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“I only speak the truth.”
“Mm.” I sit up just as the taxi turns off the main road onto a narrow gravel laneway. Tall pine trees stand straight in thick bunches on either side of the road, with a few deciduous trees sprinkled in between.
My chest tightens as music thumps in the distance, and Rhea lets out an excited giggle. “This is going to be fun.”
I don’t answer. The taxi pulls up to a large timber building. The huge waterwheel pokes over the back of it, light spilling from every window. Plastic skeletons and jack-o-lanterns litter the front lawn, with scarecrows sitting on either side of the entrance like guards.
Rhea hands the driver a few bills as we exit the car, then comes around the back of the taxi to stand beside me. “Are you excited?”
I force a smile. “Very.”
It’s… mostly true. I haven’t been to a party in a long time. Last year, Rhea convinced me to go to a bar for Halloween and I stayed for all of one hour. A party like this? It’s been years. I’m not one for crowds, to start, and this particular weekend is always difficult. But Rhea is here, and she’s right. I need to loosen up.
So, I touch the tip of my pink snout, smooth my hands over the top of my wig, and let Rhea lead me to the front door.
A bouncer dressed in all black stands next to the porch stairs, holding out a hand. Rhea produces her phone, taps on it a few times, and spins it toward him. Our invitations are displayed on the screen for the bouncer to check. He nods, then steps aside.
Music blares when we open the door, a crush of bodies visible just beyond the threshold to the next room. To our left, a bar is set up with bartenders wearing nothing but black pants and bow ties. The female bartenders have tight black miniskirts on, complete with black cat ears on their heads.
I sweep my gaze toward the crowd on the dance floor. A Sasquatch and his sexy park ranger girlfriend grind their bodies together on the dance floor. A man in a skeleton costume with his mask pushed up over his head tips a brown bottle toward his lips. A group of women dressed as various animals—well, they’re wearing headbands with ears—make their way to the middle of the dance floor amidst screams and laughter.
It’s…gosh, I don’t even know. It feels like college again. At twenty-eight, I think I might be too old for this. Rhea takes my hand and drags me to the left. She takes my jacket off and hands it to a woman running the coat check line, then pulls me toward the bar.
“Two vodka sodas please, gorgeous.” Rhea smiles at the tall, sandy-haired man behind the bar. He nods, pouring us our drinks within seconds.
Another man—tall, dark-skinned, and dressed like Zorro—slides over to Rhea with a troublemaking grin on his face. “Didn’t think I’d see you here, Rhea.” He takes her hand in his and lays a soft kiss on her fingers. “Looking delicious, as usual.”
Rhea throws me a glance over her shoulder, winks, and leads the man to the dance floor. I’m left standing there, drink in hand, with music pounding in my ears.
The dance floor looks…busy. I shudder. Instead of heading across the foyer toward it, I walk along the bar and deeper into the building, poking my head into various rooms. The whole place is decorated with cobwebs, spooky lighting, skeletons leaning against corners. A woman in a witch’s costume falls out of a broom closet, arms wrapped around a guy in a wig. I don’t know what his costume is supposed to be, because he’s mostly not wearing anything at all.
Swerving out of the way, I spill my drink down my front. “Shit.” I brush my hand over the wet patch on my dress. My steps lead me to a door at the back of the building, and when I spill out into the cool air, I let out a long breath.
That’s better.
I look over my shoulder through a window to see a second dance room set up at the back of the building. The people inside move as one mass, grinding and flailing to the loud music. Gulping down half my drink, I turn to look at the countryside in front of me.
It’s quiet here, apart from the raging party behind me. I take a few steps, feet crunching on dry leaves. A wooden deck extends toward the edge of the building, with a handrail blocking access to the creek running along the side of the exterior wall. I lean on the handrail, putting my drink on its flat surface, and let my eyes drift over the huge, stationary waterwheel to my right. My eyes follow the line of the creek below the deck. The water level is low, with tall rushes lining the bank on either side.
Band, ball, diamonds, twist. I’m definitely too old to be here. Maybe there are people my age in there, but their souls are younger than mine. They don’t carry the kind of burdens I do.
I let out a long breath, letting my thoughts drift to my father.
I miss him. Dad was my favorite person in the whole world. He was my own personal superhero, able to fix anything he laid his hands on. He made my world brighter. His laugh was big and unrestrained, and his hugs felt like a warm, cozy blanket on a cold winter’s day.
He took care of Mom after her diagnosis, his movements quiet and soft whenever he had to go near her. The love he had for her made my heart ache. My father’s strength took many forms, none stronger than the way he cared for my mother.
But when his head was bowed in front of Lord Birchal or another member of the supposed elite, he looked small. He didn’t see himself as worthy of their presence, which I never understood. Dad was worth a thousand Birchals.
A messy lump of emotion lodges itself in my throat. My eyes mist, vision blurs. The music is still loud, thumping in my ear to the beat of my heart. I lift one hand to wipe my eyes, letting the other hand dangle over the edge of the handrail.
Thoughts rage inside me so loud that I barely feel the whisper of the ring as it slides down my middle finger. Barely realize it slips off until it touches the tip of my finger, disappearing into the darkness below.
Gone.
Just as my grief for my father starts to overwhelm me, the last piece I have of him drops from my hand. A cry escapes my lips as I brush my palms over my eyes, panic welling up inside my throat. My hands are covered in black smears from my makeup, but I don’t care. Fingers wrap around the handrail as I struggle to clear my blurry vision. Breaths are short, sharp.
I can’t lose it. Can’t let it leave me forever. I can’t.
