... the Consierge...

“Andy,” Arabella purred, “our next Contestant is on her way.” She nodded towards the far end of the beach, where Claire had appeared. Andy turned his attention there, and saw Claire shift on the stool to see what he was looking at.

The next arrival came with less warning and more spectacle—a sudden flash, then a rippling, almost liquid distortion right where the horizon met the path. Claire gasped in surprise. The air flexed and convulsed, then something was spat out of it: a young woman, blinking and stumbling, arms wrapped tight around herself. For a split second, Andy didn’t recognize her. She wore an oversized T-shirt—something with a faded bunny logo—and her bare legs flashed beneath it, only the suggestion of plain powder-blue panties underneath. Fuzzy socks covered her feet. Her dark hair was a mess, her entire posture radiating utter, overwhelming confusion.

For a second, Andy was sure he recognized her, but couldn’t quite place her. Then, as she drew closer, stumbling in the sand, he finally recognized her face. He'd seen that nervous, downcast face before—last winter, on one of his endless trips to Chicago. She worked the front desk at The Harrington, the boutique hotel he had used as a second home while selling Aural. The few times he’d needed a favor or a last-minute dinner reservation, she was the one who made it happen, always with a smile and a “Happy to help, sir.” He hadn’t caught her first name then, but he remembered someone calling her ‘Ms. Moreno’, and the eyes, wide, brown and doe-like, were unmistakable.

She saw them—a stranger in a cocktail dress, a familiar-looking guy in an unseasonably nice shirt on a throne, and a pale, wide-eyed bespectacled blond woman on a stool clutching a notebook—and stopped dead. Her first move was to tug the hem of her T-shirt lower, cheeks flushing with a panic that made Andy instantly want to look away, to offer her a blanket, to do something to put the world back in order.

"Uh—I'm sorry," she blurted, voice thin and panicky. "I… where am I? Did… did I pass out at work? Is this…" She pinched her arm, hard, winced, then tried again. "Is this a lucid dream? I've been watching those videos on YouTube, they say if you try to read something…"

She looked around, searching for any printed words. Her eyes landed on Claire’s notebook. She blinked at it, then at Claire, then at Andy. "Oh my god, this is one of those anxiety dreams. Isn't it? Like, I'm supposed to be at school, but I'm not wearing pants? I'm going to wake up any second, right?"

Arabella flowed toward her, hands open and palms up, like she was greeting a spooked animal. “Dawn Moreno, I am so glad you could join us.” The Host’s warmth was, if anything, even more pronounced, her accent smoothing Dawn’s name into something almost musical. “There’s no need to be afraid. You’re among friends.” She turned, and for the briefest instant, those green eyes were on Andy, assessing, searching for some spark of recognition.

Andy coughed, awkwardly. "Ms. Moreno, right? From the front desk at The Harrington? It's Andy Cooper. I… um, used to check in a lot last year."

Recognition dawned. Her mouth formed a small "oh," and she covered it with her hand. "Yes! Mr. Cooper. You were… you had the suite with the funny pillows. Sorry, I… I don't know why I remember that." Her blush deepened. "I… this is so embarrassing. I don't even…" She pinched herself hard on the thigh, wincing. “Okay. Not a dream. Or at least, not a good one.”

Andy stood, ignoring the weirdness of the throne, trying to look as unthreatening as possible. "It's alright. I'm just as confused as you. I only woke up here a short time ago, and I have no idea what's going on." He paused, then added, "You're not the only one who arrived underdressed for the occasion. But please... no 'Mr. Cooper'. Call me Andy."

Dawn glanced at Claire, then Arabella, then back to Andy. She clutched her knees together, knuckles white. "This is… weird. I was in bed. I remember falling asleep, and my cats were fighting on my feet. Then I woke up, and I was on a beach. No phone, no shoes, no pants. I usually sleep in pants, I swear!" Her voice trembled on the last word.

Dawn shivered, her arms hugging her body, then looked at Arabella. “Can I… get some pants?” she asked timidly, voice small. “Or shoes, or—” She stopped, realization dawning, her eyes wide on Arabella. “Wait, you said ‘friends.’ Who are you? What is this place?”

Arabella’s answer was calm, almost motherly. “All will be explained very soon, I promise. For now, please, have a seat. I find it’s the only thing that makes this less strange, at least at first.” She swept her arm to the nearest stool.

Dawn glanced at Andy, then at Claire, who gave her a wan, sympathetic smile, and finally perched on the edge of the stool, the T-shirt hitched so low she looked almost childlike. Her legs swung, not quite reaching the sand. “Is this, like, a cult thing?” she asked, her voice tremulous. “Because I don’t do cults. Or reality TV.”

Claire laughed, a short, surprised sound, and the mood shifted. Andy couldn’t help smiling, even as Dawn shot him a glare for joining in. “It’s not a cult,” Andy said, hoping to believe it. “At least, does not seem to be. Not so far. Well, some kind of twisted hospitality experiment, maybe.”

Dawn stared at him, then at the Host, then at the horizon, as if she could find a break in the logic that would let her wake up back in her apartment. “I was just feeding my cats,” she said, softly, almost to herself. “Now I’m in—what is this, Hawaii?”

Claire shook her head. “I thought that too. But there’s something about the sky. The ocean. The way the air smells. None of it feels… right.”

Andy felt the urge to apologize, though he had no idea why. “We’re still looking for answers,” he said, his voice softer. “Arabella said she’ll tell us everything when everyone is here. You’re not alone in this.”

Arabella retreated a step, giving the trio room to adjust to their new equilibrium. “This is only the beginning,” she said, tone as light as if she were announcing the start of a garden party. “Soon, everything will make sense. For now, I recommend water.” She poured a glass and passed it to Dawn, who hesitated, then drank. Andy blinked. Now there were three glasses, and the carafe was still full. He winced. Perhaps it was better not to wonder.

Dawn eyed Andy over the rim. “This is so weird,” she said. “I saw you on the news yesterday, you know. The app thing. I figured you were living on a yacht somewhere, not… running a hospitality experiment.” She paused. “Is that another term for a cult?”

Andy nearly choked. “I’m not—this is not my idea.” He shot a look at Arabella, who smiled serenely, not deigning to clarify.

Claire shifted on her stool. “I don’t think any of us signed up for this,” she said. “But I guess that’s the point. Arabella says there will be more of us. Contestants. For a game, or a show, I suppose. Apparently, Andy is the Master, which is a little…" She trailed off, then added, "weird."

Dawn processed that, her face going through several rapid permutations: confusion, suspicion, a flash of hope, then back to mortification. "So, you're the, uh, main character?" she asked Andy.

He held up his hands. "I don’t know. If I am, I have no idea how or why. I didn't sign up for anything. I’m as lost as you."

Claire, perhaps warming to the dynamic, said, "At least you're not the only one without answers."

Dawn gripped her knees, looking at Andy and Claire in turn. "Do you think they'll let us go home after this? I mean, I have three cats. I have to feed them, and… " Her voice caught, and for a moment she looked as though she might cry.

Andy wanted to reach out, offer a hand or a shoulder, but he hesitated. "I'm sure they'll take care of your cats. Arabella said everything would be 'taken care of.'"

Dawn looked at Arabella. "Is that true?"

Arabella nodded, once, solemnly. "It is true, Dawn. No part of your life will suffer during your stay. You are permitted to enjoy this time without external worry."

Dawn let out a slow, unsteady breath. "Okay. That's… better, I guess."

Dawn nodded, clutching the glass. Her knuckles were white. “Okay, then. What do we do now? Can I get some pants first? Or a towel, at least?"

Arabella smiled, a glint of genuine delight in her eyes. "I am afraid we must wait, Dawn. But it won’t be long. Once orientation is finished, I will show you all to your quarters. You will find clothes for you there. For now, you are safe here."

Dawn tugged the shirt a bit lower, then tried to laugh. "Well... I guess it’s not the weirdest thing that’s happened to me, given my job."

Andy tried to imagine what kind of clientele she dealt with at The Harrington, if being kidnapped in a state of half-undress and finding herself on a tropical beach with a frequent guest and a librarian from Boston wasn’t ‘the weirdest thing that happened to her’, but decided it was prudent not to ask. He looked at Claire, who met his gaze with a slight lift of her brow. He wondered if she was thinking the same thing he was: that maybe the point of this was less about the contest, and more about seeing how far people could be pushed before they broke.

Andy looked to Arabella, but she remained poised and silent, her eyes sweeping the horizon as if waiting for the next act to begin. The air was tense, electrically charged, as if the universe were holding its breath. He sat, trying to steady his hands. The assembly felt incomplete, but also horribly final, as if every new arrival tightened the net around whatever came next.

Dawn huddled on her stool, knees drawn together, hair wild and eyes darting. Claire pressed her notebook to her chest, her pale hands trembling just enough to be noticed. Andy felt the weight of both their eyes and the impossible pressure of the moment.

Two seats filled. Six to go. He didn’t know if he could handle it, but the next shimmer was already brewing at the edge of the sky, promising more strangers, more memories, more uncertainty. He wet his lips, braced himself, and waited for the world to finish rearranging itself one last time.

He wondered, too, why Arabella had chosen these women. What was the thread connecting them, other than a few polite conversations and distant high school memories? Was he supposed to fall in love with one of them? Was that the show? Or was there some deeper logic, a reason none of them had yet guessed?