Even the blood was part of the light as the entire essence of Mr. Samson’s body filled the small glass vial. A yellowish fluid whooshed around in the vial and the old woman stopped chanting. She close the top of the vial with a glass stopper and placed it in the wooden wardrobe. She returned to her kneeling position, placing her sword next to her and carefully folded the clothing until it was in a small pile next to her.

Young returned to the room and waited at the door until the old lady had finished the folding. She stood up and Young walked into the room and closed the door. Craig still saw some blood on the old woman’s bandage. The bandage was wrapped tightly around her waist over her dress.

“Now that that pleasantry is over with, we can start in on Craig Stevens.” The old woman had stood up and now carried the sword and stood in front of Craig. She barely came up to Craig’s shoulders, and yet she seemed to fill the room.

“I am Sunaka Sensei,” she said by way of introduction. “You are the illustrious Craig Stevens. The man who won the interview with Frankie Names to out us all. He didn’t do a very good job of the outing, did he?” Sunaka smiled at Craig, and Craig couldn’t help but return her smile with his. It was an automatic reaction, and yet he knew just by feel that the smile was as perfect as always. He had spent too much time in front of the mirror for there to be any doubt that he could pull it off.

“You’re bleeding,” he said to Sunaka. The blood had started to flow past the bandage.

“Yes, I am. It’s a hazard of our job.” The three men sitting around the table nodded in agreement. The little man at the end gave off another laugh. Craig realized it was a nervous tick of his. The others looked at him in disgust. Looking at the way the three men looked at each other he realized that there was not much love lost between the four of them. Whatever powers had brought them together barely kept them together. Whatever this club was, Craig was having second thoughts about joining.

“You have been introduced into the guild by Frankie Names. He did not have the right to do so, but it was involuntary. We do not hold his actions against you. You are now within the fold. This is a select fold, something you should be proud of. It requires much of a person to be part of this organization, but, as you’ve seen, the rewards are immense.”

“There I still much I don’t understand,” Craig started, trying to work up to where he wanted to take this conversation.

Young chuckled and nodded his head. “There is much you probably will never understand,” Young said at his seat. “There is even some stuff that we or our revered leader Sunaka Sensei do not understand. You should get used to disappointment. Although, for the skeptic that you played on television, I’m not sure if disappointment is such a foreign feeling for you.”

The words flowed into Craig’s mind about the ridiculousness of the magical. He wanted to fall back into his routines again. He wanted to explain how silly this whole thing was. The more he saw, however, the less ridiculous it appeared. Even now, he looked out at the four people around him and realized that there were some truths in the world that he had no choice but to accept. It did not stop him from wanting to better understand it. He owed it to his audience and to those who were not like him anymore to learn the truth. Whether he would come out with the truth like Frankie Names tried, he was not sure.

“And Frankie Names, he was part of this guild?” Craig asked. He wanted them to explain things more quickly. They were talking but not getting to the point. It was like they were hiding something or just because of their secrecy, they had forgotten how to speak straight. They spoke in circles without saying anything. It was becoming annoying to Craig who just wanted the truth in as few words as possible.

Daily word count: 4,215.

Words remaining: 12,776 (37,224).