Balustrade Read Online Free PDF Page A

she’d forget his presence, here, in this strange place, a feeling of discomfort thundered in. She reached for the robe before taking off her shirt, turning away.
    Hell, the room didn’t even have a door.
    No. Door.
     

3
     
     
    Outside, the hall seemed to stretch on and on, but finally they were ushered through an opening into a large, courtyard exposed to a starlit sky. Venturing forward, Hilary's shoes skidding on the polished marble floor, the scale of the place solidified. Enormous. Intimidating.
    “ This is where the indoctrination ceremony will be held,” Chantal said, taking in the space herself with an air of appreciation. “Tomorrow.”
    Unlike the solid black exterior , the courtyard was ringed in a scaffolding of glass walls and steel balconies and rising from the center of the stone floor—in the exact spot any sane resort designer would have slotted for a pool, lounge chairs, and a sexy high-end bar—like an atoll in an otherwise still sea, stood an odd cage of wrought iron.
    The metaphoric balustrade was all too literal, it seemed.
    A n ornate raised rail surrounded a stone stair descending into a darkness so bleak, Hilary began to feel a stitch behind her eye, a sharp pain that disintegrated into a dull ache when she looked away and quickly returned when she reset her eyes on the strange structure. It had the feel of a pit.
    A sore. A dark bruise in the marble.
    Why had she thought that? Her stomach turned, literally twisted beneath her abdomen as though struggling to find an exit. Hilary looked up at the second floor and began to place the design. It was very office space, glass walled cubicles looking out onto long balconies. In front of each of these rooms stood a figure in a white robe with a black sash.
    “ What are they?” she whispered, fingers fumbling with the white tie that bound her robe to her.
    Chantal followed her gaze. “Those are the suggestives. They're supplied to get the ball rolling...so to speak.” She smiled slyly.
    “ The ball rolling?” Hilary narrowed her eyes in a question.
    “ Yeah,” Jack said, grinning. “The ball rolling.”
    “ So we need suggestions. That's what you're saying.”
    Chantal dipped her chin and looked over the structure of her ornate spectacles. “Occasionally. We find our clientele benefits from a bit of liberal instruction. Some loosening of inhibition to settle them into the work here at Balustrade.” She continued to talk as she gestured toward the nearest staircase. “Your therapeutic plan consists of three levels of engagement. All geared toward enhancing your mutual intimacy as well as opening up your mind to the possibility of other options. A creative awakening is how we like to say. The random suggestions they provide are just the beginning.”
    Jack was eating this up. Nodding aggressively, turning to Hilary as though Chantal was offering a time-share condo at a fifty percent discount. Jack had zero percent understanding of intimacy. What he was hearing and what was being said were two different things. Hilary knew enough about her husband to understand that he was sold on their “therapeutic plan” in the same way he could be talked into buying a new cell phone or into believing that the next American Idol was actually a valid musician. Needless to say, Hilary was skeptical and hesitant to climb the stairs to their room, where someone would be assigned to do whatever they were doing outside each. Monitoring? God only knew. They were about to find out, but she wasn't certain she wanted to.
    “ Like I said. You'll have ample time to relax this evening. You may opt for a suggestion to reach a calming space before the indoctrination ceremony or simply lounge on your bed, take a shower, whatever.”
    “ Is there a mini-bar?” Hilary quipped.
    Chantal spun. “No alcohol whatsoever. There are no vices allowed on the premises. No drugs. No cigarettes. No stimulants or nerve dulling agents to speak of. For Balustrade to successfully