Year's End: 14 Tales of Holiday Horror (13 page)

Nancy discovers there’s a mixologist at the bar. A tall, striking woman with sleek, dark hair and a sleek, silver sheath of a dress that hugs her curves, and chunky jewelry that somehow works. She says her name is Alyssa and she asks to see Nancy’s ID. Nancy shows it to her.

Alyssa looks carefully at Nancy’s driver’s license, then at her face. “Twenty-three. You look younger, but that’s you all right. Oh, hey,” she says, noticing the date. “Happy Birthday.”

“Thanks. It’s the day everybody parties along with me,” says Nancy.

Tonight’s signature drink is Midnight Ice. Nancy decides to try one, though event-based drinks are usually awful. In moments, Alyssa has whipped up a concoction made of Blue Curacao, Black Haus, and two kinds of gin with crushed goji berries and a basil leaf, finished with a squeeze of key lime over ice. “Stars?” she asks.

“Sure, why not?” Alyssa sprinkles tiny silver stars over the top of the drink, which turns out not to be awful. In fact, it’s surprisingly good.

Nancy sips her drink and scans the room. She hasn’t decided what comes next, who she might connect with. She’s relaxing into her drink, sensing the vibes in the room. The wait staff is carrying trays of Midnight Ice drinks and champagne to the guests along with hot hors d’oeuvres. Nancy has been too long inside the same skin—too long getting herself through college and into the job market.

“What’s the difference between a mixologist and a bartender?” Nancy asks.

“Well, to be a mixologist you have to be creative and invent drinks. I used to be a bartender. A lot of mixologists start out that way. I like to cook, and that’s useful too because I know how to combine ingredients.”

“Cool,” says Nancy. She senses a nudge on the edge of her perception and wonders if it’s Alyssa. Too soon to tell.

“Has anyone ever told you,” says Alyssa, “that you look kind of like Justin Bieber?”

“Yeah, I get that a lot.”

“No offense,” says Alyssa. “It’s a cute look for a girl.”

“Thanks” says Nancy with a laugh. She’s pretty sure that Alyssa has noticed her legs, not just her face. She decides to hang out at the bar and watch Alyssa, who moves with a graceful theatricality, mixing drinks and bantering with the guests. Disarming, that’s what Alyssa is, thinks Nancy, but there’s a hard core underneath. Nancy’s on her second Midnight Ice, gazing at Alyssa, who looks her way and gives a little start. “Sorry,” Alyssa says hastily. “For a second you reminded me of someone else.”

“I get that too,” says Nancy. “Mostly on New Year’s Eve.” She’s almost done with her drink when she senses a change in the room, a predatory probing from someone at the party—someone like her, or maybe not quite like her. Peter—it has to be. How the hell did he end up here, halfway across the country? Damn social networking—Chloe and her phone—that would have to be it. Nancy doesn’t use Facebook, she doesn’t tweet, but she can’t prevent other people from including her in their posts.

Nancy flattens herself into a quiet Emily, mousy and inclined to blend into the background. She had thought an anon party would be better than home, but it won’t be if Peter’s in the same room. Last time that happened it had taken years for her to get over it. Emily-Nancy keeps still inside. She doesn’t allow herself to react—no adrenaline rush, no stab of fear. Nothing to raise her visibility.

“Alyssa, take a break,” she says.

“What?” Alyssa is tidying up the work area behind the bar.

“No one’s waiting for a drink. I’ll pay you $100 to go to the bathroom with me.”

Alyssa sets down the cloth she was holding. “You did not just say that. I’m a legit mixologist with straight-up skills. What makes you think—”

Emily-Nancy gets a flash—a mental picture of Alyssa, hands cuffed behind her back as a cop walks her to a police car. “Two hundred. I’m not hitting on you, I’m being stalked and I need to get out of this room.”

“Restraining order?” A flash of sympathy—Alyssa has dealt with stalker types before.

“Wouldn’t help.”

“You’re probably better off in a crowd, but if you’re that freaked, sure, I’ll walk you to the bathroom. It’s about time for my break anyway.” Alyssa puts a Be Right Back sign up on the bar and picks up her bag. Emily-Nancy slides off the barstool and falls into step next to Alyssa. A human shield might work if she can get out of the room before he finds her.

“This way,” says Alyssa, leading Emily-Nancy past the nearest bathroom and down a hall. “I’ll take you to the one for the staff. We’re supposed to use this one out by the garage.”

They go into the bathroom and Emily-Nancy locks the door. “Is there someone you can call?” asks Alyssa.

“I didn’t bring my phone tonight. I didn’t want to talk to anyone from home.”

“If you’ve got a stalker you should always have your phone.”

“Chloe’s phone got me into this mess. Stupid social networking—everyone saying where they are and who’s with them—broadcasting it to the world.”

“So what are you going to do? Lurk in the bathroom all night? I could tell the boss and get this guy thrown out.” Alyssa checks her look in the mirror, smoothes her dress.

“I don’t know what he looks like.”

“It’s an online thing? Then how do you even know he’s here?”

“I just know, I can feel it. He was probing the room for me. I let myself relax. Thought he’d given up on me—it’s been years. But you have to believe me.” Emily-Nancy matches her breathing to Alyssa’s and tries to keep her heartbeat steady. Keep blending, she thinks to herself.

Alyssa gives Emily-Nancy a look. She freshens up her lipstick. “I walked you in here, but I have to get back to the bar.” She runs a comb through her hair, angles her head to see the back. “Why don’t I get your friend Chloe? Whoever this guy is, I bet he won’t bother you if you’re with a friend. Tell me what Chloe looks like and I’ll go find her for you.”

“No, please, don’t go,” says Emily-Nancy. She feels desperation rising inside of her, but she can’t tamp it down. “Stay here and keep me company—just for ten minutes—just long enough for me to collect myself.” Emily-Nancy digs in her clutch and pulls out her wallet. “Here’s a hundred,” she says, counting out twenties, and keeping one for herself. “I’ll get the rest to you after the party—I promise. I just have to hit an ATM.”

Alyssa raises an eyebrow. “Two hundred bucks for ten minutes? Either you’re very rich or I’m very good.”

“You’re very good. I can tell that you are, but that’s not what I need.” Emily-Nancy presses the money into Alyssa’s hand. Alyssa hesitates, shrugs, and sticks the bills into her purse. “Just hold my hand and look at me,” says Emily-Nancy, taking Alyssa’s hand. Strong hands. Probably an athlete. “At the bar, who did I remind you of?”

“Justin Bieber?”

“No, later on.”

“Oh, that,” says Alyssa. Her face softens. “Iris—my half-sister. Something about your expression.”

“Yes,” says Emily-Nancy. “Think about Iris.” Emily-Nancy closes her eyes. “She has almond eyes, right?”

“Yes, she did, but how do you know?”

“Just a guess, and there’s a gap between her front teeth.” Iris-Nancy opens her almond-shaped eyes.

Alyssa gasps and pulls back her hand. “Iris? It can’t be. How did you—?”

Iris-Nancy gets a flash, another memory. Iris is speaking, “Really, you’re going straight? No more trouble with the cops?” “Forward, never straight,” says Alyssa, and the sisters laugh. She’d stayed out of trouble ever since but it hadn’t saved Iris.

“Don’t be scared, Alyssa,” says Iris-Nancy.

“Your voice—it’s the same—but your face…”

“It’s my once-a-year chance, to become someone different,” says Iris-Nancy. “Not like at home. Not where everyone sees me the same and their seeing makes me stay the same. I tried to experiment once before. I was too young. We were in love, but it all went wrong. I got stuck in a bad place, and then when I tried to shift away from it—from him—well, I turned out with this Justin Bieber face and America’s Top Model legs. It sort of worked, and my family thought it was so funny that it stuck in their heads, which reinforced the pattern. This year I really wanted to do something different. To break away from the past.”

A sharp rap on the bathroom door startles both of them. Iris-Nancy shakes her head and holds a finger to her lips. The knock comes again. “Alyssa, if you’re in there, finish up. Break time’s over.”

“Almost done,” Alyssa calls out.

“It’s him,” Iris-Nancy mouths.

“Are you sure?” Alyssa mouths in return.

Iris-Nancy nods vigorously. Alyssa is pulling out her phone when the door is forced open. Hot-as-hell guy is standing in the doorway holding a gun. “Smile, Nancy,” he says with a wicked grin. “It’s your birthday.”

“No,” says Iris-Nancy, shrinking back. “Get away from me!”

“Put down your phone, Alyssa,” says Peter. “Don’t look so surprised. It was easy enough to find out your name—not like tracking down Nancy. That took some time.” Iris-Nancy gets a flash of Peter waiting for her to drive to college, following to find out where. Different face, different height—she’d never noticed him. He’d gone to her commencement ceremony, eavesdropped to find out where she got a job.

Alyssa sets her phone on the sink. Peter steps into the now-crowded bathroom, pushes the door closed behind him and leans against it. “Really, Nancy? A bartender?”

“Mixologist,” says Iris-Nancy.

“Whatever. Why would you pick up this…person when you know I can be everything that you want?”

“I don’t want you,” says Iris-Nancy.

“She didn’t pick me up,” says Alyssa. “She’s just scared. You don’t need a gun. Just tell us what’s on your mind. We’ll listen.”

“I’m sticking with the gun,” says Peter. “At least until midnight. After that it won’t matter.”

“Someone will come looking for me. People are going to want drinks.”

“It’s been taken care of. Alyssa had to go to the hospital—an accident with a broken glass. An occupational hazard of sorts. I had my driver take her.”

“Okay, so we’ll just hang out here until midnight then,” says Alyssa in a soothing voice. “That’s all you want—some company on New Year’s Eve, right?”

“No,” says Iris-Nancy. “You don’t understand. I can’t be in the same room with him.” Peter is staring at her. She feels tendrils of his will winding themselves around her mind. “He’ll make me be what he wants. He’ll make me want to please him.”

“Don’t take it so hard,” says Peter. “Look what I turned myself into. I saw you checking me out before you knew who I was. Just relax and go with it.”

“No!”

“You say no, but it doesn’t mean anything,” says Peter. He studies Iris-Nancy’s face. “I like the Asian look,” he says. “Not so much the gap between your front teeth though. And you could use some more boob.”

Iris-Nancy stares at him, her face a mask of hatred. The tendrils slide around her body, run across her breasts, urging them to be larger. “Fine,” she snaps. She won’t fight that. The breasts don’t matter. She needs to pace herself.

“What are you doing to her?” says Alyssa, staring at Iris-Nancy’s chest as her breasts go up a cup size. Are you
making
her boobs get bigger? Because you could totally make money from that.”

“No, she’s doing that to herself.” says Peter. “But I certainly appreciate it. You see, Nancy’s suggestible tonight, at least for another half hour or so.”

Iris-Nancy feels a wave of anger from Alyssa—a memory like a slap across the face—the shock of rejection for not playing by the rules, not squeezing herself into an expected role. “Nancy, fight back. Change him too. Make him be something else!”

“I can’t. It’s not his birthday. Peter, stop. Please stop.”

“Not yet. Just relax. You’ll like it by the end.” Iris-Nancy feels Peter’s personality washing over her in waves—a sick, twisted joy in power, of bending her to his will. It’s overwhelming her, erasing the edges of Nancy.

“Fight him,” says Alyssa, fists clenched. “Be Iris!” Iris seizes onto the sound of Alyssa’s voice like a handhold on the edge of a cliff. Iris drags a semblance of Nancy back into herself. She tries to nudge her breathing closer to Alyssa’s.

Peter shoots an appraising glance at Alyssa. “You want in on the action? Don’t get your hopes up. Nancy hardly knows you. And Nancy and I have an affinity of sorts, so anything I put out there is going to dominate anything that comes from you.

Iris-Nancy feels a wave of desire from Peter shot through with a dark strength, an aching need. She sees her own face through Peter’s eyes. The presents he bought her, how he had offered her everything, the rage that it hadn’t been enough.

“She wants to be Iris,” says Alyssa.

“Actually, I think Nancy has always had a secret desire to become a porn star,” Peter says smoothly. Iris-Nancy feels a sense of exhibitionism building in her body. Peter is impossibly attractive. They belong together. She wants to be with him, with him and with other men while he watches. “No,” she says. This she will fight. This is non-negotiable. She focuses hard on Alyssa—not her appearance, but her essence. She twists the tendrils from Peter—forcing them into a different shape—fashion—she wants to look good, wants to wear a different outfit every day—to display an image—a look, nothing deeper than that, nothing intimate. She heaves a shuddering sigh.

“That’s my girl,” says Peter, a look of triumph on his face.

“She’s her own girl,” says Alyssa.

“Shut up,” says Peter.

Iris-Nancy-Alyssa digs deep inside herself. She’s been missing something since she took this job—flowers. Back at college Nancy used to run a long loop in the spring just so she could smell them, freesia in the day, and night blooming jasmine edging into summer. She misses the scent like Alyssa misses Iris—a sweet girl who died too young. No not Iris. She needs to be something stronger, something hard as stone. She feels her body and her psyche shifting, combining in new ways. She seizes the tendrils from Peter, follows them to their source and yanks them out by the roots. With a shift, they wind their way into her veins, slide along her spine. A new identity—she needs a new name to go with it, something beautiful and strong. Jade. The name echoes inside her mind.

Peter’s eyes widen. “Nancy,” he says, his voice breaking. “Undo it all—everything I said. There’s still time.” He looks at the gun in his hand, sets it on the sink next to Alyssa’s phone. “Nancy, I’m so sorry.”