An Exclusive Dining Experience

Part 1: Kidnapped?

I step into the mall as a few couples walk out. They will be closing in half an hour and the businesses are already winding down to lock their doors. I make my way around the corner to the stylized entrance of the restaurant. I had never been sure of the exact style they were going for. It seems a mix of Asian and Italian decorations with tall mulberry-colored columns and winged triangular roof framing the double doors. They stand open, but the usual black curtains across them prevent me from seeing past it into the dining floor. Illiana, the owner and the woman the restaurant is named for, uses these to indicate that they are not taking any more customers for the evening or that the dining floor is full.

I push the curtain aside and glance around at the dim, mood-lighted interior. It is supposed to be one of those romantic outing places for special events and business meetings, but only a few people occupy tables. Business hadn't been too great lately and Illiana had been getting a little desperate for new ideas and gimmicks to bring in new customers.

I check my phone again. Mom had asked me to meet her in one of the private dining rooms in the back. There are three and the third connects to the kitchen. Mom had asked me to meet her in the middle one. I had assumed she wanted me to hang out to take her home after closing, but when I stepped into the room, I realized my perceptions had been very wrong, especially when the door is shut behind me and firmly locked.

Inside, on top of a long low table, two women are seated and tied to their chairs. Both wear long-sleeved mulberry shirts and black pants and shoes: the restaurant's uniform. The blond on the left is the general manager, Tiffany. The brunette beside her is someone I would never expect to see in a situation like this. "Mom?" Their heads hang low and their hair hangs in front of their eyes. They're both breathing as far as I can tell but no one speaks.

There is another chair in the room, on the floor facing them. Empty. It has a tall back with carpeted blue-green cushions and two small gaps between the back and framing decorative pillars that lead down into the clawed arms and matching feet. It's made of heavy, sturdy wood. Taking this scene in takes only the few seconds that I'm frozen in shock by it all, a shock that's broken by a voice in my ear.

"Hey, Cat. I'm going to need you to cooperate."

I jump and look over at a woman with fierce smokey eye makeup, maroon lipstick, a long, black ponytail with her bangs in a teased and pinned back poof. She wears the same uniform as the other two. This is the owner of the restaurant, Illiana Ainsworth. She motions to the chair in front of me. I think about the few people on the other side of the locked door behind me. With the curtains over the door, I can't tell if they're still there. If I scream or try to run for the other doors, which might be locked as well, what will happen to mom?

I take a shaky breath and pinch my lips together, taking slow steps around the chair to sit. As soon as I do, Illiana ties my upper arms to the decorative support pillars of the chairback. They're loose and slide slightly when I shift, a fact that I decide not to share. She uses a silky black scarf as a blindfold, tying it securely around my head.

Illiana leans down and I can feel her moist breath against the side of my face. "I'm going to need you to pick a safe word. What would you like?"

My jaw tightens. What is this, some sort of fetish? Has she been running a human trafficking ring out of her restaurant, and if so, for how long? But if that is the case, why even give me the option? Maybe she's just messing with my head to make me feel that I have a choice in this.

A few biting comments come to mind but the image of my mother in that chair reminds me that I should cooperate, at least for now. "Brugmansia." My voice is firm with subtones of anger. I dig my nails into the clawed arms.