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Myla’s mouth hit the floor. She had grown up in the lap of luxury. Expensive things were a part of her normalcy. But what she was seeing now was out of her league. McLaren’s, Ferrarri’s, and a fleet of other luxury cars that she had never seen or heard of.

“I don’t know what’s going on inside of Château Noir, but I know I’m on whatever they’re on. By the looks of the cars, I’ll be leaving here with a new rich man tonight!” Myla said excitedly.

“Amen to that! Let’s go inside. Here’s to a New Year filled with love and happiness!” Miranda said cheerfully.

Neither of them had any way of knowing that nothing could be further from the truth.

4

Miranda and Myla stepped out of Miranda’s Escalade looking like curvy goddesses. Gone were the subtle attires from their corporate jobs. Miranda’s pencil dress and Tory Burch flats were replaced with a short, form-fitting dress and sky-high heels.

Myla chose to wear a backless ASOS high-slit gown with equally high heels. Normally, she wouldn’t wear anything so provocative, but this was her first time out in four years, and she couldn’t lie; she wanted some attention.

Normally, when they stepped out, heads would turn, and jaws would drop. But this time was different. The parking lot was filled with cars, but not people. There was no one loitering outside, no one posing for pictures in front of strangers’ cars, and most importantly, there was no noise.

“Where is everybody? All these cars mean they’re packed inside, but I can’t hear a damn thing. Why is it so quiet?” Miranda asked herself as she looked around slowly. To Myla, she asked, “Do you hear that?”

“H’uh? Do I hear that?” Myla asked, clearly confused by the question. “You’ve been accusing me of drinking all damn night. Whole time it was your crazy ass getting sauced up. It’s quiet as hell out here. The only thing I can hear is the sound of my teeth chattering because I’m so damn cold,” Myla said as she continued to speed walk.

She was shaking. Even though it was winter and freezing cold, she made the choice not to wear a jacket. Tonight was the first time in a long time that she had the opportunity to show off her sexy side. So, despite the biting cold weather, she chose to look cute instead of being warm for the New Year’s Eve bash.

“That’s my point exactly. Besides the sound of our heels, it is completely silent. Like dead silent.”

Miranda thought back to the times when she and Myla would go to church on New Year’s Eve. The sound of worship. The beating of drums, tambourines, stomping, clapping, and singing could be heard from outside.

The African Methodist Episcopal Church that she and Myla once attended had roughly eighty members. Those eighty or so members created so much noise that the neighbors would call the police and complain that the church was not adhering to the city’s noise ordinance. But now, as they approached a club with no less than three hundred cars parked outside, she was confused that no sound could be heard.

“It’s probably soundproofed from when it was a mental institution. I watched a documentary about doctors performing electric shock therapy and lobotomies with no anesthesia. No one could hear the patients screaming for help or crying out from agony. The people who used to live in the area said they never heard anything crazy or strange coming from the hospital.

“There was even a McKesson delivery driver who said he delivered medical supplies through the back loading dock for ten years. He said that he never heard or saw anything out of the ordinary. It was later discovered that the wall was a soundproof barrier. I’m sure the new owners left the barriers in place to protect the club patrons from whatever they have going on in there.”

Miranda looked horrified.

“Oh, hell no. We’re going to church,” Miranda said as she gripped Myla’s wrist.

“I’m just joking with your scary ass,” Myla lied. “That’s what you get for all the church jokes,” she said before bursting into laughter.

In all actuality, she was telling the God’s honest truth about the sinister past of the mental institution. Even though the mental hospital had closed its doors over sixty years ago, she knew that Miranda would not feel comfortable going inside a facility that used humans as guinea pigs. Miranda was not into true crime or horror-related facts. According to her, before meeting The Pleasants, she had lived a life of horror and refused to participate in it as an adult.

“It’s New Year’s Eve, not Halloween. Why would you tell me something like that?”

“Miranda Renee, calm your scary ass down. Yes, it’s quiet, but is that really strange? From what I was told, the members of this club pay a hefty fee. If that’s true, you know the club owners will do whatever it takes to protect their investments. We are already here, so there’s no need to leave. Besides, you did too much fucking and sucking for these tickets. We can’t let them go to waste.”

“Girl, you’re right!”

The two burst into laughter as only friends sharing a two-decade friendship could. The colorful joke instantly calmed Miranda’s anxiety and gave her the clarity to focus on something else.

“Goddamn, why are there so many steps? How did patients climb up all these steps back in the day? It feels like I’m climbing the Rocky Steps,” Miranda whined while walking up to the front entrance of Château Noir. Her legs and calves were on fire in her six-inch heels.

“Patients came in through the back entrance. Hôpital de l’Espoir staff were required to enter through the front entrance as exercise. The steps were used for daily cardio so the staff could stay in shape to keep up with the patients’ agility. You know crazy people are fast and strong.”

Miranda silently agreed. Her ex-husband Dakota was proof that crazy people were indeed fast and strong. He had chased her down and tried holding her hostage when she tried to leave him. Shaking the thought of her ex’s craziness from her head, Miranda approached the large wrought iron door and followed the instructions she was given to gain entrance to Château Noir. Opening the silver metal box to the left of the door, Miranda scanned the barcode on the back of both invitations.

As the heavy doors swung open, Miranda and Myla immediately knew they had entered a different world. The space bore no resemblance to the old asylum; gone were the waiting rooms, nurse stations, and experimental areas often seen in hospital documentaries. Everything had been transformed, now resembling an eighteenth-century castle.

Candlelit wall sconces and candelabras cast a warm glow; aged dark bricks lined the walls, wood planks stretched across the floors, with lush red curtains. The atmosphere could only be described using one word…regal.

“Hello, I’m your escort, Blair. Welcome to Château Noir,” Blair said sweetly as she greeted Miranda and Myla. She tapped her iPad twice before pouring two flutes of Dom Pérignon, handing them to them, along with two exquisitely crafted handmade masks.