Enigma, p.1
Enigma, page 1
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To everyone who has ever felt unaccepted and unworthy of being loved:
Being alone can feel like an eternal agony.
But it is darkest before dawn.
One day, your sun too will rise.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Dear reader,
Thank you for picking up my book. Enigma, at its core, is a story of loneliness and love. There are dark themes, a misty atmosphere that will linger with you on the pages, and a steamy story of love slightly untraditional, slightly unconventional, slightly unhinged. She is one of my most fascinating female characters, one with a hard shell, and he is the one who pushes her buttons, intent on cracking it.
I wanted to list the themes mentioned in the book so you could decide if you’re comfortable going forward.
Content includes: explicit sexual scenes meant for adults only, graphic scenes of death, graphic postmortem, on-page suicide (mentioned in the opening chapter, “Death Smiles…”), coercion, mentions of suicidal ideation, mentions of sexual trauma, mentions of sexual grooming of a minor, social ostracization and consequent stigma, depression, post-traumatic stress, consensual non-consent, dubious consent, a secret society.
I hope you enjoy the journey to Mortimer with me.
Love,
RuNyx
In all chaos there is a cosmos, in all disorder a secret order.
—Carl Jung
The wound is the place where light enters you.
—Rumi
PART 1
DEATH
Beauty is terror. Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it.
—Donna Tartt, The Secret History
DEATH SMILES …
Unknown Girl, Mortimer University
The girl stood on the edge of the cliff.
There was no moonlight for anyone to witness her demise, not a concerned soul around to make her question herself, not a sound beyond the sea and the whispers of her own moral decay.
Oh, she was of sound mind and judgment. Yet, she stood on the cliff on that moonless night, walking to her own destruction, an invisible gun of her own making to her head.
Maybe, things would have been different, could have been different, if she just had the courage. The world thought she was brave. They would remember her as such. There was nothing to indicate otherwise. Would this be a murder or a suicide or an accident? Would she become the girl on the news pushed by invisible hands, or a girl who jumped of her own free will? Or maybe, they would speculate a tragic fall of a girl who wandered too close to the edge. Literally, metaphorically, who knew?
The wind whistled around her, blowing her dress up and whipping her hair over her face. To anyone watching, she would have painted an ethereal, haunting picture.
Picture. Photographs. Memories.
She had so many of them.
She didn’t want to stand on that cliff.
But she had to. There was no other choice, not for her.
Not when they were watching.
And they were always watching.
Even as she stood weighing her decision, her choices, her mortality.
Even as she stepped closer to the edge, her body shaking, resisting the directives of her mind.
Even as she closed her eyes and took the plunge, the wind rushing in her ears, the silence shattered by her scream piercing for a split second before cutting off abruptly.
They were watching as she lay on the dark sand on a dark night, and died.
I felt
A strange delight in causing my decay.
—Robert Browning, “Pauline: A Fragment of a Confession”
… AND SHE SMILES BACK
Salem, 12 Years Old
Death was the only truth of life.
The first time she thought of death, she was four.
Salem remembered it distinctly because of the way it had become a core memory. She had been playing and wandered into the woods behind her house, and had fallen into a pit. She had cried and screamed but it had been too far for anyone to find her. And in that dark hole, at all of four years old, Salem had thought she would die. She had been convinced that she would die, and the thought of death had scared her. And then, she had seen the body of a wild rabbit just flopped in the hole with her, its neck torn open, insides spilling out. And her young mind, in its terror of dying, had fixated on the rabbit. That had been the first time Salem had realized there were things hiding inside everyone’s skin.
Junie, their family dog, had been the one to find her, her barks loud and leading others to her. But for a few hours, Salem had spent that time in the hole with the dead rabbit, her perspectives and thoughts shifting, changing, realigning.
Salem rubbed Junie’s fur, finding reassurance in the warmth of her soft body as she had since that fateful day, as the memory flashed before her eyes. Junie, with her beautiful golden fur and an even more beautiful heart, the only creature on this earth who cared if Salem went missing and took the steps to find her.
Salem looked at her grandfather’s body while sitting respectfully at his funeral as her mother had taught her to do in public, Junie by her side.
Death was a curious thing. Planned or unplanned, mitigated or unmitigated, cruel or comfortable, it was the only universal truth that everyone lied about. Most adults she’d encountered spent their lives not thinking about it, trying to outrun it yet heading straight to it. She didn’t know if they realized what she had at such a young age—death was inevitable. It chased everyone from the moment of the first drawn breath and caught them at their last.
Maybe that was why she was so intrigued with it now, of what happened after it came and conquered mortal beings.
Not-so-little Salem, at all of twelve years, found the consequence of death fascinating.
She looked down at her grandfather, and tilted her head to the side in the way her mother always told her not to because it was unbecoming of young ladies with good families.
Her mother, who sobbed so delicately on the other side of his still body, a fragile tissue pressed to her nose, shoulders shaking gently with father’s arms wrapped around her. There was no doubt in Salem’s mind that her mother was sad.
Salem was sad too. She extended her hand, rubbing Junie’s soft fur that felt so warm. Warm and always in motion. Snapshots of memories drifted across her vision—of Junie walking behind Salem as she went exploring the woods behind their big house, slobbering kisses all over her face when she came back from school, pushing against her hand when she wanted scratches, and lying by her side after Salem was left alone. Junie, though she was the family’s dog, had been the only one to love Salem just as she was, never wanting her to change, despite what her mother called her “eccentricities.”
Junie rubbed herself against Salem in that reassuring way of hers, slightly slower since she was older now, and Salem knew she would miss her, miss her a lot, when Junie was gone.
A question popped in her head as she sat in the funeral home.
“What will happen to his body now?” she asked, biting her lips as soon as she spoke, as if to recall the words, not sure if perhaps it wasn’t the best time to assuage her curiosity. She always did that, opened her mouth at the wrong time, said all the wrong things. She didn’t mean them to come out wrong, it just happened, her social cues a little off. Mother didn’t say it but it embarrassed them. Salem didn’t entirely disagree.
“Shut up, freak,” her older sister mumbled, typing away on her phone even at the funeral, though almost everyone was gone now.
Olivia. Prim and proper Olivia. Perfect apple-of-her-mother’s-eye Olivia. Pristine light-of-her-father’s-life Olivia. Pathetic bane-of-her-existence Olivia.
Salem didn’t know how older sisters were supposed to be, but if they were all like hers, the world was doomed. It wasn’t that Olivia was a bad person exactly. No, in fact, Salem had seen her sister glow and be nice to everyone around her, help people and spread smiles and win awards. Everyone loved Olivia. Everyone doted on Olivia. Everyone waited on Olivia. Everyone but her.
She didn’t know why, didn’t understand, and didn’t care by now, to be honest.
A while ago, she would have waited for her parents to maybe correct her older sister and admonish her for calling her a freak. Not anymore. Now, she pretended to be grown-up and used words like “admonish” in her own head to fire back at everyone since the adults in her life didn’t really care to do so.
It wasn’t even their fault, really.
She understood by now how everyone had
She didn’t think she was a criminal though. She didn’t want to kill anything. In fact, the idea made her stomach feel queasy. She just wanted to open what was already dead and see their insides to find out why and how they died. It was the reason that fascinated her, more than the act itself.
“Can I have a moment with him alone, Javier?” her mother sniffed, turning to her father.
“Of course, my dear,” her father agreed, nodding at one of the staff at the place, his olive-toned skin, like Salem’s, looking brighter in the harsh clinic lights. “Take the children out.”
Olivia was moving to the door before the last word left his mouth, aggressively typing on the phone that seemed to be glued to her hands nowadays. Salem wondered who she talked so much to. Her own phone was heavy as a brick in her pocket, mostly a tool for reading and watching movies and lurking in forums she was too young to lurk in. But that’s where the most interesting stuff usually seemed to be.
“Who are you talking to?”
The words escaped Salem before she could bring them back. Twice in a matter of minutes. She needed to get better. Her feet followed her sister outside and she turned to look at Junie, her heart giving a pang at the rare stillness of old age in her fur companion, from what had once been her exuberant existence, before she exited.
“None of your business.”
The words brought her eyes back to Olivia, and she watched in fascination as a flush covered her sister’s pretty face. Olivia rarely flushed. Though she didn’t like her very much, she knew her sister in and out. Very interesting.
Salem jumped on one of the squeaky chairs in the lobby, her sneakered feet dangling slightly off the ground. Her sister took the one beside her, her heels flat on the floor.
“Tell me,” Salem insisted. “I promise not to tell.”
Olivia slid her a glance before rolling her eyes. “Ugh, you’re annoying.”
Salem waited patiently; though she wanted to ask again, she knew Olivia hated silence. She would need to fill it and that’s exactly what she did.
“Fine. It’s a guy at Mortimer.”
Salem felt her eyes widen. Mortimer University was a big deal in their world. It was a place for those with privilege and pedigree, an institution so exclusive and so elite that those who graduated from there were akin to gods in their social circles, becoming symbols of power and prestige. Getting in was exclusive.
It was an even bigger deal in the Salazar household because her great-grandfather had met her great-grandmother at the university, and all their children had attended since then, making their family a part of an even more exclusive circle—the legacies.
Her reaction stemmed from something else though.
“But you’re still in high school and not a legal adult yet.” She couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice. “Why exactly are you talking to an older guy?”
“Keep your voice down,” Olivia hissed. She looked around to make sure no one heard, before leaning forward. “It’s not romantic, you idiot. He’s just … nice. He’s been there for a while, so he’s just telling me about the cool stuff there for when I get in.”
Salem had no doubt her sister would have attended even without being a legacy, based on grades alone. Her reports were near perfect and her extracurriculars glowing on and off paper.
“You still have two years to go,” Salem pointed out.
“You wouldn’t get it,” her sister said, typing on her phone again. “It’s not like you have any friends or a clue how to make them.”
Salem ignored the jab, mostly because it was true. Friends were overrated anyway, from what she’d seen. They were backstabbing and betraying. People were friends only to use each other.
She focused on the more important thing. “Do you know him?”
Olivia hesitated before finally putting her phone down and turning to face her fully. It struck Salem again how beautiful her sister was, with her reddish-brown hair and green eyes and light skin, a replica of their mother, so unlike herself.
“I met him online … in one of the university groups,” her sister explained. “We have been talking for a few weeks and I’ll see him after I graduate. We’ve decided it’s not proper to meet in person before that.”
Proper. Salem should’ve known it was more about being proper than being unsafe for her sister. Whatever the reason, at least she wasn’t being stupid. Even Salem knew it wasn’t right for young kids to talk to strange older people online. The book she’d found at the library last month had talked about particular criminals like that called predators.
“Anyway,” Olivia went on, when Salem didn’t say anything. “It’s not just me. There are many legacy teens in the group with current attending students and even some alumni, just talking about stuff, you know. It’s a great place to make connections and be on top of the chain even before stepping on campus. You should get on it too.”
“I’ll pass, thanks,” Salem snorted, finding the idea of being in a group of pretentious teens wanting to become pretentious adults nauseating. But maybe they weren’t all like that. Maybe there were kids like her there too—the odd, ill-fitting, born-in-the-wrong-family, squares-in-a-circle kind.
“You know what your problem is?” Olivia sighed. “You’d rather spend time with dead things than living, breathing people. Change that before you end up on the other side.” Her sister shook her head and lit up her screen again.
Salem took a peek.
Mortimer University Group.
The group image loaded in black and teal, before a message board opened. One of her many flaws, as pointed out by her mother, was curiosity.
Salem took her phone out and typed the name in the browser. It was easy enough to find the group. She clicked on the link and a set of questions popped up instead of a sign-up page. What harm could it do?
Are you or will you be a scholarship student?
Salem didn’t think so, not unless her parents disowned her, but that would lead to a scandal and she knew if there was one thing the Salazars abhorred, it was scandal.
She selected NO.
Are you or will you be a legacy student?
That was easy enough. YES, she selected.
The page was redirected and another link opened.
An image in black and silver loaded, the logo of a large vulture with straight metallic wings staring intensely at the screen. Salem had never seen the logo before, not on any of the Mortimer memorabilia in her house.
A word she had never heard before loaded next on the screen in a grungy font that looked like it had been lifted from one of the older library books.
Mortemia
This was not the group her sister was in. She was about to press Back when a question came up on the screen.
What generation legacy are you?
Salem hesitated, but her curiosity won in the end. 4, she selected.
How old are you?
12, she typed.
What username would you like to use?
Salem thought about it for a few minutes, wondering what she should write. Quietly, she typed the answer.
You are just one step away from becoming a part of this elite exclusive group. Once your application is processed, you will need to complete a task. If not completed, you will not be accepted. Do you agree?
Salem hesitated again, sneaking a glance to see her sister engrossed on her phone and the lobby empty. Somehow she had stumbled onto an exclusive group that her sister wasn’t a part of. It was a heady feeling to know she was picked for something that her older sibling wasn’t.
She looked down at the message again, the red button screaming JOIN blinking with every heartbeat, the smaller CANCEL button on the side almost invisible. It felt like a trick. Maybe, she should wait a few years. But, again, her curiosity was winning. What could be the harm?
Shaking her head, she threw caution to the wind and pressed down with her small thumb.
