It was several weeks before I made contact with anyone in the organization besides Erick and his accountant. In this time I learned that the group's official title was Sanctuarium Libertas – in English, Sanctum of Liberty. It was an allusion to the understanding between them that all creeds, morals, and sexualities would be accepted within the bounds of the organization without judgment or hesitation.

The only way to join the Sanctum was to receive a recommendation from one of its existing members. Once you had passed the initial background checks, you would be interviewed personally by Emil over the phone. Assuming he didn't despise you right off the bat, you were then granted a week-long trial period in which one or two of Emil's personal advisers would accompany you on a simple training mission, which would decide whether you were accepted or not.

From what I understood, the Sanctum was run by a specially selected council of advisers and Emil himself. They met once a week and whenever additionally needed to sort through the jobs that had arisen, approve or decline them, and then assign them to the team or individual they were best suited for. From a statistical standpoint, the Sanctum was a crime organization with a primary purpose of making money, like most others.

However, the Sanctum Code you were required to sign upon entry made it a unique brotherhood of people with the same unbroken principle of acceptance. Expectations of dress code or behavior were nonexistent. In a single trip to Erick's quarters I could see a regular housewife, a punk rocker, a typical mobster, and a gentleman all working in harmony with each other. What existed on the surface didn't matter. So long as you had declined the usual saintly standards of morality that the rest of the world had established, and pledged your loyalty to Emil and your Sanctum brethren, you were welcome.

It was twisted in a brilliant way. By claiming complete freedom of personal beliefs, the members of the Sanctum were able to cheat and thieve and murder without any sense of guilt, which, of course, had only beneficial results for Emil and the inner council. Unlike other criminal organizations, which sinned for the sake of sinning, the Sanctum sinned for the sake of freedom, which made them immensely stronger as a community and as a center for this new ideology. I could easily imagine that Emil had founded the Sanctum knowing full-well how twisted it was, without letting on.

As an entertainer, I was not an official member of the Sanctum, which was why only the background check had been necessary. There were different levels of entry within the Sanctum based on title, and I was at the very lowest tier. Any other member could revoke my title at any time if I behaved unsatisfactorily to them, after which I would never be allowed back in.

Of course, that was nothing to worry about. I would simply stay on everyone's good side.

To Erick I became not only a prostitute but an assistant and a personal confidant. Typically, the schedule after my arrival went as follows: shag, gossip, cuddle, clean up, chores. I never questioned the manner he wanted to do things, and he never questioned my silence. I suppose, in a way, we were a compatible pair.

By chores I refer to a wide variety. Sometimes he left in an unprovoked rage and demanded I clean the entire room. Other times he asked me to deliver messages to other parts of the base. Most times he simply wanted to me to make the bed before I left. He didn't seem to care that his requests overstepped my approved list of duties as an entertainer, and neither did I. The behavior must have stemmed from his inbred idea that everyone was below him in the social hierarchy, thus he could treat them almost as servants.

One night he directed me to the weaponry workshop to pick up a gun he would be using the following morning.

The workshop was on ground level, past a pair of grungy metal doors. The walls were brick and the floors were unadorned concrete. In general, workshop looked like a very long garage lined wall-to-wall with worktables, most of which were littered with such a vast array of tools and materials that even I couldn't identify them all.

Neil stood over one, dressed in dark jeans and a white t-shirt stained gray. His rough skin and dark blonde hair, slick with sweat, shone distinctly in the fluorescent lighting. He hardly glanced over his shoulder to identify his visitor before turning back to his work.

I decided to play a little game, and seated myself up on the worktable behind him instead of getting straight to business.

"Can you guess who sent me?"

"Erick did," he said, without a moment's hesitation. I had hardly heard his voice the first night I'd been at the base; it surprised me with its severity.

"Know what he sent me for?"

"The gun."

"Yes, but that's not all. He thought to offer you a bit of repose after a long night of work. Might I assist you in easing off for a bit?"

For maybe half a minute he didn't answer. He simply continued with whatever he was working on, focus uninterrupted. I was about to spout another line of libertine crap when he said, "Feel free to drop the act. I'm about ninety percent sure why you're here, and it's not to appease anyone's sexual desires."

A skipped heartbeat. A dryness of the tongue. A thousand thoughts zipped through my mind, the most prominent of which that I'd been found out. But how? How?

"You've got that spark in your eyes that says your thoughts are actually moving behind it. Unlike the rest of us here, asking questions, taking mindless direction, squandering aeons of time on lust. Wasting away slowly." He turned halfway toward me and actually flashed a smile, but it was both hollow and transient. "I've known since the moment I saw you that you're not like everyone else around here."

My best option was to stay silent, so I did.

Was he claiming to know my secret, or to understand the way I thought? The latter seemed impossible.

"You're a bit of a monster, you know?" he remarked, turning back to the worktable.

"A monster?"

"Only a bit. There's someone you're doing this for. Someone you care about."

"And you're not a monster?"

He chuckled. "Not quite."

My mind had not cleared since the first skipped heartbeat. Quite ironically, I was trying my hardest to remain objective when all I could think of was John's body being zipped up at the morgue.

Neil was wiping the worst of the grime off his hands with a sullied washcloth. He was calm and knowledgeable and in control, and it infuriated me.

"What do you know?" I asked, and my tone had become ferocious all at once.

"I'll tell you because I know you won't tell anyone. You have no reason to. This past month I've been filling in for one of the council members at Emil's meetings. He's out in sick bay and will probably die, in which case I would take his place permanently." He didn't seem thrilled by the prospect. "So I know the details of every job that's gone through this organization for the past month. Now, one of them was commissioned by a personal friend of the boss and put under Emil's sole care, which is an oddity. It had something to do with an exceptionally talented whore that the boss's friend didn't want running away with lovesickness."

As he spoke, the pieces came together, and I could regain some composure. He had known since the beginning. He had known since my first visit weeks ago, and hadn't said anything. Otherwise John and possibly I would have already been dead by now. His loyalty to the Sanctum was a different kind of loyalty – one that I hadn't quite placed yet, but it wasn't the thoughtless tell-all loyalty of the majority.

He continued. "You're genius enough to figure out the best ways to please the human body, and you showed up at just the right time to fit the part. So my ninety percent guess is that you're here in an attempt to extract yourself and a certain John Watson from a sticky contract."

"Why would any of this matter to you?"

"Why would someone like you go so far to be with a man?"

I stepped down from my seat on the worktable and began to walk, slowly, around the room. It was a small habit of mine. With another person present, I felt more comfortable moving, seeing all sides, uncovering and assessing every aspect in real time.

He seemed to think he understood my point of view, my way of thinking. The only way he could was if he thought with similar acumen, though he clearly had a far different personality. I had not yet determined if he cared or not.

"Call it cliché, but I hate to see true love separated."

So he did.

I remembered Erick's words: "Then you're caught in the right situation with him, and he shows you he's got the biggest heart of anyone you've ever met." That trait, in conjunction with the sympathy Neil felt, being separated from love himself – that would tip the scales. This man wanted to help me.

"Can you get me into Emil's private quarters?" I asked.

"Emil's got the only key, so no. That place is rigged with security systems off the yahoo, so don't even try to break in. No use going in there, anyway. Burning the paperwork won't change a thing."

"Obviously. My interest was in the information I could find there."

"Forget it," he answered simply, and I took that as warning enough that the risk wasn't worth it.

"What do you suggest?"

"An offer that would benefit Emil more than a relationship with Miss Ginny would. That's the only way."

"Money? Power? Those are things I can't offer in significant amounts."

"No. A leader. You already know who."

"Erick," I responded. Neil's words indicated that Erick had not already stepped up to the plate - that, for whatever reason, he was not willing. "You think I can offer the enthusiasm of Emil's own son in return for John Watson's freedom?"

"To Emil, an inadequate son is as good as a dead one. It would be a life for a life."

But how? How could I inspire an unwilling son to inherit the responsibility of an entire criminal empire?

I first had to uncover the reasons behind his unwillingness. Fear, disinterest. Simple rebellion, perhaps.

"Erick has a good heart, and I think that's why he's disinclined to lead people into lives of crime and danger under the guise of a good cause. He doesn't believe in it himself; he was born into it. But in order for Emil to truly trust him as a successor, Erick has to show that he's loyal to the workings of the Sanctum. Whether that loyalty is fake or real is up to you."

"Do you believe in it?"

"Me?" He leaned back against the worktable, hands on either side of him, and trained his gaze to the floor as if in disinterest. "Parts of it. I joined when I was young, more out of experimental interest than anything. I wanted to experience all walks of life, to see if any of them were worth it. Something about the community kept me here. The way they work, they way they interact, the people they are. They truly believe in absolute freedom, and the Sanctum is the only place it's offered. The idea of absolute freedom itself I find ludicrous, simply because it could never exist in this world. But I like living in a place where I feel comfortable exactly as I am, doing whatever I want to do, knowing that I have people to back me up."

I could not imagine depending on others, knowing that I was perfectly capable by myself. At least not on anyone but John, who had proven himself necessary to the welfare of my heart without any consent, like an unstoppable force. He had proven himself with that in itself; no one else was capable of getting past the walls I had put up my entire life - barriers against the idiocy and vileness of the human race.

But Neil, despite his brilliant mind, seemed to see something different in the people that surrounded him, and though it baffled me, it was a mystery to solve for another day. Erick was waiting.

So was John.

Neil turned back to the worktable, placed the gun he'd been working on in a small black case, and then handed the case to me. "You should get back."

"Thank you." I paused, taking the case. "Your hands. I thought you couldn't work anymore."

He held them up to reveal fresh marks and scratches layered over the old scars. In particular, there was a sizable slice just beneath his left forefinger, bleeding down his palm. It looked like it might need stitches. "I can still try."

When I arrived back, Erick was in bed with the lights dimmed. I set the case on his side table, and when he determined it was the right one, he dismissed me.

"No comfort tonight?" I asked graciously.

"I think I've had enough for the day."

"And tomorrow?"

"I'll be out for two days in Russia. Be there when I get back, if you can; I have a feeling not all of the team will make it, and if that's the case, it's my failure."

But it wasn't the failure that bothered him, as he made it out to be. It was the possible losses.

"You're not the organizer of these missions, are you? Just the appointed team leader. It wouldn't be your fault for sending people on a suicide mission; it would be the council's."

He stared at me for a moment as if hearing something he had never heard before. From that, I knew I had planted the seed.

"Is Neil going?" I asked. It was a long shot, but on a long-distance mission it was possible they would want him.

"Yes, actually. We're smuggling weapons out of a military base, and he'll know the ones we're looking for."

Weapons we don't need, I heard in the undertones of his voice. Sooner or later he would realize that under his charge, such unnecessary missions could be canceled, saving people he cared about from danger and possible death. Neil included.

I had planted the seed, and it would grow of its own accord.

"I'll be here," I said simply, and I kissed him farewell.

As I waited at the subway station to return home, I realized I had left Neil's workshop with many questions still unanswered, among them the manner of Neil's genius and the truth of what had happened with Rose. Neil was an integral part of Erick's thoughts and emotions, so to understand him I would have to understand the both of them. I would have to understand why Neil's love remained even with such a distance between them, and why he would foster that distance in the first place. I would have to understand what had happened between them that first night on hospital leave. I would have to get more acquainted with Rose, who saw herself losing a husband and could only cling on helplessly.

Emotions, by far, were the most complicated puzzle I had worked with in my entire life. I was losing all rational trains of thought to a network of unbacked chaos and confusion.

When I looked up I realized that the train had already arrived and the doors were just closing. I would have to wait for the next one. Subconsciously my eyes scanned the faces that had boarded – a poor college student here, a veterinarian there – and paused on the back of a head that looked remarkably like John Watson's.

The man turned to make space for an overweight accountant shuffling past him, and as he did he glanced out the window at the near-empty station. His eyes met mine. For a shocking moment, we stared. Then he moved, as if it wasn't too late and he could still get off the train to greet me, as if the doors weren't already closed and locked and the train was accelerating, and he was gone with the promise of 'Sherlock' on his lips.

As the sound of the train faded into the darkness, I thought that if the world was turned onto its side, this would be my heart falling down a long and winding tunnel into the unknown abyss.