Monster in My Closet

by R. L. Naquin

  She yawned, not bothering to cover her mouth. “I’m sleeping. I started taking something to help. Puts me right out. It’s not very restful though. I get up in the morning feeling like a slug, and I find clothes strewn around and dishes in the sink. Apparently, I’ve started sleepwalking.”

  I frowned. “Honey, that sounds dangerous. Do you want me to come over for a few nights? Keep an eye on you?”

  She waved her hand at me, dismissing the idea. “I’ll live. Give me through the weekend and I’ll be back to normal. Don’t worry so much. We have enough problems.”

  She wasn’t wrong about that.

  Wednesday, two of Gail’s bridesmaids, having reached their limits with the fragile, over-sensitive bride and the pushy, demanding mother, quit the bridal party.

  No amount of begging, cajoling or bargaining could get them to change their minds. But I don’t give up so easily, and I was going to make this wedding a success if it killed me.

  I picked up Erin and Samantha and took them out to lunch. Sara stayed behind to put out other fires. The girls were wary, at first, but I said I wouldn’t force them into anything. I wanted to talk, nothing more.

  We ate burgers and fries, and they both looked like they were in heaven. Their eyelids fluttered with each bite. Grievance number one: Mama Dickson had everyone on strict diets so they’d be prettier for the wedding.

  I let them vent. Lord knows, I could have participated. I had a list of grievances of my own a mile long. But that would hardly be professional, and it wouldn’t help my cause in the slightest.

  “She showed up at my house with a tape measure last night,” Samantha said. She slurped her chocolate shake. “It was humiliating.”

  Erin popped a fry in her mouth and licked the salt from her fingers. “She told me my hair was too blond. She tried to make me dye it darker so I wouldn’t outshine her precious flower.”

  I wanted to laugh. Instead, I nodded my head in sympathy. “Weddings are stressful,” I said. “For everyone involved. Not everybody understands that.”

  They groused. They gorged. And I listened. Their frustration took up more room on the table than the steaming plates of food. It weighed heavy between them, pulling me into their circle. Their anger buzzed in my ears like dragonflies trapped in a gourd.

  I inhaled and thought of the people I loved. Sara. Maurice. Andrew. My father. I let the calm and comfort wash over me, then sent it toward the girls down a tight beam of light.

  Their conversation was instantly less hostile, less hurt. It turned to Gail and things they loved about her. The things that made them friends.

  “When Jeremy cheated on me, she keyed his car,” Erin said. “Did I ever tell you about that?”

  Samantha laughed. “No, but I can believe it. I once got a D on a test in Mr. Gardener’s algebra class back in high school. That was when I was really sick and we found out later it was mono. She harassed him for a week until he let me retake the test.”

  I kept the positive feelings flowing, letting them talk it out. Was it a skeevy thing to do? I was using my gift to manipulate people into feeling what I wanted them to feel, so they’d do what I wanted them to do. Yeah. It felt skeevy. But not enough to stop.

  By the time they’d finished their brownie sundaes, there wasn’t a chance in hell they would desert their friend.

  Another crisis averted.

  Thursday was Gail’s final fitting, and she called in a panic because her veil was the wrong shade of tulle. I calmed her over the phone while the consultant went in the back to check on it. Somehow they’d switched veils with someone else’s dress. Gail’s dress was perfect and so was the veil.

  Through the whole wretched week of harassment and emergencies, I watched Sara grow slower and more exhausted. While I was dealing with vendors and wayward bridesmaids, she was spending most of her time dealing with Mrs. Dickson.

  The rest of my attention was spent worrying about Sebastian.

  I scoured the papers every night. There were no unexplained deaths. I worried that someone would die at any minute. I worried that someone had died and I didn’t know about it.

  I worried that Sebastian was so quiet.

  Friday, I couldn’t take not knowing anymore. I was jumping at shadows, and I was so filled with dread that tomorrow’s wedding would become a feeding frenzy that I steeled my resolve, quelled my feelings of foolishness and impending doom, and walked down to the dock to face him.

  I knew it was a stupid risk to take. But Sara could handle things without me now. I was prepared to die if it came to that. I’d learned to reverse the emotional flow. If nothing else, maybe I could debilitate him.

  My thoughts were dark and my feet fell heavy on the rocks as I clambered down to his lair. Goose bumps covered my bare arms in the breeze.

  I stood peering into the blackness for some time, allowing my eyes to adjust. Every shadow could be him, hunkered down in wait. I shivered. I was alone. The place was deserted. The tides had washed away every sign of him, including his cloying scent. He hadn’t been there for a while.

  My amulet lay warm against my skin. This was no longer a place of danger. I had no way to find him. I had to wait for him to come to me.

  * * *

  In theater, they say “Bad dress rehearsal, good performance.” I hoped the same was true for weddings, because the rehearsal Friday night definitely came under the heading of “Bad.”

  For starters, the minister failed to show. Not a huge problem. These things happened sometimes. A bigger problem was the absence of one of the five bridesmaids and two of the groomsmen.

  A wedding rehearsal should be a quick procedure from start to finish. We group everybody with their escorts, run through the processional and recessional once or twice, they all go off to dinner, and Sara and I go home. An hour, tops.

  Sara needed to be on top of things with me the next day, so I’d talked her into letting me handle things. No problem.

  The minute I walked through the door, Councilwoman Mama accosted me. She put her beaked nose and shrewish face as close to mine as she could get it without smearing her makeup. I liked my personal space to remain personal. I didn’t care for people breathing my air. I took a step back, knowing while I did it that she would count it as a personal victory of domination.

  She puffed up her scrawny, ruffle-enhanced bosom like an African bird in mating season. “Why isn’t Reverend Conrad here? I specifically asked you to be sure he was here for this. I won’t have this ruined because of your inept management.”

  She tried to poke me with a taloned finger, but I moved too fast. I smiled in my most professional, plastered-on expression. “Have a seat, Mrs. Dickson. I’m sure he’s just delayed. I’ll take care of it, and we’ll get started.”

  I handed her off to her husband, a mousy man with a down-trodden look to him. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like married to that woman, but he took her arm and led her away.

  Samantha and Erin helped me track down the missing party members while I called the minister. His presence wasn’t strictly necessary for the rehearsal, but he was kind of a central figure in the actual ceremony. I couldn’t take a chance that he wouldn’t show for final curtain on Saturday.

  When I reached him, Reverend Conrad told me he would most certainly be there on time the next day. He apologized for missing the rehearsal, but he’d had an emergency to attend to.

  “Sometimes,” he said, “God calls me to less joyful events.”

  With that cryptic line, he hung up.

  A half hour later, the missing party members walked in, having started the festivities early. They burst through the door, laughing, weaving and slurring.

  I might have reprimanded them, or at least pulled them in line, but Alma Dickson got there first.

  She scurried over in a flurry of polyester, her tig
htly curled gray hair poking out around her head. She fixed them with her steely eyes and they froze.

  “This is unacceptable behavior,” she said. Her lips were squeezed so tight I thought they might meld together that way. We should be so lucky. “You were given your schedules and were expected to be here on time. I will not have this. Get over there so we can get started. You’ve wasted everyone’s time with your lack of consideration.” She waggled a talon and herded them into the crowd.

  For a brief moment, I admired her.

  I paired off the attendants and showed them where to stand at the front of the church. Gail was more quiet than usual, with none of her usual hysterics, though she had the look of a bunny ready to bolt into a hedge at the slightest provocation. Her fiancé wasn’t taking the proceedings at all seriously, and loped beside her like a clumsy baby giraffe with a learning disability.

  They practiced the recessional. It went well until Aidan tripped on his own flip-flop and went sprawling, which caused the best man behind him to stumble and take the maid of honor down with him.

  I despise flip-flops. Outside of the pool or the beach, they’re tacky. I squelched the urge to yank one off his foot and beat him about the head and shoulders with it.

  Instead, I made them practice the recessional again.

  Half the group was talking and missed their cues.

  They did it again.

  The fourth time was the charm, and they all made it up the aisle with flawless grace and timing.

  “Now,” I said, “we reverse the process. Everybody line up in the foyer so we can practice the processional. Groomsmen first, then Aidan. Gail, you’ll be last with your parents on either side to give you away.”

  The groomsmen groaned and looked at each other.

  The best man stepped forward. “It’s the same thing, only the other way, right? Can’t we just call it good? We’re starving.”

  I looked at the clock on my cell phone. We were already almost an hour over schedule, and they had reservations. I opened my mouth and stopped. My amulet burned ice cold against my chest.

  He’s here. Do something, Zoey. Do something to stop him.

  “Five-minute break, then we’ll do one quick run up the aisle. I’ll be right back.”

  I ran out the front door into the darkness. I had no plan.

  Lanterns lit the garden surrounding the chapel. I saw no one moving in the shadows, and Sebastian didn’t step out in the light. In fact, my amulet felt warm again. The chill might have been my imagination.

  Paranoia. Very professional.

  I went back and sent the bridal party up the aisle. They performed admirably, and I had a suspicion that Mama Dickson had yelled at them while I was gone. When I gave them the okay to leave, it was a stampede to the exit.

  When they were all gone, I gave the chapel a final inspection for loose papers, forgotten purses or beer bottles that might have been smuggled in. It was all clear and ready for the next day.

  I flipped off the light and walked along the paving stones toward my car. My amulet cooled, though not to the same sub-zero temperature as before. I touched it with my fingertips and turned back to look at the chapel.

  Sebastian sat cross-legged on the roof beneath the steeple.

  Moonlight glinted off the white of his grin. He waved, then scurried over the roof and disappeared.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Saturday was a traditional Bay Area overcast, which did not bode well for an outdoor reception. They were holding the whole thing at a gorgeous, restored Colonial Revival complex overlooking the Bay. The wedding would be inside the chapel where we’d rehearsed, then move outside to the gardens for the reception.

  The venue offered everything a bride could want—catering, setup, linens, crystal. However, Alma Dickson had declined all the in-house services and preferred to have us use outside vendors instead. Financially good for us, but a logistical nightmare, since the location coordinator did not approve of our meddling and made it clear we were on our own.

  I arrived an hour earlier than I was expected, and this put a wild hair up her ass from the start.

  She pursed her lips and gave me a once-over. At the end of her perusal, I wasn’t sure if my nose was on backward or if she disapproved of my eye color.

  She sniffed. “I suppose we can accommodate you with a space to work for the time being. In the future, please be aware of appointment times. Yours may not be the only event planned for the day, and we must give priority to those who retain their given schedule.”

  Bitch. I knew damn well they never scheduled more than one event in an entire weekend. What a load of crap. “Thank you, Margaret. I appreciate your assistance.” I ducked my head and followed her. Play nice, Zo. Let’s get through this day with our reputation and our temper intact.

  She dropped me in a corner of the delivery area in back. I don’t know if she meant it as a slight, but it was exactly where I needed to be. It was a good thing I was early. Vendors started showing up about a half hour later.

  There was a minor difficulty with the cake when it arrived. Somehow, they’d managed to leave the top tier at the bakery. I sent them scurrying home to retrieve it, while I paced. This is what happens when a client doesn’t use my vendors. Moira never would have made a mistake like that. If I hadn’t stood over them and made them assemble the cake right then, we might not have known in time.

  Of course, screw-ups like that look bad for the coordinator. Brides and their tyrannical mothers don’t care who made the mistake. It was me they paid to catch it.

  Right on time, Brad sauntered in, with Adrianne and Frankie giggling on his arms. I rolled my eyes. Now there was a problem I hadn’t considered. Brad the Charmer needed to stay away from my temps, or nobody was going to get any work done.

  I set the three of them to work on table settings. Boxes of linens, crystal, flowers and place settings were piled up in the delivery area. Much of it had arrived in the days previous, but some had to wait till the last minute. According to my super-functional dinosaur of a clipboard, everything was present and accounted for.

  With the setup underway, I went in search of the bride. Knowing her, she was probably either throwing up or breathing into a paper bag.

  On the way to Gail’s room, I shot off a text to Sara. She should have been there already and I was getting nervous.

  Sara may not have been in her pre-arranged spot, but Gail was right where I expected. Five bridesmaids flittered around her, all in different stages of undress. Mrs. Dickson was uncharacteristically quiet, hovering in front of a mirror with her cheeks sucked in, trying to apply fake eyelashes to her already over-made-up face.

  Gail was in sweatpants, her hair pinned and hanging in ringlets. She was sitting on the edge of a bed, professionally painted eyes getting ready to overflow with tears. When she saw me walk through the door, she blinked and the first tears plopped in her lap.

  “Zoey, it’s ruined. I can’t do this.” Someone handed her a tissue and she blotted at her face with a dainty motion.

  “Everything’s perfect, Gail. We’re setting up for the reception as we speak. Everything is exactly what you wanted.” I knelt down next to her and dabbed at a wet cheek. “Tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it.”

  “Everything’s wrong!” I swear, her voice sounded like a moaning banshee. If I hadn’t known she was an accountant, I’d have pegged her for a B-movie actress. “I haven’t seen or heard from Aidan since he went off to his bachelor party last night. I don’t know where he is. Karen’s dress has a rip in it. Tammy’s got a run in her hose with no spares, and look at this!”

  She shoved a monogrammed, lavender hand towel into my hand. I didn’t understand what she wanted me to see, at first. The towel was clean. Then I noticed the monograms: AsS & GaS. The letters were in gold and quite elegant.

&n
bsp; “What are your middle names?” I asked, trying not to smirk.

  “Stephen and Alison. My Aunt Charlotte had these made for us. We’re Ass and Gas!”

  There was absolutely nothing I could say to fix this one. The best I could do was not laugh. “Honey, this is a problem for another day. Let’s focus on today, okay?”

  She nodded and reached for the offensive hand towel, rubbing at the letters with her fingers.

  As part of our on-site coordination, I carried a large leather satchel filled with every imaginable damage-control item. I reached into my bag of tricks and took control of the room.

  “Tammy. Where’s Tammy?” The girls were milling around, paying little attention. Wedding-planner-voice kicked in. “Ladies, I need your attention. Where’s Tammy?”

  A mousy girl with dirty-blond hair stepped forward in her bra and pantyhose. “Me. That’s me.”

  “Where’s the run?”

  She pointed to a spot mid-thigh where a small nick in the threads was running upward. Good. Not a bad spot. The dresses were at knee level. If we acted quickly, no one need know.

  I pulled out my bottle of clear nail polish and dabbed it around the run. “Don’t touch it until it’s dry,” I said. “Otherwise, it’ll keep growing.” I capped the polish and dropped it in the bag. “Now. Where’s Karen?”

  It always amazed me when people didn’t bring essential emergency items to a wedding—especially when the party was as big as this one. I found it hard to believe nobody had thought to bring spare hose, nail polish, safety pins or a sewing kit.

  Amateurs.

  Karen’s problem was a little bigger. Somehow she’d managed to snag the waistline, and part of it had unraveled from the bodice. If it had been one of the seams at her bust line, I might have understood. Karen was a girl blessed with boobs. This, however, was the sign of inferior sewing. How nice for Alma to spend an outrageous sum on an extravagant location, a planner and vendors she didn’t need, yet cheap-out on the bridesmaid dresses. It was a nice gesture for her to pay for all the dresses, but I was betting Gail’s friends would have been happy to take over the expense if it meant dresses that wouldn’t split open and expose them in the middle of the chicken dance at the reception.