Black Adagio (12 page)

“I'm sorry,” she mumbled.

“Sorry about what, Melissa?” Collette asked. Sitting down, she put a protective hand on her shoulder.

“I shouldn't be telling you this, but that thing about the drinking set me off. You see, m-my mother was an alcoholic,” she whispered, her reply drifting off into the sound snow makes when it falls.

“I can't hear you, Melissa,” Collette replied. Trying to follow Tina's lead, she was being conciliatory and not confrontational.

“I said my mother was an alcoholic,” Melissa clearly enunciated, meeting the eyes of every one of the girls surrounding her. Something clicking, she was tired of walking only in the shadows. It was now or never. “It's why I don't drink. Ever. Because I don't want to be like that bitch.”

The severity of the statement caught her friends by surprise. Not entirely understanding, they collectively recoiled from the expletive. After all, women responsible for a child’s birth were revered—not rejected.

“That must have been tough,” came the small voice from the girl willing to put herself in Melissa's shoes.

“Thank you, Tina, it was.”

“Just know that we're here for you,” was Tina's heartfelt reply. Leaning forward, she gave her a hug.

“Yes, we are,” Collette agreed, turning and wrapping her arms around her quiet friend.

“Yup! All of us!” Brandi cried, joining in the session of bonding. Jumping on top of the two girls, the thin tulle of her costume covered them in a lilac’s gauzy haze. “Just don't bend the wings!” she warned with a light laugh.

Collette picked up on the challenge. Tipping the rising star of Velofsky’s over on her back, a gleeful malice appeared in her green eyes. Taking the left wing in her hands, she threatened to twist it into a pretzel shape, Brandi screamed in mock horror. The previous solemnity disappeared under another round of giggles—this one reaching the inquisitive ears of the demon listening outside their door.

Chapter
Thirteen

The crush of leaves under their feet heralded their arrival. A tribe of young adults circled an orange blaze like crows around a stalk of corn; the party was in full gear. The four girls were greeted rambunctiously by boys that had partnered them as if they were fine china. Formerly restrained by decorum and rules of etiquette dictating professionalism, the young men were now free of any such burdensome restrictions. Inhibitions gone, their libidos were soaring. Swigging mouthfuls of beer, they eagerly rushed towards the quartet like cats ready to pounce on favorite toys. Eyeing the young ladies, their romantic leanings were hotly shining in their bright eyes.  

“Meh-lee-ssah!” intoned Kurt. Nighttime the right time for love, he swept her up into his arms, covering her in his long black cape. “And how is my little pussycat tonight? Feeling frisky?”

Collette beat him soundly on his back with the bristles of her broom.

“Hey, Dracula, keep your teeth to yourself or I'll turn you into a toad or something!” she playfully threatened.

Kurt was one of the few boys that Melissa didn't mind being around. Tall and handsome, he showed great potential as a dancer. The firelight adding a delightful mystery to his face, his ash blond hair blew gently in the cool breeze. The fake incisors and painted on arched brows hilarious, if no one were around, she'd have been tempted to christen their relationship with a quick kiss.

“I shall put you down to dance another day, my little kitten,” he cooed, planting a smooch on her cheek. The autumnal air cooling the spot that was now moist with promise, he ran his finger along her face, kissing the tip of her nose. “See you later, pretty Missy.”

Gobbled back up by the pack of his friends, the departing horde let out loud whoops in the air.

“My God, you're a man magnet,” observed Collette. “We might as well have dropped dead for all he cared.”

“What can I say?” Melissa replied, playing along and hitting a seductive pose. “Is it me? Or my whiskers?” she asked stroking her cheeks lined with thin black lines.

“Hi, Collette, Brandi.”

Able to recognize that voice anywhere, it was Zoe. Justin accompanying her, Missy tried not to let the nasal whine get to her. The meeting was bound to happen, but even if inevitable, there was just something about this skank that crawled under Missy’s skin.

“I love all your costumes,” she continued, striking the exact note of Nero’s violin, “but, Melissa, why on earth did you want to dress up like a rat? Not getting enough of being a rodent in our little dance extravaganza?”

The flush of humiliation spread over Missy’s alabaster skin, spilling like red paint on marble. About to say something, someone beat her to it.

“She's a freakin' cat, you smart ass bitch! Now back off and go haunt a crypt! It's where I hear you and Justin like to do it!”

A quick look confirmed that her defender was Kurt. Her knight in shining armor had come back with a vengeance. Casting a grateful glance, Melissa mouthed, “
Thank you
.”

Waiting a moment for Zoe to leave, she did so with flair. Pivoting, she took Justin and her French maid’s costume with her. The danger gone, Kurt performed a masterful bow.

“Now, if you'll excuse me,” he added.

Not about to let him get away without showing her gratitude, Melissa snagged a hold of his cape, rising up onto demi point. Pulling him down by his shirt collar, she planted a kiss on his cheek. Grinning widely, he ran back to his buddies who high fived him for being the first one at the party to get a kiss.

“Anyone want a drink? Brandi asked. “The cooler's over there.”

“Yeah! Hope there's some beer left,” Collette said, striding in the direction of the treasure chest of beverages. Ducking her head in, she pulled out a beer for everyone except Melissa.

“This okay?” she queried, handing her a diet cola.

“Sure,” Melissa replied. Pulling the tab she threw it into one of several giant trash bags that had been placed around the site. Music starting to flow through speakers, it attracted a crowd more than ready to move to something more primal than classical movements.

“Wanna dance, Missy?” Collette asked, taking a few sips of the domestic brew.

“Not really, but go ahead. I'll just sit here and watch,” she replied, nestling on a large downed tree.

“You don't mind?”

“Course not. Have fun,” she responded wistfully. Staring at the flames ascending and descending in an odd sort of ballet, she speculated on the reasons she wasn't joining the others. The fire spitting a response, she was afraid of intimacy. By taking herself out of the game before someone else did, she was preempting the rejection that was bound to occur. 

A creeping mist traveling through her veins, she was getting that feeling again ... the one that insisted she was being watched. Placing her forehead against her fingers, she wondered if she should look around. It was silly to allow a foolish impulse to dictate her actions. Besides, there were most likely people watching. There was no doubt that plenty in the crowd were engaged in scoping out the talent, but even after the rationalization, the sensation remained. The problem was that the observation didn’t feel random. It felt fixated, malevolent, and as black as night. 

“Hi, there.”

A barely male voice invaded her thoughts. It was Jeff—looking forlorn and uncomfortable. While she didn't harbor any romantic feelings, she didn't have any negative ones either.

“Hi, Jeff. Why don't you sit down?”

“Can I? I mean, is it alright? With you, I mean?”

God, he seemed so young! Just 18, kids grew up fast these days—or so she'd heard. Feeling a pang of sympathy for the polite Midwesterner, it wasn't his fault that he sucked as a dance partner.

“Sure, that's what I mean,” she answered, indicating the place to her side.

Reaching over, she added tinder to the fire. Quickly catching, she put on another log. On a night like this, she doubted anyone wanted the blaze going out.

The dancing had degraded from social to downright dirty. Both noting the lewdness, Jeff shrugged it off. His response was endearing and broke the barrier Missy had erected. Tepidly starting to chat about inconsequential things, the talk turned more personal as Jeff began to share his aspirations of becoming a top male dancer. Putting a marshmallow on a stick, she toasted it in the roaring flames as he poured his heart out.

“Do you think I could make it?” he asked.

“Why not?” she replied, gingerly touching the too hot scorched skin.

“What about as a partner? Am I any good?”

With the help of the wind, the charred surface cooled enough for a sampling. Nibbling, she pulled out a small bit, letting it melt in her mouth. The confection was absolutely delicious.

“Well?”

He wasn’t about to let the subject drop. Debating about what she should say, she definitely wasn’t one to give people false hopes, but she didn't feel in any position to be passing judgment on someone's skills either.

“I think you have potential, but a little rough around the edges. It happens when you start late, but you’ll be fine with a little more practice.”

Hanging his head, he rubbed his eyes, a wry smile turning his frown upside down.

“Fair enough. You know, I like you Melissa. You're not like the other girls. You seem so mature for your age.”

“You  mean old?” Biting more deeply, she was rewarded with plenty of gooey, white sugar.

“Old? No, you look young. Real young. It's just you've got this sophistication about you. And I don't know why you didn't get Clara, or one of the other solos.”

“Thanks, that makes two of us,” she remarked sarcastically, her buddies interrupting the faltering conversation. Since they were back for a breather, Jeff took his leave, excusing himself.

“He didn't have to do that,” Tina remarked.

“Oh, yes, he did!” Collette joked, snapping her fingers.

The music suddenly deadened as the voice of Bradley Sachs harkened the partygoers to listen. Acting as an informal master of ceremonies, his ring master’s costume was perfect.

“Okay, fellow Zelofskyites! According to my moon dial, it's a couple hours to go until midnight and the perfect time for a ghoulish tale or two. So gather ‘round, pilgrims. You're about to be scared into such a state of hysteria that your parents will be paying for therapy for years. Now who wants to go first?”

Collette squeezed in next to her. Giving Tina and Brandi enough room, they happily co-existed on the huge log. The rest of the students crowded around the tree stump designated for the storyteller.

Hands shooting up all around, Bradley picked Gwen to begin. A small girl, she packed a powerful jump in her dance arsenal. Bending down, he picked a long stick off the ground.

“Okay, this is a talking stick. Whoever holds the stick gets to talk. Whoever
doesn’t gets to listen.” Swiveling, he handed it to her. “When you're done, pass it on.”

Trotting over to the refreshments, he snatched an ale and claimed a seat next to his best buddy, Kurt. Gwen started. Her voice tremulous and shaky at first, it got better as she went along. Imparting her creepy tale about the strange doings at her hometown cemetery—it was a place where bodies didn't remain buried for long.

Putting her soda down, Missy rested her head on Collette’s shoulder. An owl flying overhead, it perched on a nearby branch of a poplar. His hoot added just the right ambience. Justin headed over to join his male compadres leaving Zoe alone. Standing awkwardly, she waved to Brandi who reciprocated. Taking it as an invitation she carefully wended her way through the crowd. With no more room on the downed tree, she sat on the ground. Doing her best to ignore the relocation, Melissa refused to be distracted by her negative presence. Although only separated by Collette’s trim body, she chose to be entertained by the tale, and not angered by the provocateur. 

Gwen finished to a rousing round of applause. More speakers taking their turns, the stories were building in intensity. Thoroughly enjoying herself, Tina was next. Feeling her throat becoming parched, Missy reached for her soda. Misjudging its distance, she almost knocked it over. Taking a few fast gulps, she resettled, listening to her friend’s retelling of her cousin's exploits. Breaking the cardinal rule of never going down in the basement with a faulty flashlight, it was something no one should ever do when alone.

Tina's story was a unanimous hit. Wondering how much of it were true, the cold was starting to get to her. Zipping her jacket up all the way, she snuggled closer to Collette. Yawning, she began to feel a bit tired. Remembering that cola contains caffeine, she took a few more fast sips of the soda. Looking up, she was surprised to see that Zoe had possession of the talking stick. While the troublemaker loved being center stage, she would have never pegged her for a teller of eerie tales. Supposing there was always a first time for everything, she yawned again, ready to hear another frightening object lesson of what happens to idiots crossing paranormal boundaries on Halloween.

A strong wind whistled through the trees. The light of the fire highlighting Zoe’s beauty, the branches swayed. Dried leaves falling, faint rustlings echoed in the woods. This was the scary place that Melissa had wanted to avoid, and yet, here she was sitting in the center of it. As Zoe began, a sense of paranoia was growing—the arm of her friend draped over her shoulder helping to calm her down.