The northern corridor is an enclosed double-chambered room, a central sanctuary preceded by a vestibule. The interior dead-ends at a massive, central wall. The beam of her flashlight reveals a vaulted ceiling, then a stone floor, its surface charred black from ceremonial fires. Leaving the empty chamber, she follows the platform around to the left and enters the western corridor, a barren passage that zigzags to connect with the southern and eastern corridors.

The temple is deserted.

Dominique checks the time: 11:20. Maybe he’s not coming?

The cool night air causes her to shiver. Seeking warmth, she ducks back into the northern chamber and leans against the central wall, the heavy stone surrounding her sealing out the wind and deadening all noise.

The atmosphere inside seems heavy, as if someone is waiting in the shadows to pounce upon her. She uses the flashlight’s beam to scan the interior, soothing her psyche.

Exhaustion gains a foothold. She lies down on the stone floor and curls up in a ball, closing her eyes, her thoughts haunting her sleep with images of blood and death.

The expanse surrounding the pyramid is a sea of swaying brown bodies and painted faces illuminated by the orange glow of ten thousand torches. From her vantage within the northern corridor, she can see blood running down the stairwell like a crimson waterfall, pooling around a pile of mangled flesh situated between the two serpent heads located at the foot of the pyramid.

A dozen more women are in the temple with her, all dressed in white. They huddle together like frightened lambs, staring at her through vacant eyes.

Two priests enter. Each wears a ceremonial headdress of green feathers and a loincloth cut from a jaguar’s hide. The priests approach, their dark eyes focusing on Dominique. She hacks away, her heart pounding, as each priest grabs a wrist, the two men forcibly dragging her out to the temple’s platform.

The night air is heavy with the stench of blood and sweat and smoke.

Facing the swooning crowd is an immense Chac Mool, a stone statue of an inclined Mayan demigod. In the Chac Mool’s lap is a ceremonial plate, spilling over with the mangled remains of a dozen severed human hearts.

Dominique screams. She attempts to flee, but two more priests reach out and grab her by the ankles, lifting her high off the ground. The crowd groans as the head priest appears, a muscular redhead whose face remains hidden beneath the mask of a feathered serpent’s head. A devilish yellow smile appears within the serpent mask’s fanged, open mouth.

“Hi, Sunshine.”

Dominique screams as Raymond tears the white cloth from her naked body, then holds the black, obsidian blade up to the crowd. A lustful chant rises from the bloodthirsty mob.

“Kukulcan! Kukulcan!”

At Raymond’s nod, four priests lower her to the ground, pinning her against the stone platform.

“Kukulcan! Kukulcan!”