The hallway they reach is long, with one set of doors. The man loosens the young woman’s grip and slides the doors open for her. She gasps at the sight of a large, extravagant room. Down pillows lie in the centre, shielded by thin mesh drapes, surrounded by plates of exotic, expensive-looking food: mountains of tropical fruit drizzled with honey, giant cakes covered in flower petals, and a champagne tower. Taper candles line walls that extend far into the darkness. There must be hundreds of them. A giant paper lantern hovers over the blankets in mid-air. The fire glowing within it is deep red, unlike any fire she has ever seen. Ghostlike wisps of incense drift through the air. The room is filled with heat, with warmth, with love. The young woman clasps her hands with a sigh. She throws herself against her companion and kisses his cheek, then enters. She pulls back the mesh drapes and kneels on the silk futons, sweeping her hands over their intricate designs. She turns back to him and pats the spot next to her, inviting him to join her. When the young man waves his hand, she insists. It is the last thing he wants to do.

Keep them warm, his grin tells her. He holds up a finger. He means for her to wait.

The woman giggles again. She turns her back to him, removing his jacket from her shoulders. He slides the door closed. Without hesitation he turns back down the stairs. There are more candles now, but the amplification in lighting does not improve his mood one bit.

“Nice shade of lip gloss you got there,” a high-pitched voice snickers. Small peals of laughter join in.

No, don’t respond, the young man thinks to himself. He is not in the mood for nightmares right now. He rubs the kiss on his cheek with the back of his hand and wipes it against what must be the wall. It is too dark to tell. However, he does not need light to see fresh burn marks on his skin where the blood-red beads have singed him.

He puts his shoes back on at the tiny front entrance. Every part of him feels heavy as lead. He waits by the front door. It feels like forever. He half expects to hear the doors upstairs slide open and the woman call him. Impossible, of course, for she does not know his name. Instead he hears shuffling noises above his head. A deep voice murmurs for a long time, like a one-sided conversation. He hears the woman giggle. Then, moans of ecstasy, increasing in volume and urgency within seconds, tear through the once-silent house. He feels a twisting sensation in his stomach, an odd combination of nausea and relief.

Now what?