by Jeff Vrolyks
* * *
Brittney lived with a roommate in the U of R dorms. She was the stereotypical starving student, but still offered to buy Norrah lunch. Norrah wouldn’t think of it, said she’d even drive down the hill to spare Brittney the trip at the gas pump, and they agreed to eat at a small diner close to campus. The girl who was decked out in red chiffon and hair styled like Nichole Kidman at the Oscars was now clad in jeans and a tee-shirt, lank ash blonde hair given no attention to, and makeup minimal. She was still a pretty young thing, as any girl with the name Brittney ought to be. Norrah was ten years her senior. They met in the reception area and shook hands. The hostess took two menus and said this way. They were being seated in a booth adjacent to an elderly couple. Norrah requested a booth with some privacy. Before those words, the hostess had looked at her as if she was trying to remember where they had once met. After Norrah’s request of privacy, the lady connected the dots.
“You’re Norrah Petersen,” the woman said in an undertone.
Norrah gaped at her. “How do you know?”
“TV.”
Even though she hadn’t interviewed yet, those damn cameras seemed to roll non-stop, so it wasn’t all that surprising that her face had some recognition now. The two took a seat and gave their drink order.
“Is it too late for breakfast?” Norrah asked.
“No, we serve it all day.”
Norrah sensed the middle-aged hostess was wanting to get personal, ask some questions. But she didn’t, and finally left.
“How have you been?” Norrah asked.
“Eh.”
“I hear that,” Norrah said sympathetically. “How have you been treated? Lots of questioning? Are they sensitive at least?”
“I haven’t spoken to anyone since that night. Some were a little pissy with me, but not all of them. One treated me like I was keeping secrets from him. It irked me. I didn’t know what the hell they were all talking about. I didn’t believe anyone who said it was the 21st. It’s not that I thought they were lying, I knew they were lying. I just couldn’t understand why they would. It wasn’t until I saw the date on a cellphone that I began believing it. I had been a missing person for a week. It blows my mind, really. A missing person for a week!”
“Yeah, it’s something, isn’t it?”
She nodded.
A moment later the waitress delivered two coffees and asked if they’d need a few more minutes. Norrah and Brittney were on the same page with wishing for privacy, and a prompt return of the waitress would violate that, so they got the meal order over with: both ordered pancakes.
Norrah stared at Brittney’s delicate pallid throat. The girl needed some color. She had some color on February 14th, but only around her lower neck, blood red, and didn’t have a head attached to her body. Was Brittney the headless girl whom Norrah saw in a red dress in the basement? She hadn’t a doubt it was her. Brittney must have noticed Norrah staring at her throat, because she looked down to see what she was staring at.
“This is going to sound like a stupid question,” Norrah said, “but on the 21st, when you returned, were you in any pain at all? Like have, I don’t know, a headache?”
Brittney knitted her brow. “No, why?”
“No reason,” Norrah said, looking away.
“Is there anything at all you can tell me that would help me understand what happened?” Brittney was pleading with her eyes.
“I’m sorry. You seem like a nice girl, so I feel a little guilty for accepting your invitation knowing that I couldn’t provide you with any insight. I wish I could. It must be terrifying for you, knowing you vanished from existence for a week.”
The young girl gazed somberly at the table, nodded once.
Norrah felt terrible for her, irrationally so. Maybe it was partly due to having witnessed the girl decapitated, if only for a second. On impulse she reached across the table and took the girl’s petite hand and squeezed it affectionately. The girl looked up sadly at Norrah.
“You’re the only one I’ve spoken to,” Norrah said. “The only kid who went missing, that is. I doubt there will be any others, so I’m fortunate for this meeting. Maybe we could keep in touch? I’d like that.”
She nodded.
“I promise I’ll tell you whatever I learn. Okay, sweetie?”
“We won’t learn anything,” Brittney said.
“I’m not so sure about that. My boyfriend and I made friends with a man who also went missing. Oh yeah, I suppose you aren’t the only one I’ve met with from that night. But he’s different. Aaron. He’s older, and not part of your crowd. He crashed the party.”
This intrigued Brittney. “Oh yeah? Tell me.”
“There isn’t much to tell. Yet, anyway. I’m having dinner with him tonight, so I’m hopeful he’ll tell me what he knows.”
“You swear you’ll keep me informed if he does?”
“I swear.” Norrah let go of the girl’s hand. “I don’t want to violate his trust in me by telling you what I’ve learned from him, so I’ll ask him this evening if he minds if I share things with you.”
“Thank you.”
“This stays between you and me, right?” Norrah said baitedly.
“Of course it does. That was my intention from the onset of this meeting.”
“Good. Mine, too. Aaron, the guy who was at the masquerade party with you, he knew you all went missing before anyone had mentioned it. Or I should say he suspected it.”
Brittney’s eyes doubled. “Really? How?”
“Like I said, I’m hoping to learn a lot from him this evening. I have no idea how he knew.”
“Aaron…” Brittney said meditatively. “I don’t know the name. What was his mask?”
“I don’t know.”
“Would you ask him for me? Was it a Frog?”
“I don’t know, but I’ll ask.”
They didn’t speak for a while. Brittney looked depressed, eyes low and heavy, brooding. She stirred her coffee mindlessly without pause. When she finally looked up at Norrah, there was moisture in her eyes, threatening to spill over. “I’ve been having nightmares,” she said. “Not your typical ones, either. I mean they’re something extraordinary. I get so relieved when I wake up and realize it didn’t happen.”
“They started after the party?”
She hummed an affirmative solemnly.
“Since I promised to tell you what I learn,” Norrah said, “could you tell me what you know? Tell me everything, please.”
Part 2: