Brooke & Ben: Before Fate Interrupted (2 page)

“Jesus Christ,
Tasha!” Brooke stepped back for a better look, heart jack-hammering in her
chest. “What happened?”

Tasha snapped
her watery gaze back to the front door like she had just heard something out on
the front porch. “Some sick fuck broke into my apartment.” She burst into tears
and buried her face in her filthy hands.

“What?” Brooke
and Mandy cried in unison.

She looked up,
fear swimming in her eyes, red scratches running the length of one cheek. Tasha
shook her head vehemently. Leaves fell from her long hair, now matted with what
looked like blood or oil, taking
dirty
blond
to a whole new level. “He killed the old couple across the hall and
tied me up. Took me to some garage or basement. I’m not sure.”

“Oh my God,”
Mandy said faintly, going to work on Tasha’s binds with shaky hands.

Brooke blinked
back to reality as the cell phone on her dresser popped into her mind. “I’m
calling the police.” Her red boots beat a heated path to the bedroom she rented
from Mandy for three hundred and seventy-five dollars a month.

Tasha screamed
so loud Brooke tripped over her own feet and stumbled. She caught herself
against the hallway wall and whirled to see Tasha bending over and howling with
laughter.

“What the hell?”
Mandy took a few steps back like Tasha might be infected with some kind of
contagious virus.

Tasha straightened
up and flipped her tangled hair back, pointing at them with a grimy finger.
“You should’ve seen the looks on your faces!”

“What is wrong
with you?” Brooke stomped back over, face pinched with anger.

Mandy pressed
her lips together until they turned white. “God, Tash, you scared the shit out
of me!”

“That’s the
point, Mandy. It’s Halloween. Remember?”

Brooke traded an
uneasy look with Mandy before taking a closer look at Tasha’s getup. “I thought
we all agreed on sexy costumes this year.”

Tasha’s smile
dissolved. “You can see my bra, Brooke. Hello?”

“What are you
supposed to be?”

Irritation
settled into the corners of Tasha’s bloodshot eyes. “I’m a scream queen.”

They stared
blankly at her in the dumbfounded silence that followed.

Tasha raised her
brow. “Ya know, the hot damsel-in-distress who always gets tied up and tortured
in slasher flicks.”

Their
expressions remained unchanged.

“Sexy and
seductive but attainable to the average guy.”

Mandy and Brooke
stared at her with matching looks on their faces.

Tasha let out a
defeated breath. “No?”

“No,” Mandy
said, pointing at Tasha’s costume. “And that is not
sexy
. It’s gross.”

“You’re gross.”

Brooke laughed.
She had known Tasha since the third grade and the girl still managed to
surprise Brooke at every turn along the way. “Hey Mandy, tell Tasha about your
new boyfriend.”

This time Tasha
was the one to look surprised. “What boyfriend?”

Mandy clasped
her hands together and held them to her chest. “I am so excited for you guys to
meet him tonight! He is such a sweetheart.”

“Since when have
you had a
boyfriend
?”

Mandy shrugged. “Not
long.”

“No, I mean tell
Tasha about his...”

“Punch anyone?” Mandy
asked, cutting Brooke off with a heated glower and heading back into the dining
room.

“Oh my God,”
Tasha muttered, following close behind, hands bound before her. “Does he have a
Chiquita dick?”

“No, he doesn’t
have a
Chiquita dick
.” Mandy scooped
some fog into a plastic cup and handed it to Tasha.

“It’s a fire
hose with tats.”

Tasha took the
cup with both hands, her dubious gaze bouncing from Brooke to Mandy. “No way.”

The hint of a devilish
grin pulled on Mandy’s shiny lips that were just as red as the rest of her.
“You have to promise not to tell anyone.”

Tasha reeled her
jaw back in. “Tattoos of what?”

Mandy passed a
cup of swirling vapor to Brooke and poured herself another round. “I’m not
sure; I didn’t get the best look. But I know I saw something green.”

Tasha frowned.
“That doesn’t sound good.”

“Maybe he’s a
porn star,” Brooke said. “I once saw a guy who bedazzled his entire shaft.”

Tasha and Mandy
screwed up their faces.

Brooke nodded
and tipped the cup back, sending smoky streams trickling down her cheeks.

Tasha shook her
head to clear it. “Wait, you already had sex with this guy?”

“No, I didn’t
have sex with him.”

Brooke coughed
into her fist. “Hand job.”

Tasha’s eyes
widened. “I don’t believe it! You don’t start giving out hand jobs until the
seventh date.”

“Eighth,” Brooke
corrected out the corner of her mouth.

Mandy shrugged.
“What can I say? He’s a keeper. And I think he feels the same way about me.”
She smiled, staring off through faraway eyes. “Least I hope he does.”

“Awww,” Brooke
cooed softly. “I’ve never heard you talk like this about a guy before.”

Tasha laughed. “Yeah,
usually she can’t get past their shoes. Eventually, the wrong pair comes out.”

Mandy held up a
finger, a correction on the tip of her tongue. “Would you date a guy who wore
flip-flops?”

Tasha shrugged.
“Depends.”

“Out to dinner
at a nice restaurant?”

“Probably not.”

Brooke flipped
her long brown hair over a bare shoulder. “Never date a guy who wears sandals.
Ever. Sandals are for girls and Jesus.”

Tasha took a
cautious sip, her eyes darting around the house. “So where did this
hand-job
happen?” She looked down to her
purple high heels – stained with mud. “Am I stepping in the scene of the crime?”

Mandy nodded to
the living room. “On the couch.”

Brooke’s face
crumbled. “My couch?”

“How much came
out?”

Mandy stared dreamily
at the smoke oozing over the rim of her drink. “A lot. Maybe a half gallon or
so.”

“Oh great,”
Brooke grumbled, knocking her drink back.

“I could have made
a popsicle stick house with all that stuff.”

Tasha and Brooke
made similar sounds of disgust and took a step back like Mandy could still get
some of it on them.

“No, make that a
popsicle stick
mansion
.”

Tasha held up a bound
hand that pulled the other up with it. “Okay, I think we get it.”

“You owe me a
new couch.” Brooke sharpened her gaze. “Where’m I supposed to sit now?”

Mandy waved her
off with a dismissive hand and went into the kitchen. “Nothing got on your
couch.” She opened the fridge, where rows of beer bottles lined the brightly
lit shelves inside, leaving little room for anything else. She turned back to
them with a bright smile. “So, who’s up for some tapioca pudding?”

The three burst
into giggles and Mandy hoisted her cup into the air.

“Here is to a night
we will never forget, my sexy bitches.”

They clicked
their cups together and sent the punch down the hatch, a night of wild
expectations dancing in their heads during the calm before the storm.

Chapter
Two

Brooke pressed
up against the hallway wall to let Borat and a short werewolf pass by, the pungent
smell of marijuana floating from them in a green mist. The sound of alcohol
infused conversation walked her to the closed door at the end of the hall.
Paparazzi
faded to an end on the living
room stereo and a massive burst of laughter quickly took its place. Relief
swept across her like a cool rain on a hot summer’s day when she found her bedroom
door still locked. A loud groan from behind drew her attention just before the
latest Justin Timberlake tune sprang to life. Mandy’s bedroom door was wide
open. Light from the master bath painted a bright stripe across the darkened room.

The groan came
again. This time louder. No, not a groan. Choking. Her brain conjured up an
image of a deranged masked man strangling one of her best friends in the
bathroom, perhaps some poor girl Brooke didn’t even know. Bravely, she stepped
into the bedroom and found the light switch, but decided against it just before
flipping it on. The darkness was her friend, shielding her from detection. Her boots
shuffled across the carpet. Quietly. One after the other as the choking noises
grew louder.

Brooke peeked
around the edge of the door and scrunched her face up. “I told you this would
happen.”

Tasha looked up,
holding Mandy’s long locks away from the vomit shooting into the toilet bowl,
her face warped with repugnance. “Where have you been? She is so sick.”

Brooke folded
her arms across the gold emblem covering the top of her corset. “I see that.”
She grimaced when the smell slapped her like an invisible hand, the music
rattling the bathroom walls. “She hasn’t eaten anything all day.”

Mandy’s body
shuddered as a case of the dry heaves ran its course. “I had a grafe,” she
slurred, staring into the toilet.

Brooke felt a
gag coming on and looked away. “One whole grape?”

Mandy inhaled a
wet sounding breath and didn’t reply, her hands shaking on the toilet bowl,
driving the porcelain bus.

“I think she’s
done,” Tasha said. “Let’s get her to bed.”

Brooke bent down
and pulled Mandy’s limp arm around her shoulders and lifted. “Where’s your
boyfriend when ya need him, huh?” she said, struggling with Mandy’s dead weight.

Mandy’s bare
toes dragged across the carpet. “He’s robably dead.”

“Oh that’s a
happy thought.” Tasha grunted as she carefully set Mandy onto her bed.

“Had to beef in a
car accident.” She sat on the edge of the bed, wavering slightly, her eyes
little more than vapid slits. “Why else wouldn’t he come?” She didn’t wait for
an answer and fell backwards onto the bed with a light bounce.

Brooke and Tasha
swapped glances and then Tasha snapped a picture of Mandy.

“If you post
that on Facebook, I will kill you.”

The screen lit
up Tasha’s grinning face as she examined the picture. “I would never do that!”
She laughed a little and slipped the cell back into her jeans.

Heavy bass
rattled the pictures on Mandy’s walls. Another round of hilarity broke loose
out in the living room.

“What do we do
with her?” Tasha whispered.

“We can’t just
leave her here. It’s every rapist’s dream come true. Everyone’s wearing masks.”
Brooke tapped a finger against her lips, staring at Mandy’s listless body. “Let’s
put her in my room. There’s a lock on the door.”

Tasha frowned at
the suggestion. “What if we need to check on her?”

“It’s a key lock;
no one will get in. We’ll turn her on her side.”

Tasha glanced at
the doorway as a shadow splashed against the hallway wall where orange and
black streamers were hung with care. She turned back to Mandy and exhaled a
long breath that tickled the matted hair dangling in her face. “All this work
and she doesn’t even get to enjoy it.”

“Come on, let’s
get her up before she starts drooling.” Brooke grabbed an arm and lifted Mandy
to her feet with Tasha’s help.

“Izzy here yep?”
Mandy squinted in the hallway light.

“Yep, he’s
here.” Tasha adjusted her grip while Brooke dug a key from her corset. “We’re
taking you to him right now and he’s already butt-ass naked.”

“Oh good,” Mandy
said, nodding off before Brooke even got the bedroom door unlocked.

***

Sexy vixens and
scary ghouls dotted the living room like animated gravestones, some dancing to
the music but most just talking about their day or what they did the night
before. Brooke exchanged pleasantries with people she knew and some she didn’t,
stopping to gush over their wonderful costumes, the patio door calling her
name. Her lungs craved fresh air and she made a mental note to lay off the
Spiderlicious punch, wondering if it was really
that
strong or if somebody had roofied it. One thing was for sure:
its bite was worse than its bark. After a quick laugh with a pirate and his
fair maiden, Brooke moved on to a handsome Roman gladiator before excitedly
hugging it out with a voluptuous witch named Sandra whom she hadn’t seen in
ages.

Brooke’s hand finally
found the patio door handle. She could almost feel the cool evening air rushing
over her before pulling the sliding glass back. It felt even better when she
did. She stepped outside and slid the door shut on its track, muffling the
music inside and leaving a far off ringing in her ears. Brooke inhaled a crisp
breath of night air and set if free, feeling better already.

“Evenin, mam.”

She startled a
little and turned to the overly pasty Abraham Lincoln, who had apparently lost
a recent battle with a dominant vampire. A log popped in a nearby fire pit,
sending shadows jumping across his long overcoat.

“You scared me.”

The tall man
took a step back and tipped his top hat to her. “Apologies, my lady, it was not
my intention to frighten you. I pray you will forgive me.”

Her eyes wandered
from the mole on his face to the bite marks in his neck. “Wow, your costume is a
shoe-in to win our contest. It’s the best I’ve seen all night.”

Abe leisurely flicked
a cigarette butt into the fire and grinned, revealing a pair of pointed fangs -
stained red with food coloring (at least Brooke hoped it was food coloring). “In
the end, it’s not the years in your life that count. It’s the life in your
years.”

Brooke twisted
her head to the side. “Sounds good to me, sugar.”

Abe leaned in
closer and stroked his beard, Marlboro Reds floating from his breath. “Four
score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new
nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all
vampires are created equal.”

A short laugh tumbled
from her lips. She wagged a finger at him. “Oh, you’re good. You are deep in
character. I like that.”

His confident
smile quickly retreated for parts unknown, making way for the distress sliding
down his face. “Did I say
vampires
? I
meant
men
.”

She giggled. “I don’t
know, Abe, I think you might be one of them now.”

“I’m not. I
swear it upon all that is holy!” His long legs lumbered closer, black boots
shuffling across the patio tiles. He reached for her like a child wanting to be
picked up and consoled. “Please, I’m just so damn…
thirsty
.”

Brooke rubbed
the spot on her neck he was staring at. She thumbed inside. “Have you tried the
punch?”

His eyes thinned
and, after a moment, he backed up a little. “And what is a lovely young lady
such as yourself doing out here all alone on a festive night like this?” He gave
her skin tight costume the once over, slowly licking his lips as his eyes
rounded her hips. “And in such an…inviting garment ta boot.”

“Just needed a
breath of fresh air. Too smoky in there.”

He stumbled
closer and raised a finger into the air. “If I may be so bold,” he began, peering
down her corset.

“I’m with
someone.”

His eyebrows dipped
below his hat. “How…unfortunate.” He studied her in the flickering light,
gently grinding his teeth as he mulled things over. “Very well, my lady.” With
a tip of the hat, he opened the patio door and turned back to her one last time.
“I pray we meet again under more…auspicious circumstances.”

“Behave yourself
or I’ll call the Salvatore brothers.”

His face wrinkled,
complimenting his aged attire.

“Never mind.”

He tipped his
hat again and left her to her thoughts, deadening the music when he shut the
door.

Brooke couldn’t
stop a laugh and turned back to the crackling fire once again. She drew in another
deep breath of October air, taking a peaceful moment to enjoy the bright stars
above. The clear night made them seem closer, like she could reach up and prick
her finger atop one of their sharpened points. She released the breath and
lowered her gaze to the shadowy figure standing in the backyard. Her heart
lurched into her throat. Brooke craned her neck forward and squinted through
the night, the sliver of moonlight offering little help. The person stood with
their back to the house, silent and motionless, staring off into the trees and
bushes dividing the backyards.

Then it hit her.

“We have two
bathrooms inside, ya know.”

The figure
didn’t move and Brooke could tell by its size it was a
he
.

She raised her
voice. “Hello?” She turned her head slightly and waited for a reply that never
came. A light breeze swept past, leaving goose bumps on her arms in its wake. The
music seemed to fade further away and suddenly she felt alone, her pulse
thumping in her ears.

“You’re not very
funny.”

Still nothing.

She folded her
arms across her chest. “Or scary,” she lied, rubbing the cold from her arms.
“Creep,” she muttered, turning for the glass door.

She stopped as a
red dot pierced the darkness. The figure took an intrepid step forward and
Brooke’s adrenaline spiked when she realized he had been facing her all along.
The fire pit popped and Brooke flinched. The man kept coming. Her gut told her
to run back inside the house and lock the door. Her curiosity, however, told
her to stay put. When the silhouette entered the fringes of the fire’s jumpy
light, Brooke’s chest finally loosened.

“Oh good, it’s
just Leatherface.” She chuckled nervously, studying the man’s grotesque mask
and fake blood covering his butcher’s apron. “Nice costume.”

Leatherface’s
boots came to a full stop on the patio tiles. He stood without speaking, his
dark eyes reflecting the jittery flames. His head tilted to one side as he
studied her with an inquisitive stare, sizing her up from top to bottom. A dog
barked off in the distance, starting a chain reaction in the surrounding yards.

Brooke ignored
the way her heart was hammering against her ribcage. “Wow, do you ever shut
up?”

Silence was her
answer. She swallowed dryly, trying to hide the shiver running through her.

He came closer,
and extended a gloved hand.

Brooke hesitated
before taking the smoking joint pinched between his fingers. “Well, if it’s
going to be that kind of a party…”

“I’m Roger.”

Her eyes jerked
to the hole in the mask where that smooth voice had slithered from, the cherry
glowing brighter as she sucked from the other end of the joint. She passed it
back, glancing at the blood and dirt covering his dress shirt’s long sleeves.
“So you do talk? For a minute there I thought you were the real deal.”

Roger took the
joint and blew ash from its end. “Better to remain silent and be thought a fool
than to speak out and remove all doubt.”

Brooke narrowed
her gaze, smoke seeping from her lips.

His chin jerked
to the patio door. “Abraham Lincoln.”

“Ah, I see. And
did he tell you that one or did you know it all by yourself?”

A smile flashed
across the hole in his mask. “Fifth grade history.” Roger took a quick hit and
passed it back to her.

She waved him
off and took a drink from the bottle of water in her hand.

His gaze hitched
on the rounded tops of the breasts peeking over her top. “Good Lord, you have
the best pair of…” He looked back up. “
Eyes
I have ever seen.”

She stared
blankly at him and then batted her lashes. “Shoot, these old things?”

His grin
resurfaced. He removed a glove and offered his hand. “I’m Roger.”

Her eyes dropped
to the hand and hovered. The fire popped extra loud. “Brooke,” she said, taking
his hand. “And I think we already did this part.”

“Did we?” he
asked, gripping her hand even tighter when she tried taking it back.

“Do you know
Mandy?” Her gaze searched the holes in the mask, trying to put a face with the
name and voice.