A Voyage Into Night

For the next few nights Isobel had slept like a baby. Her nights were peaceful, undisturbed and dreamless. This, at least, allowed her to submerge herself back into normality again and the quiet, uneventful pace of life resumed. She was content with this, at least in the beginning. She found she was able to distance herself from events, at least in her head. She could act as though they were somebody else's story, a dream, or a description in a book. She'd always been particularly good at separating difficult parts of her life, to compartmentalize. Thoughts of the dark woman simply became one of the things she placed in a box and stored securely in her own mind for later use. She was sure that the woman was not done with her, but Isobel was content, for the moment, to wait. She had been given a glimpse, and then a taste, of another, darker world. A taste had not been enough, but it would do for now.

Into the box too went thoughts of Carl; it was just easier not to think of him at all, to dismiss the whole thing as a fantasy. It wasn't that she didn't feel guilty about what had happened, to him, and about her active part in it. Her feelings of guilt were there, damned up behind a wall she herself had created; She knew that, if released, it would overwhelm her.

And behind it all; the darkest secret of all, the fact that she had enjoyed it: the sense of power, the intoxicating memory of the man's blood in her mouth, on her tongue, and how greedily she had swallowed it down. The memory of his heartbeat, beating so powerfully that she could feel it through his chest as it began to slow. God help her but she had loved it all. Unthinkable. These were the actions and motivations of a stranger, not her. So that too went into the box.

The only thing she kept, that she could not hide away from, was the feel of the woman's fingers entwined in her own, the oh-so-brief caress of her own head. She still felt these things, a memory stitched into the very skin of her hand, her hair. No, the woman was not done with her yet, Isobel was sure of it. To consider anything else was unthinkable. She could bear the monotony of her days only if she believed there would soon be an end to them

This bubble of denial had been punctured only once, but it had been enough to shake her to the core. They had been in port for most of the morning, and she had been taking a breath of fresh air out on the upper deck next to the main outdoor swimming pool, when she had heard shouting coming from below. At first she had ignored it, being faintly irritated that somebody had chosen to spoil the atmosphere by being loud and obnoxious, obviously drunk. Then she heard her name called out from below. It had taken a moment before she had made out a group of young men being walked off the ship by what looked like members of the Italian Police. They were clearly unhappy about going and at least one of them, a stocky lad with a full beard, was pushing back aggressively against the officers. Not exactly an inspired idea, thought Isobel, as she watched them all go. She wasn't sure whether or not the police carried guns here but she was fairly confident that pissing off the local constabulary was a bad move when you were in a foreign country far away from home. It was then that the bearded man screamed out: "Isobel!" and with a heart stopping moment of clarity, she recognized them from the nightclub. They were, had been, Carl's friends, and they had remembered her.

For a moment she had been frozen in panic, staring in horror at the retreating men. The man with a beard appeared to realise she'd seen them and redoubled his efforts to force his way past the officers, who at this point were using more force than Isobel thought was strictly necessary, forcing them down the ramp and onto shore. She heard one final shout of "Have you seen him?" before her legs seemed to crumble beneath her and she sagged to the floor, mercifully out of sight of the retreating men. There she stayed, shaking uncontrollably, until the voices faded, and disappeared. Although she wasn't sure, she did think that the last word she had heard screamed had been her name, followed by the one word: "Why?" The one question she could not yet answer. The one question she didn't even want to think about.

For the rest of the day she worked with one eye on the surgery door waiting for the knock she was sure would come. Waiting for the police to march in and begin asking difficult questions about a certain young student who had not been seen by his friends in nearly three nights. However, as the day went on, the knock did not come, the questions were not asked, and very soon this moment too went into the box and placed into storage deep in the back of her mind.

Normal life resumed: it wouldn't last.

The invitations arrived the next day. they came in expensive looking gold coloured envelopes and were left in the pigeonholes of several members of the medical staff, including Ian and Isobel. There was no explanation as to how they got there, or why they in particular had been chosen, although Ian had decided that it was simply a long overdue reward for all their hard work over the last few months. The envelopes contained a simple card advising them that a masquerade ball would be held the following weekend and they, and a guest, were invited to attend. There was an address, both physical and on the web. The physical address was somewhere on the outskirts of Venice, where the ship was due to visit, and the website linked them to a site dealing with carnival masks and costumes. That was it: no explanation as to why they had been invited, and no name of any person or organisation behind the event. Ian was not in the slightest bit concerned about this lack of information. At the very worst, he argued, it would be event hosted by some dodgy pharmaceutical company wanting to build contacts. And even if it was, there would be free food and drink so attending was a no-brainer so long as you didn't over think it. Isobel wasn't so sure, but had finally agreed to attend after hours of badgering from Ian and Imogen, his attractive Scandinavian girlfriend.

Isobel was ashamed to admit that she had never actually set foot in Venice, despite the ship having docked there dozens of times during its circular cruise around the Mediterranean and Adriatic. It had always looked beautifully atmospheric from deck, and she had always promised herself that she would organise a day to wander around; but she had always been too busy or too tired, and so had contented herself with looking at the city's colourful buildings and dark canals as they sailed past. She may as well have been watching it on television, she told herself. The invitation, at least, would be an opportunity to remedy this.

On the day of the ball the three of them (she had resisted Ian's attempts to set her up with a date) disembarked and caught a taxi to their hotel: a fairly nondescript cheap affair that, despite the atmospheric surroundings, did remind Isobel of the chain hotels back home. They had arranged for their costumes to be delivered directly to the hotel and so they were able to spend a cheerful few hours getting ready and showing off their costumes. The two women helped each other get into their outfits: Imogen had gone full Marie Antoinette with a huge, billowing tent of a dress as well as a huge blonde wig to cover her own cropped hair. Isobel had been more restrained but she still needed help to get into the black satin corset that came with a matching layered dress with dark knee length boots. Both of the women had gone for simple columbina masks covering their eyes, with Isobel again choosing a simple black design whereas Imogen wore a gold mask studded with blue gems along the edges.

They met Ian in the hotel hallway. He had simply decided to go as the Phantom of The Opera, complete with white half mask and makeup, and made their way downstairs to where their water taxi awaited. Imogen had been disappointed that they were not traveling by horse and carriage, the only mode of transportation suitable for the enhanced social standing she argued her costume should now provide. At least the taxi pilot was entering into the spirit, although Isobel could not help but be slightly unnerved by his choice of mask. His eyes looked out from a plain black oval that obscured much of his features. It left the unsettling impression that his face was mainly comprised of a bottomless hole. They stepped gingerly onto the boat, and very soon they were powering their way along the canals of Venice, making their way under bridges and out to an area where the buildings thinned out, then disappeared altogether. Ian had the presence of mind to bring along a hipflask of rum, and they took turns sipping from it at the city faded behind them into the dusk.

It was Imogen who saw their destination first: a gleaming wall of lights emerging from the gloom ahead. For a moment Isobel thought that they had left one ship merely to be taken to another, and then the lights became more focused and she could make out many windows of a huge pale stoned house. As they came nearer she made out more details Although the size of the grand house gave it the appearance of looming over the canal water it was, in fact, set far back amongst its own grounds and gardens with a courtyard in front of the main entrance. The whole place appeared alive with lights and movement so that the image of a busy cruise ship persisted even after the three companions had been helped from the boat onto a wooden jetty.

The road down to the house was broad and lined with numerous hedges, trimmed into unusual and surreal shapes. Their's had not been the only water taxi disgorging passengers and, as they made their way down the driveway towards the house, they made the acquaintance of Angela and Katy, two American students who had been invited whilst on a sightseeing holiday. "It was a little weird," said Angela, the more vocal of the two girls, "we have been here for a few days staying at a hotel. We come down to reception the other day and find that someone has left us tickets to this event. No name, no explanation , nothing. Isn't that amazing?

"Amazingly creepy, if you ask me." interjected Katy who, in Isobel's estimation, appeared the more serious and level headed of the two and was clearly there under duress. Katy gave the impression of preferring libraries, art and museums to dressing up and getting pissed. Angela brushed off the concern. At lease they had entered in the spirit of the event; the extravagance of their gowns rivalled Imogen's, although Katie had decided against wearing a wig so her short, cropped blond hair did seem incongruous with the 17th century style garb.

As they approached the house snatches of music could be heard, before being spirited away again on the wind. A sizeable crowd had gathered in the courtyard of the house and Angela was quick to grab two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter. "Now this is what I'm talking about." She squealed, before passing one glass to the still unimpressed Katy. Once they were through the entrance they were required to file up a wide stone staircase which led into one of the grandest rooms Isobel had ever seen: it was huge, far bigger than any of the bars on the ship, and it seemed to glow with an intense golden light as the light from the numerous chandeliers was caught and reflected unto the shining walls, columns and floor, all of which gave the appearance of being dipped in precious metal. Most of the room was taken up with a huge, gleaming dance floor. Along it's sides were numerous chairs, sofas and chaise lounge. Isobel would have been affronted by the pure, naked greed of the place, had her breath not be taken from her by the sheer grandeur of the sight.

At one end of the room was a raised area, a stage on which a string quartet was playing. At first Isobel had assumed they too had come wearing masquerade masks but she was surprised to see that the white cloth covering their faces had no eye holes that she could see. They were blindfolded. Isobel had seen this kind of thing in movies but had not realized they happened in the real world. Across the opposite wall, far away, a table filled with glasses of champagne stood, and waiters, all wearing the same off-putting hole mask of the taxi pilot. Isobel could see wide openings along the far wall and she had a glimpse of other staircases leading upwards. She was curious about how much of this gigantic house they would be allowed to explore.

Very soon they were all loaded up with glasses of champagne and canapes and even Katy was showing some signs of getting into the spirit. The crowd began to mingle, and it became clear that the attendees were a mixed bunch made up of men and women from all parts of the globe. What intrigued Isobel and Ian was the fact that, despite their expectations that this was an event for people in the medical professions, they appeared to be the only such people here. Angela and Katy were both history graduates and one man Ian spoke to turned out to be a postman. The only thing they appeared to have in common was the fact that they had all received an unexpected invitation to tonight's event. No-one Isobel spoke to had the slightest idea who their host was or why they had all been invited.

"It's all very mysterious," declared Antoine, a French accountant on holiday with his girlfriend Emily, "It reminds me a little of those old mystery movies. I suspect that, at any moment the lights will go out, and when they come back on there will be a dead body in the centre of the floor with a knife stuck through it's chest. And one of us... " he added ominously, " is the killer!" They all agreed that, were such a thing to happen, then Antoine would either be the corpse or the main suspect. Once the champagne had been exhausted glasses of wine were brought out to the cheers of many of the assembled guests. Clearly, for some, the explanation as to why they were all there was an interesting problem, but they weren't going to let it get in the way of a good time. Many of them had already made their way onto the dance floor.

The conversation was interrupted by the loud clanging sounds of the main doors to the room swinging shut. The noise was so unexpected that it even seemed to startle the string quartet who broke off from their playing. The babble of conversation slowly ebbed away and an uneasy silence fell on the room. "What did I tell you!" Whispered Antoine, "Quick, everyone hold hands so we won't lose each other when the lights go out". Emily laughed at the joke but everyone else looked uncertain at one another wondering what was about to come next.

Isobel's attention was drawn to the open doors leading to the staircases going up deeper into the house. Shadows moved against the wall and she made out figures moving down the staircase to file silently into the ballroom. The new arrivals looked as mixed a set of Individuals as the people already there, the same collection of men and women but, if anything, their choice of clothing was more varied than those who had come in through the front door. Not all of them had come wearing masquerade costumes, in fact some were quite casual, wearing shirts, jeans and dresses. One thing they all had in common was that they had all wore full face carnival masks: Voltos, Isobel had learned their name while she was researching her own costume. On the whole they consisted of a plain white face, with various decorations around the eyes and nose. After studying them for a few seconds Isobel realized that the masks were not the only thing these new participants had in common; they all moved in a way that managed to be both elegant and almost feral. The way they moved stirred a memory in Isobel, and one of those closed boxes in her mind began to open.

Hesitantly at first the band began to resume playing, a waltz that Isobel had heard before but couldn't name. The new arrivals fanned out into the ballroom and began to invite people to join them on the dance floor. There was many nervous smiles, and glances to friends for guidance, but Isobel noticed that not one person refused their invitation, and very soon most of the Voltos were spinning around the dance floor with their chosen partners. Isobel felt a very familiar knot beginning to form in her stomach.

One figure, who was different from the others in that he was wearing an elaborate jesters mask along with his dandy's outfit was pacing around the edge of the dance floor and appeared to be gazing intently at everyone in turn. When he came to their little group he stopped suddenly and Isobel knew, with a heart sinking certainty, that he was gazing directly at her. With an elaborate bow he proffered a hand for her to take. She looked at her friends for help but they were smiling encouragingly at her, even Katy seemed interested. They don't know, thought Isobel, they can't see. She looked back at the jester figure, who had not changed position and still had his hand out expectantly. Isobel hesitated for a moment, and then took the stranger's hand.

The Jester led her to the dance floor, where he turned to face her and placed one hand on her hip. She stared into his unchanging face, the smile fixed as if he alone got the joke. "I'm afraid you may need to be patient," she said, hoping to break through the inhuman mask to the person beneath, "It's been a while since I danced to anything this formal." The Jester cocked his head to one side, a comical touch that almost made Isobel smile.

"I wouldn't worry about that My Lady," His accent was Italian and his tone was almost mockingly polite, "I have had my toes broken so many times I am sure I will be able to cope. Do your worst!" Then they were off, and Isobel was surprised to find that she could keep up, at least for this relatively slow waltz. It was still unsettling to be dancing whilst looking at the jester's smiling, puppet face, but she found that she quickly lost herself in the rhythm of the dance steps. The man she was dancing with was strong, she could sense that, but his hand rested gently on her hip and his cool hand never squeezed too tightly, and always the face seemed to stare at her.

The pace of the dance increased, and very soon they were whirling around the dance floor at a speed that Isobel found breathtaking. Although the jesters mask remained in focus, the room behind him blurred as they danced, a whirling stream of colour that should have made her ill with dizziness, but she found that she could match his speed, step for step with a skill and confidence that surprised her. She could feel her face becoming flushed with pleasure. Still the pace increased and still she matched it. She laughed with the sheer exhilarating joy of it as the world shrunk down to just the two of them, and the almost frantic playing of the orchestra. Are we trying to keep up with the music, she asked herself, or is the music trying to keep up with us? The thought was so ridiculous that she burst out laughing again. The jester seemed to understand.

The music ended with a suddenness that took her by surprise. They came to a rest and she bent over for a moment, attempting to catch her breath. The jester, she noted, did not seem out of breath at all and merely watched her, the same broad smile on his face. Finally she straightened, brushed a stray strand of hair from her face. "Thankyou," She said, "I enjoyed that." The Jester replied with a full deep bow, his arms stretched wide in what she couldn't help feeling was a slightly mocking gesture. But again, that could have been down to the mask which, out of necessity, saw the humour in everything.

"I assure you that the pleasure was all mine. You have done me a great honour this evening." Then, again bending low, he took her hand in his and raised it to his mask for a kiss. Isobel felt a moments disappointment that he had not raised his mask first. "Your are a very beautiful, a very special, woman Dr. Isobel Cartwright. Would you mind passing on a message from me? Would you be so kind as to tell her that I approve, and that I am suitably envious."