For the next several weeks, I worked the floor and monitored calls and exchanged the occasional secret text with Pisha. She wasn’t allowed to interact with me during the review process, but she couldn’t help herself, nor could I.

It was around the first week of March when I received a package at work with an Ouroboros logo on the upper right-hand corner of the label. Contained within was a plane ticket and a 30 page questionnaire I was to fill out perfectly by the time I landed in Maine — which the trip was three days away. I completed the multiple choice section of the questionnaire in just a few hours, but decided to track down a typewriter for the essay portions.

Three days later, I was on a plane to Bangor, Maine.

A car met me outside the airport and for the next three hours, I rode with an ill-tempered man in the backseat of an SUV to a mansion on the shore of Flagstaff Lake. What little conversation I had with my fellow passenger came from his repeated dismissals of my worthiness and that only one of us would be selected to join. He boasted a degree in ancient literature and an internship at the Smithsonian. I was a slacker with an associates of general studies from a community college and a dead-end job that I fell into because no one else wanted it.

The two of us were brought into the foyer and asked to sit. The ill-tempered man I had rode with was called first and I sat on the bench going over my questionnaire one last time.

I saw Pisha walk past one of the doorways in a crimson robe with white and yellow trim. She didn’t look at me directly, but a smile crossed her face. I sat up slightly less concerned with my fate. About an hour passed and the ill-tempered man came back to the bench with a smug look on his face.

“I’ve got this in the bag, fucking scrub,” he said, under his breath.

I was called through a long narrow hallway. An ornate door at the end led to a study where an elderly woman with thick glasses sat in a crimson robe with white and black trim staring over an old mahogany desk.

“Please sit Mr. [redacted]” she said.

There were three chairs set in front of the desk — all lined up perfectly, but one was ever-so-slightly off center. This wooden chair with a plush velvety cushion was situated just right of center. The middle chair was an ornate leather-upholstered chair with brass tacks running along the edges. The chair on the left was a simple wooden chair that seemed out of place in the otherwise ornate study. That was where I was seated.

“Mr. [redacted], I am Adeline Devonshire,” the elderly woman said. “At 103-years old, I am the matriarch of this temple. All applicants require my approval. Now, why did you sit in that chair?”

“It seemed the least comfortable,” I said. “I wanted to pay attention and I thought the others would be too distracting.”

She nodded her head and wrote some notes on parchment.

“What do you hope to gain from this order?” she asked.

I paused for a moment to give her question some thought.

“Pisha — what I mean is that I could give you some story about finding meaning or rebirth, but it is so much a part of her identity that I’m willing to be a part of it to have the chance of spending time with her, even if it it means waiting a year just to be able to talk to her again,” I said, resolutely.

Adeline’s jaw dropped a little.

“Are you taking this seriously?”

I gulped.

“Yes,” I managed to croak out. “But I would be remiss if I didn’t point out my utter skepticism on the primary tenets of this order. Everything I gathered by the nature of the questions you had me answer in this folder I am holding points towards wanting honesty and candor. Maybe I’m wrong, but I have a feeling you are looking for quality of character over qualifications.”

The elderly woman stood up and walked slowly over to a bookshelf where she pulled back a thick tome and tucked it under her arm as she moved back to the desk. She turned through several pages before stopping and running her finger across the text.

“Pisha said that you were clever, and sometimes eerily insightful. Am I to understand you spent an entire evening in her hotel room without even attempting to fornicate with her?”

W“I felt it would have cheapened the experience,” I said. “It was a pure moment that would have only been sullied by giving in to such urges. I would have loved to, but I couldn’t bring myself to even suggest it.”

Adeline nodded.

“One last question. Why the triskelion tattoo on the back of your wrist?”

“It’s to remind me that there are three separate and altogether opposing sides of my mind that are in constant conflict, but still the components that make up my whole being,” I said.

Adeline looked down at the book in front of her.

“Leave your questionnaire on my desk and go back to the bench in the foyer,” she ordered.

I stood and before turning, I placed the folder on her desk.

“Thank you for your consideration.”

The ill-tempered gentleman on the bench commented on my return.

“I was in there for more than an hour, you were barely gone 10 minutes. I think we both know who is staying and who is going home.”

I thought about punching him in his smug face, but opted to sit silent. Nearly an hour passed and no one had come by. The ill-tempered man got up and wandered off. I sat on the bench for another half hour as Adeline and Pisha walked past without so much as looking at me.

The ill-tempered man returned just as an attendant appeared.

“You are both invited to the main dining hall for a meal prepared especially for you,” the attendant said and led us through a series of doors.

We were seated at a small table located at the back of the room as the rest of the apprentices and neonates gathered around a dining table that was longer than my apartment and covered in gourmet dishes and fine china. The ill-tempered man and I were both brought covered platters. His was a fine cut steak cooked medium-rare with asparagus and Gruyere sauce. Mine was an empty plate. He was given a goblet of wine and I was given a glass of water.

The man in front of me smirked. My blood went cold.

Adeline stood at the end of the table to make an announcement.

“After some deliberation with the elders and scouring The Book of Ouroboros, I have come to a decision on which supplicant will be allowed to complete the trials of initiation.” She motioned in front of her. “We sit in front of this table of luxury with a feast set out before us. Our plates are empty, but we know we will take part in the pleasures afforded to us by this celebration. As such, one supplicant has been given a fine meal which he will eat in peace before leaving never to return. The other supplicant has been given an empty plate, because he will join us in the feast we hold in his honor.”

The smug look fell from the man’s face and a smirk came across mine. He stood up in protest.

“I spent years studying the ancient texts of the old world just to find mention of your order and then spent six months preparing for this. How does this philistine warrant an invitation in the first place? Look at him!” he shouted.

Adeline shot a look to a large man standing by the door who quickly removed the ill-tempered man from the dining hall. She turned her gaze to me.

“Please tell the attendant what dishes you wish to sample. You may join in the feast, but to join our table you must first pass the trials.”

I sat alone at my table dining for the next couple of hours before being led to the rather posh guest suite. My carry-on bag sat next to the bed and there were fresh silk pajamas in my size on the dresser. After a shower and some reflection, I lay down on the bed and drifted off to sleep.

I woke to laughter and darkness. Robed figures in porcelain masks dragged me by my feet through a narrow stone corridor. The rough stone floor tore at my pajamas and scraped my skin bloody.

I tried to struggle, but I couldn’t shake my legs free, much less pull myself up off the stone floor. The narrow hallway widened to a large candlelit room with light, brown stone walls and strange symbols carved into the rock. In the center of the room stood a rack with leather straps tied to the top and bottom. Someone picked me up and tied my hands and feet together. A masked figure emerged from the shadows to welcome me to this…ceremony.

“Welcome to the first trial of initiation,” it said. “This is a test of willpower and endurance. This can end at anytime. Simply ask us to stop and you will be set free and sent home.”

A small, rubber mouth guard was shoved in my mouth and the masked figure stepped back. Hanging on the rack, I winced at the sight of the whip in the hands of a large figure — who I assumed to be Adeline’s enforcer from the dining hall. The first crack of the whip against my back caused me to violently pull at my restraints. I bit down on the mouth guard a bit more each time the leather sliced into my back. I counted 20 lashes when he stopped and the masked figured returned.

“There is no one who loves pain itself, who seeks after it and wants to have it, simply because it is pain. Why do you endure this pain?” it asked.

With the mouth guard, I could only grunt. Someone swiftly walked over and pulled it from mouth.

“Pisha,” I said.

The rubber guard was forced back to my mouth and the lashing started again. Ten more lashes sliced through my skin and I was all but convinced my bones were exposed. I could see blood pooling on the floor. The lashings eventually stopped, and in my daze, I saw the masked figure return,

“To endure such pain for love is admirable, but this is not a romantic order,” it said. “We are embody a proud tradition of esoteric study and discipline. It takes more than willpower and determination to advance in this study. Your wounds will be tended to and you will be returned to your room.”

An hour of bandaging and stitches to close to wounds on my back, I was led to my room. I sat up on the bed not wanting to lay down on. In the darkness of the room and the pale glow the moonlight, I could see a figure standing in the corner. It was Pisha.

“I’m beyond flattered that you would do this to be near me, she said, “but it isn’t necessary. Just give up, I’ll leave with you.”

“You went through this for your own reasons, what kind of man would I be to reject a pain you lived through willingly?” I asked.

She walked forward and kissed me on the cheek. She left the room, leaving only behind her perfume.

I was given a few days of rest until I was brought to a small room with a metal chair in the middle of it. I forced to drink a cup of a bitter tasting tea. An attendant brought in another chair and Adeline silently entered the room to sit across from me. The attendant tied my wrists to the arms of the chair.

“You were just given a powerful hallucinogen,” Adeline said. “It will eat away at the walls in your mind and you will have no way of knowing what is real and what isn’t. Your innermost thoughts will escape from your mouth and you’ll be completely unable to hold anything back. I am going to show you some pictures and you are going to tell me what you think. It is here we will come to know you as you really are in your heart of hearts.”

It was about that moment walls began to melt and words coming from Adeline’s mouth echoed through the room on an infinite loop. It became impossible to focus on anything. Her facial features twisted and distorted as she droned on about the pictures she had placed on the table.

I lost all connection to the world around me. My mind drifted to my straight razor and I entertained the thought of bleeding the poison in my head through that sacred spot on my thigh. I drifted further and further away from myself only to be jerked back time and again when cold water was splashed in my face.

Time lost all meaning as this interval became eternal. Violent images consumed my thoughts.

Ancient soldiers marching with spears and shields converged on small villages killing everyone in sight. Women and children fled in terror as soldiers chased them down and did unspeakable things. I tried to look away, but it was everywhere in my field of vision. The scenes changed, but the carnage remained constant. Around the time I lost anything resembling awareness of myself, I was crying out to make it stop, crying out that the violence was too much, that I didn’t want to see any more. Then I faded into the carnage and became one with the ever-increasing violence as I lost myself to the torrent of blood washing through the towns and villages I saw in my mind’s eye.

I woke in the guest room an inordinate amount of time later with Pisha standing over me. She brought a damp cloth across my forehead as she looked in my eyes singing under her breath in a language I didn’t recognize.

She stopped for a moment to whisper in my ear.

“I’m so proud of you.”

I drifted back to sleep.