Might as well

Chuck shrugged his shoulders, trying to shake off the sudden tightness in his chest. Katie settled back against him, her hand still in his.

They were here for a show.

Might as well watch.

The hypnotist stood center stage, arms still spread like he owned every inch of the room. He tilted his head, the red lenses of his mask catching the spotlight as he scanned the audience.

“So,” he said, voice smooth and carrying without effort, “tell me, my lovely friends… what are you most excited to see tonight?”

A few shouts came right away. One guy near the front yelled, “Tits!” Another laughed and added, “Asses, man, show us some asses!” Then a deeper voice from the back cut through, loud and crude: “I just wanna fuck some bitch’s mouth!”

The room erupted in scattered laughs and whoops. Katie’s hand tightened on Chuck’s thigh under the table. She leaned in close, voice low and sharp.

“That’s disgusting,” she whispered. “Who even says shit like that in public?”

Chuck felt her whole body tense beside him. He put his arm around her shoulders, trying to pull her in. “It’s just drunk idiots trying to sound tough. Ignore them. It’s part of the show, right? They’re playing it up.”

Katie huffed, crossing her arms. “It’s not funny. We’re surrounded by creeps.”

He rubbed her shoulder. “Hey. We’ll leave if it gets too weird. Promise.”

She didn’t relax completely, but the line of her shoulders eased a fraction. She nodded once, small and turned her eyes back to the stage.

When Chuck looked up again, the Purple Devil guy was staring straight in their direction. Not at the table next to them. Not at the row behind. Right at them. The mask made it impossible to read his expression, but the tilt of his head felt deliberate. Chuck’s stomach did a slow flip. He couldn’t place why it bothered him so much, maybe the way the spotlight made those red lenses glow, or maybe just the fact that out of sixty or seventy people, the guy had locked onto their table like he knew something Chuck didn’t. It unnerved him more than the crude shouts had.

The hypnotist broke the stare first. He laughed, a low rolling sound that carried through the speakers.

“Such enthusiasm,” he said, shaking his head like a disappointed parent. “But patience, my friends. We’ll get to all of that and more.” He clapped once, sharp. “To get the fun started, though… I need participants.”

He paused, letting the word hang.

“Normally I’d ask for brave souls to raise their hands. But tonight is a Valentine’s special, after all, I think I’ll pick the ones I wish were my Valentine.”

He brought his gloved hands together in an exaggerated heart shape, tilting his head as if batting his lashes behind the mask in mock romance. The audience laughed again, some of them mockingly cooing. Chuck frowned. If the guy hated the holiday that much, why the hell was he doing a show on Valentine’s eve? The mockery felt pointed, like the whole thing was one big middle finger to couples like him and Katie.

The hypnotist stepped down from the stage, cape swirling behind him. He moved through the tables with easy confidence, offering his hand to women as he went. Some stood up right away, giggling nervously as they followed him. Others hesitated, shaking their heads, looking at the people they were with, but the audience started booing softly, or clapping, or chanting “Go! Go!” until the woman gave in with an embarrassed laugh and took the offered hand. He worked the room like he’d done it a hundred times.

Then he reached their table.

He stopped in front of Katie. Extended his hand, palm up, like a gentleman from some old movie.

Chuck opened his mouth. “She’s not—”

The hypnotist raised his other hand, flat, right in front of Chuck’s face. Silencing him.

Chuck’s words died in his throat. He tried again but nothing came out. His tongue felt thick, stuck. He swallowed hard, confused and looked at Katie.

She was staring at the offered hand, then at the sea of faces turned toward her. Every eye in the room. The spotlight had shifted slightly, catching her red dress and making it glow. She hated being the center of attention. Always had. Chuck could see it in the way her shoulders hunched, the way her fingers twisted the edge of the tablecloth.

The hypnotist waited. Patient. Smirking underneath that mask, Chuck was sure of it now.

Katie glanced at Chuck, eyes wide and pleading. Help me get out of this.

But the words still wouldn’t come. His mouth didn’t work, useless. All he could do was stare back, helpless.

After a long beat, Katie exhaled shakily. She stood. Gingerly. Like she was stepping onto thin ice. She took The hypnotist’s hand.

The room clapped and cheered as he led her toward the stage. Chuck watched her go, back straight, chin up, trying to look composed even though he knew she was dying inside.

The hypnotist guided her up the short steps and positioned her in the line with the others. Six women total now, standing shoulder to shoulder under the bright lights. Katie was third from the left. She kept her arms crossed over her chest, eyes darting around like she was looking for an exit.

The hypnotist stepped back to center stage and raised both arms.

“A big round of applause, please, for our beautiful volunteers!” His voice boomed. “They’re sure to make this a memorable night for everyone.”

He put extra weight on “memorable,” drawing the word out just enough that it sounded like a promise.

Chuck caught it. Felt it settle cold in his gut.

Katie looked out over the crowd. Her eyes found his. That same pleading look, get me out of here, please.