Brighter, a supernatural thriller

by V. J. Chambers

  It didn't help that her apartment was different than the way she remembered it, either. Sure, she'd spent umpteen gazillion parties here when Zane had lived in it, but somehow, she'd managed to remember the whole thing way bigger than it was. The apartment was a studio. It had a breakfast nook with a bar and a separate bathroom, but other than that it was just one room. Ramona had imagined it as a much larger room. As it was, her furniture and bed barely fit in the place. Her bed was currently protruding above the edge of the large picture window in the middle of the apartment. Ramona hated the way it looked. To top things off, her apartment didn't have a closet, for Christ's sake. She'd just discovered this fact, along with the fact that the door to her back porch (a wraparound kind that she shared with her neighbors, including Angelica the rude) was located in her bathroom. Who put a door to the porch in a bathroom? It was weird.

  Ramona sucked hard on her cigarette. Smoke invaded her lungs. Her heart beat fast, but she felt calmer. God. She just wanted something to feel okay in her life right now. She just wanted to feel like she was doing something right. She shook her head and stared off the porch into the alley below. Downstairs, there was a courtyard. She could see the back of The Grind and the parking lot where she parked her car. She lifted her cigarette to her lips—

  And dropped it, uttering a cry of pain. The damned thing had burned down to her fingers and burned her. She ground it out with her heel and went back inside her apartment.

  Inside, everything was still in boxes. It was hot. She needed an air conditioner or something, because the apartment was sweltering. Ramona shoved her hair off her forehead again, suddenly fed up with everything. The heat, the size of her apartment, the fact Angelica was fucking rude. She sat down hard on the wooden floor, and glared around at the four walls, glared at the piles of boxes (several overflowing because Ramona hadn't done the neatest packing job), glared at her furniture, which looked oversized in her new, tiny apartment. Tiny. Small. Cramped.

  That was how Ramona felt. Cramped. Stuck. Boxed-in. Her apartment was a box. A sweltering, teeny box. Ramona felt her breath start to stick in her throat. She took a shallow breath. Tried to breathe deeper. Panicking, she jumped to her feet and ran to the large picture window, which was open to the outside world. Ramona stuck her head outside, relieved to get draughts of clearer, less stuffy air. The air was still hot, though. And outside, the main street of Elston stood stock-still. There was no breeze ruffling the trees. There were no clouds moving across the sky. Instead, Elston looked like a postcard picture. Unmoving. Stagnant. And the town was so tiny. Ramona could turn her head and see from one end of town to the other. Cramped apartment in a cramped town. And everything was the same! Ramona struggled to catch her breath again.

  Angelica's voice floated into the apartment. "I'm closing your back door, okay? You shouldn't leave it open like that."

  "It's hot!" Ramona shot back. She flipped off Angelica's voice.

  Angelica didn't hear or didn't care, because Ramona heard her porch door slam. God. Ramona wished that bitch would just die.

  * * *

  It wasn't that Garrett had forgotten why he'd left Elston. Not exactly. No, he had memories of the evening. Foggy, fuzzy ones, but memories. He remembered getting beaten up. He remembered bleeding on the pavement outside The Brass Frog, not being able to see anything, just hearing the sounds of feet hitting the pavement as his attackers scattered. And he knew that someone had told him to get out of town and never come back. He remembered that part. Actually, that part was pretty crystal clear. It was just before that. Before that, it got fuzzy. But he remembered earlier in the night clearly. In between, it was all a mess. Confusing. He remembered, earlier that night, being angry and deciding to get trashed. God. He'd been so angry.

  It hadn't been over anything monumental. He'd lost a job. He'd never expected the job to last forever. He hadn't even wanted that. But he'd wanted to leave on his own. Put in his two weeks, because he was headed for something bigger and better. Instead, he'd been fired. The boss had claimed that Garrett wasn't doing his share of the work. That he was slacking off. It was a lie. Starkey, that asshole, must have said that. Starkey always had it in for Garrett. It was Starkey who wasn't pulling his fair share anyway. He was a kiss-ass. He got what he wanted by saying what the higher-ups wanted to hear.

  After being fired, anyone would have been reasonably upset, but there was nothing reasonable about that night. Nothing reasonable about the way he'd behaved. Nothing reasonable about what he'd seen... Whatever, it was he'd seen... He couldn't quite remember it. Sometimes he dreamed about it. He'd wake up in a cold sweat, bed sheets tangled around his limbs. He'd thrash, trying to free himself from the sheets. From the images.

  God, what had happened?

  For the first time since pulling onto I-35 North in Austin, he began to think that coming back to Elston had been a very, very bad idea. But again, he'd had no real choice in the matter. He knew he was always welcome at his parents' house, and he had no money. After he arrived, he lay low for a while, not leaving his parents' house for any reason. But eventually, they began to question him. What were his plans? He certainly didn't plan on lying around their house for the rest of his life, did he? He was considering getting a job, wasn't he? And even if he weren't, the least he could do was help out around the house a little.

  So Garrett began to run errands, do laundry, and wash dishes. He had precisely wanted to avoid leaving the house, because his mother was a huge gossip, and he was sure that news of his return was all over town. But he couldn't come up with any reasonable excuses why he couldn't go to the grocery store for his mother. He didn't think she'd understand if he told her that there were a bunch of people out to get him. So he went, but he was certain that someone would see him and recognize him. The first few times he went on errands, he didn't see anyone he knew. He began to think, to hope, that all of them had left. This was a college town, after all, and it had been five years. It was long enough for all of them to have graduated and moved away.

  He became so hopeful that he dared to venture into town, to Elston's bar: The Brass Frog. Elston was a very small town, so it only had one proper bar. There were other establishments that served alcohol, but they all also served food and rarely stayed open past midnight. The Brass Frog had stained glass windows and old church pews set up around its tables. It opened into an outdoor garden, where there were more tables set up. In the winter, the garden was closed up, but it wasn't quite winter yet. The last breaths of warmth still lingered in the October air, so the garden's doors were open.

  It was Friday night, so The Frog was crowded. Being the only bar in town, it did a lot of business on the weekends. At one point, there had been two other bars in Elston, but they'd both gone out of business. In each case, the owners had shoved the profits up their noses. Garrett didn't even know where anyone got cocaine in this town, but it was apparently a big thing. He wasn't into it. He thought the drug was stupid.

  Garrett nudged his way towards the bar so that he could order a drink. He had to shout over the conversation and canned music, but the bartender got the message and brought him a cold Budweiser. He was about to go back into the garden. Inside the bar it was hot and the air smelled faintly of sweat. He thought the cool air would feel nice. But a girl approached him—long blonde hair, blue eyes. She was dressed in a peasant blouse and bellbottoms. A hippie chick. Elston was crawling with them. He wondered if she shaved her armpits. She was awfully pretty. Maybe he didn't care.

  "Hi," she said. "I don't know you. How is that possible? It's such a small town. I know everyone. But I don't know you. Are you visiting?"

  Garrett laughed. "Not sure, actually. I, uh, used to live here."

  "Really? Moving back?"

  "Maybe," he said.

  "It's the vortex," she said. "Am I right?"

  The vortex.

  –swirling bodies screaming mouths wide blood spattered white sharp teeth like pine needles gaping jaws snake fangs—

&nb
sp; "You okay?" said the girl.

  Garrett shook himself. "Fine," he said. He shouldn't have come to The Brass Frog. That was where he had been that night. And now he was having the nightmares again, but he wasn't asleep.

  "You don't look okay," said the girl. "Listen, I live just above The Holy Grind, next door. We could go up to my place if you want."

  Garrett shook his head. "Sounds nice, but I can't. I'm sorry."

  "Is it because you don't know me?" asked the girl. "My name's Angelica. I'm a Sagittarius. My favorite movie is Raiders of the Lost Ark . My favorite band is Rusted Root. I enjoy long walks on the beach and eating veggie burgers. There, now you know more about me than my own mother. You wanna come now?"

  Garrett grinned. "I have to admit, it's tempting, but I really think—"

  "What the flying fuck are you doing here?" A hand on his shoulder, a vicious whisper in his ear.

  Garrett stiffened. "—that I should go," he finished. He should have known he would never be so lucky. They hadn't graduated. They hadn't moved. They were still here. God, they were probably all still here. He wanted to shiver, but he couldn't. Instead, he turned slowly to face Owen.

  "That," said Owen, "would probably be a real good idea. In fact, you should just keep on going, right out of town."

  "What's your problem, Owen?" said Angelica. "Don't be such an ass."

  Owen glared at Angelica. "You don't have any idea who this is."

  "Sure I do," said Angelica. "We're close friends. His name is... What is your name?"

  "I'm leaving," said Garrett. "Don't worry." He shrugged Owen's hand off his shoulder and started for the door.

  "I told you never to come back here, Garrett," Owen yelled after him. "I warned you!"

  Garrett didn't look back, although he could hear Angelica in the background.

  "Omigod," she said, "is that Garrett Hillard? Well, why didn't you just tell me?"

  Outside the bar, the cool autumn air slid into his lungs like a swig of iced tea. He took a deep breath and rubbed his face with one hand. What the hell had ever possessed him to go back into that bar? He remembered Owen and his goons, their eyes blazing, surrounding him, their voices echoing off the stars—

  But that wasn't right. It couldn't be. His memory of that night was so disjointed. So strange. He'd been drunk. He'd been angry. So angry. And when he got angry...

  Well, when he got angry, nothing good ever happened. If he could only control himself, maybe he'd still have Carrie. Maybe he'd still have a life. But he couldn't control himself, and so he was here, in this godforsaken tiny town where people had threatened to kill him if he ever returned.

  "Garrett," said a voice. Soft. Honey coating a spoon. Melted butter drizzling French toast.

  He looked up. It was Blair Casey. He shook his head. "Blair..." he trailed off.

  "Did Owen see you?" Her voice was velvet.

  Garrett nodded, speechless.

  "Did he threaten you?"

  Garrett nodded again.

  Blair smiled sweetly. "Maybe I could make him back off a little, if I was sure that you wouldn't be saying anything about that night. You know what night I mean, Garrett?"

  — blood spatters red lips fangs sink split skulls swirls screams wide jaws —

  "I know what night you mean," said Garrett. His voice was hoarse.

  The curve of Blair's smile deepened. It wasn't quite so sweet anymore. "If I could just be sure, Garrett."

  Chapter Three

  The Halloween party was not held on Halloween, due to the fact that Halloween fell on a Wednesday that year, and no one wanted to have a Halloween party on Wednesday. The party was planned for the Friday before Halloween instead. The Halloween party wasn't called the Halloween party because it was the only Halloween party in Elston. On the contrary, there were many Halloween parties in the area, some actually occurring on the night of Halloween. But the Halloween party was the biggest Halloween party and the best known. Everyone went. Residents of Elston did not ask, "Are you going to the Halloween party?" They asked, "What are you wearing to the Halloween party?" or "Where are you going before the Halloween party?"

  Ramona often felt it was Elston's version of the Oscars. Everyone lined up to see what everyone else was wearing, and there were before and after parties. They didn't give out any awards or anything like that, but Ramona had always thought the awards part was really the most boring part of the Oscars anyway.

  Ramona was excited as she prepared for the party. Ramona was dressing up as Guinevere that year. It wasn't her best costume or her most elaborate. Her best year was the year that she was a succubus. She'd been really sexy that year in red lingerie and long press-on nails. She'd also been pretty scary. She'd enjoyed it. That costume had taken ages of planning and had wound up being really expensive when all was said and done.

  Admittedly, the Guinevere costume wasn't too shabby. She'd found a nice medieval looking dress—well, maybe it was a nightgown—at the Goodwill in Freeburg. And she'd found a really realistic-looking crown at the toy store in town. So, she looked good. But she'd thrown the costume together the weekend before. Last year, when she was the succubus, she'd been convinced it was her last year in Elston, so she'd spent weeks and weeks on the costume. But here she was, still in Elston. It was depressing, honestly. She needed to look into some grad schools. She needed to take her GREs.

  As she prepared for the party that evening, she realized that Halloween meant summer was officially over. She wasn't just taking a summer to decide her next move anymore. Now, she was taking a summer and a fall. It would be winter soon. The thought was enough to ruin Ramona's pre-party mood for an entire ten minutes.

  To distract herself, she went out on the porch for a cigarette. Angelica was there. She waved. "Hey!" said Angelica, grinning.

  Ramona squinted at her. That was weird. Angelica was never this friendly. "Hi," she said warily.

  "You need a light?" asked Angelica.

  "Um, thanks, but I've got one," said Ramona, lighting her cigarette. Had someone taken Angelica and inserted a look-alike robot in her place?

  "That's cool," said Angelica. "So, what are you gonna be for the party tonight?"

  "Um..." said Ramona "are you feeling okay?"

  "I'm feeling great," said Angelica. "Why?"

  "No reason," said Ramona. She stubbed out her cigarette without finishing it. Cheery Angelica was disturbing.

  It was just starting to get dark as she went back into her apartment. She didn't have much time to get ready if she wanted to meet Heather and Rick at The Frog for drinks before the party. Heather was her best friend. The two had roomed together sophomore year in the dorms and planned to get an apartment together the following year. But that summer Heather had met Rick, and the two had gotten married. Ramona frankly didn't get it. She didn't think it was a good idea for two people to get married after dating for two months. Hell, she didn't think it was necessarily a good idea for two people to get married after dating for two years—not if they were both twenty years old. Twenty was too young to get married. They hadn't even been able to drink legally. It was ridiculous.

  But Heather and Rick were still together and still apparently very much in love. They seemed to be so happy that it made Ramona sick. She had never been that happy. Not with a boy. Maybe with Ben it had been close, but her relationship with Ben had ended, so something must have gone wrong with it. Since Ben, Ramona had dated a few guys and had a few one-night stands, but nothing serious. It wasn't because she wasn't interested. She liked having a boyfriend. It was much nicer than being alone. She'd only had three boyfriends in Elston. Two her freshman year and Ben. She and Ben had dated for two years. She'd wanted to marry him and have his children. But Ben had been on his way out, and now she thought of him like a wistful dream. A beautiful memory that popped like a soap bubble when she tried to touch it.

  Ramona would have liked to be dating, especially dating Mason. But besides Mason, she sort of felt as if she'd really exhausted her res
ources here in Elston. She'd dated a little between boyfriends. Factoring those guys in, and the guys that her friends had dated, there wasn't much left. Elston was a very small town. The residents played their own game of six degrees of separation. Ramona could connect herself to anyone in town in six moves or less by figuring out who'd slept with whom. For instance, she had slept with Ben, who'd dated Katie, who used to be with Owen, who was Blair's boyfriend now. Or, she'd slept with Tucker, who'd slept with Mary, who'd slept with Alicia, who'd slept with Fiona. (Mary was bi. Alicia and Fiona were lesbians.) It was oppressive. All the more reason for her to get the hell out as soon as possible.

  She squelched the thought. If she was going to make it to this party, she had to stop thinking like this. This was a good night. It was the night of the Halloween party. It was one of the best nights in Elston, hands down. Of any night, this was the one she should be happy to live here.

  Ramona got into her costume and applied her makeup. She was a little late getting down to the bar to meet Heather, but when she arrived, Heather wasn't there yet anyway. Ramona got a drink, settled in at a table and waited. Finally, Heather appeared. She was dressed in a flowing white dress with a hooded cloak. She had drawn a half moon on her forehead, directly between her eyebrows. "What are you supposed to be?" Ramona asked Heather.

  "A Celtic priestess, duh," said Heather. "Sorry we're late."

  Rick waved from behind Heather.

  "Oh," said Ramona. "Duh." She rolled her eyes. Heather was way into New Agey, Wicca, ghost-hunter stuff. She was always pestering Ramona. Ramona should let Heather read her Tarot cards. Ramona should let Heather figure out her rising sign. It was maddening. Ramona wasn't into any of that stuff.

  She and Heather chatted, trying to catch up. Even though Heather lived in Freeburg, which was only a twenty-minute drive from Elston, the two rarely saw each other anymore. They had differing lifestyles. Heather was married and settled down. Ramona was still living like a college student. Well, sort of, anyway. She went out more than Heather did, for sure, but Ramona had discovered that it was a lot harder to go to work hung over than it was to go to class hung over. She didn't know why exactly. It probably had something to do with the fact she was working instead of just taking notes. But it sucked. She still went out fairly often, but she didn't stay out late, and she didn't drink much. She supposed that, despite her best efforts to the contrary, she was growing up.