by A. E. Rought
Everyone at Sadony knows my Mixed Martial Arts record. Keifer grumbles, snags the cash and swipes a red mark across the back of my hand.
Inside the doors, music pounds into my temples. The bass is set too high, drowning out the lyrics and everything else. Lights strobe and spin; tiny lights line the ceiling, corners and door jambs. Despite the freezing temperature outside, so many people fill the space that the heat makes it stuffy. And damn near impossible to find anyone.
The building is split in two halves. One half is a bar, bathrooms and kitchen. The bathrooms are open, but the bar and kitchen are off limits. A stage, long open hall crammed with people, and bay in the back make up the other half. In the very back alcove are the drinks; along the inner wall closest to the kitchen are tables loaded with food. I scan the people dancing on the stage, all of them Sadony’s elite. If Hailey’s here, she’s up in that crowd, even though she graduated two years ago.
I’m not here for Hailey. I’m here to find Emma. None of the dark-haired girls are my ex, not one of the blonds up there is Em.
The longer I’m here without seeing Emma, the tighter my worry strangles me.
Choosing the path with the least people takes me by the tables toward the alcove in the back. No Em yet. I sweep my focus left and right, peering into the shadows, glancing at the people lining up for snacks. Sam Ashton, a Shelley High transfer like me, waits in a lengthy line for something chocolate and stacked.
“Holy crap,” he says. “What are you doing here? I thought you hated Sadony.”
“I was invited.” Not a lie. Coerced is more like it. Maybe baited like an animal toward the kill site. “What about you?”
“I’m dating Tiffany.” He breaks into a proud grin and makes me think he’s doing more than just dating her. “She looks hot in that costume, right?”
No. She looks like she’s going to freeze something off soon. “Oh, yeah. She looks great.”
“Speaking of hotties,” Sam says, grabbing a dessert plate. “I saw your Emma here.”
“You did?” My voice scales up, showing my distress. Sam cocks an eyebrow higher.
“Yeah. She’s over there,” he points toward the back corner by the bay of drinks.
“Thanks, man.”
I’m pretty sure he mumbles “You won’t be thanking me soon,” but it’s hard to tell with the screechy chick music.
I leave Sam, cutting cross-current through the line waiting for food. The dance floor is another challenge, bodies swaying, moving in chaotic waves. Before Emma, before I died the first time, Hailey and I would’ve been out here making other people blush. Now, I weave through the empty spaces, past short skirts, groping hands and exposed cleavages. When I started at Sadony, someone petitioned to change the name of the Reindeer Games to the Grind. Out here, I can see why.
Deep in the most shadowy corner, I catch sight of Emma. There’s plenty of blonds here, but not one makes my heart beat faster until her. For a second, fragile relief unfurls in my chest. The sight of who she’s with squashes that emotion. I knew it was Trent. Both my hands curl to fists fast enough for my knuckles to crack.
Emma’s dancing with Trent in a way that would give her mother a stroke and will give me nightmares. Her eyes are closed, hips rocking, back turned to Trent while he’s wrapped around her like a wet towel. Seeing her with another guy riles up a jealous, ugly aspect, so intense I know it’s not just me. Daniel’s been fading, integrating into me, but he’s pissed now.
Emma’s head tips and rests on Trent’s shoulder. She lifts up her arms, his hands slide down her sides and park at the top of her thighs, thumbs way too close to her zipper.
Looks like I get to smash Trent’s teeth down his throat after all.
Cracking my knuckles, I shove someone aside. They sputter at my back, I pause, roll my shoulders and neck. Whoever’s bitching backs down, unwilling to mess with a guy obviously spoiling for a fight. Trent and Hailey wanted me here? Now he’s going to have to deal with me.
Emma’s oblivious when I step up. Every motion of her body tugs at my aching, flaming heart. Trent watches me. The look in his eyes says he knew I would show up, and it scares him. He hesitates a moment, then he slides his hands up Em’s jeans and across her midriff, wrapping Emma’s waist like a man belt.
“Let go of her, Trent,” I command, shocked at how much my voice sounds like my father’s. The surprise burns off in the anger building in me.
Trent nuzzles his face closer to Emma and her eyes snap open. She blinks, tries to focus on me, but can’t. She’s obviously under the influence of something.
“Alex?” Em asks, her voice thick, eyes dilated past normal. She stops moving.
“Piss off,” Trent says, and drags her along with him. “You didn’t come here with her.”
“And you’re not leaving here with her. Back off now!”
“Or what?” He wraps his arms tight enough that Emma wheezes. The anger flares in me, fast and hot. It sizzles on my nerves, a double burn like enough of Daniel survives to rage with me.
I step forward, Trent opens his arms and steps back. Emma droops to the floor, still blinking, her body wavering. My heart aches seeing her like this. I stoop to check on Em, and feel the impact before I see the sucker punch coming. My head rocks back, jaw throbs. And it pisses me off.
I throw a punch and Trent deflects it, flashing that damn commercial-worthy grin at me. Butt on the floor, Emma scoots out of the way. He tries to move and keep her between us. That’s not happening. I attack and kick his knee to stop his circling.
He could never stand against me for long and still Trent plants his feet and hurls a fist. I smack it to the side, step into the punch and drive my elbow into his nose. A crack tells me something in his face broke. The blood bubbling over his lips confirms it. He spits a stream of red at me, and charges forward. I sidestep his attack and drive a short jab toward his lips. My fist connects. He pulls back then, one hand flying to his mouth.
“You broke my tooth!” Trent shouts. One of his incisors dangles when he prods his wreck of a mouth.
“You shouldn’t have messed with me and Em.”
“I,” Trent stresses, “didn’t.”
Rented security swarm in. One takes Emma off to the side, one leads Trent toward the kitchen and a woman waiting with a towel. The last one drags me outside through the back door. He shoves me toward the parking lot and I spin on my heel and shove back.
“That’s my girlfriend in there!” I growl.
“That’s not what we heard.” He flips the security strap off a can of pepper spray. “You need to leave, or I will detain you and call the police.”
“I am not leaving her here.”
“You are unless you want to take the matter up with the police. Go cool off, call her when you get home.”
To hell with going home.
“Fine, asshole.”
I turn and stalk off toward my car. At the Acura, I lean against the car door, eyes on the VFW while I suck in cooling breaths and dig my phone out. I press Jason’s number on speed dial. Holding it to my right side hurts, so I switch to the left.
Jason answers halfway through the first ring. “Did you find her?’
“Yeah, and the fuckers kicked me out. I need you to come and go in for me.”
“We’re back at Bree’s. Her mom insists that she stay here in case Emma shows up.”
Fine time for Bree’s mom to start acting like Emma’s. At least it’s only a few blocks from here. “Good. I’m coming to get you.”
“I’ll start walking.”
I drop into the driver’s seat, and tear out of the parking space. Taillights wash the inside of my car a bloody red when I pull up behind another car, the driver talking to one of the Santa’s Helper girls. Tiffany skates up to my car and knocks on the window.
“I heard about the fight,” Tiff says when I roll down the window. “Are you OK?”
“I will be when I know my girlfriend is alright,” I reply. “She’s in there and I
think somebody drugged or her something. She’s not acting normal. Can you please go in and tell Emma I’m getting someone to bring her home?”
“Of course.”
Tiffany shouts over my car to her partner that she’s going in to check on somebody. It’s a small comfort, but I’ll take what I can get.
“Hey, Tiff?” I say.
She peeks in my window. “Yeah?”
“Thanks. This means a lot to me.”
She smiles and nods, then steps back and motions for me to get going. I step on the gas as soon as the vehicle in front of me moves. Be safe, I think, please Em. Just be safe until I get back…
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Jason walks out of a break in the blowing snow, almost materializing like an action hero in a movie. The way my spirits lift says he is a little bit of a hero for me. I honk the horn, and pull to a stop at the curb. Cold air and snowflakes scud through the cracks when he opens the passenger side door and climbs in.
“What’s the story?” he asks, clicking his seatbelt. “What happened to her?”
“I don’t know all of it,” I answer, and use the icy road to drift the Acura around the corner and onto Old Channel Trail back toward the Reindeer Games. While I drive I explain about Em leaving the theater with someone in a hoodie, and getting the picture of her at the marquee for the Reindeer Games. He listens while I describe the fight with Trent, and getting kicked out of the party, then says, “Too bad you didn’t knock more teeth loose.”
“Tell me about it.”
Cars clog the roads when we hit Water Street. Driving toward the Reindeer Games feels like an experiment in swimming against the current. Jittery fear for Em razors my veins. How much time has passed? We’re going too slow, and there’s no way for me to get around the crazy flood of vehicles. I resist the urge to become one of the horn-blowers, though, no matter how bad I want to lay on it and follow the sound through the madness.
“Is something going on in town we don’t know about?” Jason asks, head turning to watch a car whiz past.
“There are plenty of holiday parties going on,” I say, jerking the wheel to dodge a car coming down the middle of the road. “And the Reindeer Games at the VFW.”
“Watch out!” Jason warns, bracing a hand on the dashboard when two vehicles crash at the mouth of Walsh Road.
The oncoming car T-bones a little Subaru truck trying to race traffic and escape from the direction I intend to drive. Metal crunches and glass shatters with a screech. Flashbacks to Emma’s accident assault me while I rely on my heightened senses to avoid becoming another car in the pile up. Both vehicles skid off the side of the road, the truck rolling into the islet of land between the streets.
“Aw, shit,” Jason blurts. “Should we stop and help?”
“Nah.” I shake my head even though he probably isn’t watching me. The worry gnawing at me about leaving Emma behind has chewed away most of my patience. Ahead of us, a car pulls off to the side. “See? They’re helping.”
Turning the wheel, I aim the Acura back toward the VFW and the Reindeer Games. Unreal amounts of traffic turn Walsh Road into a sea of headlights and taillights, both lines inching along and sounding horns. If we don’t move soon, I may leap out and run over the cars to get to Emma.
“Dude,” Jason says, face lit in competing crimson and white, “What the hell is going on? It’s like a rock concert let out.”
“I wish I knew.” But the souring in my guts says I really don’t want to.
Off in the distance, White River’s emergency alert siren wails. Three long blasts call in the first responders to a crisis. Volunteer firefighters will soon join the rest of the maniacs on the road. A crushing sense of urgency weighs on me. As soon as we reach the factory before the hall, where the traffic is pouring from, I jerk the Acura’s wheel and bomb through the front parking lot.
Barely any cars, no people. We’re in a dead zone compared to the crazy mess of activity a few feet away. At the barrier between the lots, I slam on the brakes, skid to a stop and throw the car into park. Jason and I unhook our seatbelts in unison, jump out into the frigid night and race headlong for the chaos of the Reindeer Games.
Keifer Presley hangs out the front door. His jacket’s splattered with black, tears streak his face. “Help!” he bellows. “Someone please help!”
“What’s wrong?” I vault the plowed snow at the walkway’s edge, and careen to a stop by him.
“People are dying,” he wails and pushes the door open.
No one’s taking entry fees. An alien sense of dread inhabits the foyer. The cash box lies on the floor, coins glittering, dollar bills ghosting in the air from the door.
Jason and I step into the rental hall half of the building.
Inside, the music has died. A chorus of screams and moans fill the hall. Something dark blocks my feet and the floor rushes at my face. I tuck into an Aikido roll at the last second and return to my feet. Jason, stiff from his illness, isn’t so graceful. He stumbles over the security guard lying on the floor. The man’s eyes are fixed, pupils dilated like he’s been drugged, face contorted in pain and resting in a puddle of vomit, but he’s gone.
Jason scrambles to his feet, then mutters, “Sonofabitch…”
At first look, the floor writhes. Then my eyes adjust to the horror I’m seeing.
Bodies lie in a haphazard pattern across the linoleum, twisting, jerking, groaning. Dark, shiny puddles of puke lie beside the victims. Jason whips out his cell phone, and dials 911, while he skirts the edge of the food tables.
Tiffany Schultz kneels in the middle of the floor, her costume somehow an affront to the misery lying spilt around her. A high keening sound peals from her as she rocks back and forth clutching one of the fallen to her. I step over someone in the throes of something horrid and stoop by Tiffany. Her makeup has run in black and gray tracks down her cheeks. Snot trickles over the corner of her mouth.
“Tiff,” I say. Her skin is hot beneath my hand when I touch her arm. “Hey, Tiff. What’s happened?”
“He’s dead!” she cries.
“Who?”
Then I look at the body, I mean really look at the guy she’s cradling. My gut says it’s her boyfriend, my Shelley High classmate. As if to confirm the unbelievable, she releases his body enough for his face to roll free of her shoulder. Sam Ashton. The ridiculous truth slams into me. Alive a little while ago, in the dessert line, bragging about his hottie girlfriend, and now dead in her arms. Impossible. A cruel joke.
“How did this happen?” I ask, shock making my voice thin and breathy.
“Someone said it was poison,” she weeps. Tiffany drags Sam’s body tight to her again, and resumes rocking him. “Who would do that?”
I can’t ask her if she found Emma – guilt swarms up for wanting my girl alive when her guy is dead. Tiff presses her head against mine when I give her a quick, awkward hug around Sam’s corpse. Sobs rack the girl’s body. I should stay and try to comfort her, but I can’t: my soul is dying every second I stay here not searching for Emma. Standing, I pull off my jacket, empty the pockets and then drape the coat over her shoulders.
Stuffing my keys and phone into my jean’s pockets, I try to assess the damage here. Another security guard – that makes two. Sam. A couple girls. Six? Seven victims, maybe? And I haven’t checked the rest of the building. It’s too hard to wrap my brain around. Less than half an hour ago, this place was a cauldron of life, now the dregs convulse and die all around me.
What kind of sacrilege am I committing wading through the death of people I knew, praying my girlfriend is still alive?
Then I spot pale blond hair glowing in a downturned light, cowering in the far corner of the back alcove. Emma’s alive! My heart skips to double beats. I hustle across the floor, passing one of the girls as she goes still, her chest sinking on a final exhale, a brown splattered dessert plate floating in a puddle of dark vomit. If it was poison, was it in the food? I draw even with Jason, at the far end, standing with his
hands over his mouth, gaze sweeping the floor.
“Found her,” I shout, and motion toward the corner nearest the back door.
He nods, and even from here I can see the relief flood his features. Sirens sound, a whisper yet, but the authorities are coming. We have minutes maybe.
I race the last feet to Emma’s side and skid to a stop.
She’s crouched, covered in blood, hands knotted to fists in her hair. Next to her lies another body – one I immediately recognize. My Sadony Academy nemesis, and tonight’s full contact sparring partner. Trent Landry, dead at Emma’s feet. Every mean thought I’d had of him turns suddenly sharp, rusty barbs in my memory. Was he really so bad? Did he deserve to die with a busted nose and broken tooth?
Did I do this to him? Or was he poisoned too?
A mewling whimper comes from Emma, competing with the approaching emergency sirens.
“Em,” I drop to my knees beside her. “Emergizer?”
She swings a terrified glance at me. “He said he was sorry.”
She scuttles further back, bumps the wall and drops to her butt. Her legs flop out like she can’t quite control them. Trent’s body, and more chocolate-colored puke, is inches away from her feet. Emma cries again, and creeps toward me. “He said he was sorry, but it wasn’t him…”
“Com’ere, Em,” I coax. “We have to get you out of here.”
“Out of here,” she echoes, then scales me, trying, it seems, to put as much distance between her and Trent’s corpse as she can. “Please.”
The pressure of the moment shows on Jason’s face. He helps me stand with Emma half-wrapped around my back. Her legs scissor tight around my waist, locking one arm down. He wedges an arm between us and tries to pry Emma from her death grip.
“Gotta let him loose, Em,” Jason coaches. “Loosen up a little.”
Brakes squeal outside the building.
“Dammit!” Jason spits. He slams his shoulder into the emergency exit at the back, and drags us outside.
Emma finally releases her legs and would have fallen to the ground if I let go. I press her tight to me and spin us both into the darkness cast by the building. Jason creeps forward to the cover of the large Dumpster at the corner of the building. He peers out, then ducks back and waves me forward. I guide Emma into the narrow space between the reeking metal container and the brick wall.