Epiphany (Legacy of Payne) (2 page)

Techno music blared from every speaker, and like most popular bars, breathing room was a luxury. A kaleidoscope of masked faces whirled around me as I inched through the sea of bodies, amazed at what some people called dancing.

Six was nowhere to be found. I hadn’t seen her since she’d dragged a tattooed guy onto the dance floor fifteen minutes ago, already drunk on some blue concoction. Sweat and alcohol wafted in the air, a reminder of another night—one I’d spent the last few months trying to forget. I balled my hands as the room blurred.

Coming here was a bad idea.

“Watch out!” someone yelled after I’d stepped on a foot.

Sweat trickled down my hairline, and I blinked rapidly as the walls imploded on me. Spotting the women’s restroom a few feet away, I mustered an apology and hurried inside. The room was blessedly empty. I tore off my mask and stared into the dingy mirror, breath coming in shallow gasps as I willed my pulse to slow down. It still hadn’t returned to normal when the door squeaked open behind me.

“Hey!” a woman shouted as she stumbled in with a crash. “You fucked up my shoe. Sorry ain’t gonna cut it.”

I froze, recognizing Christie’s reflection despite the mask she hid behind. Out of all the toes I could have crushed, they would have to be hers.

Christie’s dark eyes widened. “Why haven’t you slithered back to your hole yet?”

I straightened my spine and turned to confront her glare. “I told you I wasn’t going anywhere.”

She smirked. “You don’t belong here. Everyone knows it.” Her gaze traveled to my toes and back up again. “Dressing like me. Trying to 
be
 me.” She tsked-tsked. “So pathetic.”

“This isn’t about you.” I paused, trying to think of a way to make her understand. “I had no idea when I came here. I didn’t know.”

Christie’s face twisted, and her fingers bunched into fists. “He wasn’t your father!”

“According to the whole damn town he was.” I clamped my mouth shut and went to move past her. Last thing I needed was another argument with Christie Beckmeyer. Who would’ve thought I’d discover a sister just to have her hate me?

She blocked my exit at the last second. “Your mom’s a slut. My dad wasn’t the only guy she screwed.”

“Get out of my way,” I said through clenched teeth, “unless one ruined shoe isn’t enough for you.” Just because I wasn’t speaking to my mom didn’t mean I’d let anyone else badmouth her. Christie must have seen something dangerous in my eyes because she stepped to the side and let me pass. I resisted the urge to throw something as I shoved through the crowd.

“There you are!” Six materialized in front of me, and something blue sloshed over the rim of her cup. “Why’d you take off your mask?” She shoved her drink into my hands before refastening the mask over my eyes. “Makes you mysterious. Now, bottoms up. You don’t look like you’re havin’ fun.”

“Six, I’m not really in the mood—”

“Oh,
noooo
you don’t. You need a drink. Loosen up already.” She bounced away and gestured for me to follow. “C’mon! There’s someone I want you to meet.”

My eyes wandered to the bathroom entrance, where Christie stood drilling me with her glacial stare. Wonderful.
 
I gulped down the alcohol and hurried after Six. “Who? Haven’t I met enough people tonight?”

“Darn, he disappeared,” she said as she coaxed me into the center of twisting bodies. “But let me tell you, this guy is 
hot
. And he’s a newbie in town like you. Fresh meat.”

We began dancing, or more accurately, Six danced. I two-stepped with the finesse of a Ping-Pong ball. “I’m not interested in dating,” I hollered above the music.

“I never said a word about dating.” She tossed me a glow-in-the-dark bracelet. Several people wore them—there were neon bursts of color bouncing all over the place. “You know what you need?”

I was afraid to ask. “What?”

“A hot and sweaty romp in the sack. No strings, no expectations . . .” She paused long enough to wiggle her eyebrows. “Just a little wrestling between the sheets. It’s good exercise.”

I needed that about as much as a tax audit, but I laughed despite myself. “You’re horrible!” The alcohol infiltrated my bloodstream with amazing speed. I couldn’t say how long we danced. Three songs? Four? Ten? By the time she pulled me to a less crowded corner of the bar, I’d gulped down another drink and my ability to walk straight worsened by ten degrees.

“What was in that stuff?” I asked her.

“What stuff?”

“The blue crap you gave me!”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she stated with a laugh. “There’s a reason they named it Adiós Motherfuck—”

“Okay,” I interrupted, “I get the idea.” The ceiling suddenly whirled in a nauseating spin. “Oh, shit. Be right back.” I covered my mouth and pushed through the crowd, making a beeline for the restroom. In my haste to escape inside, I tripped over a boot. Two strong arms reached out and grabbed me. And how did I thank my rescuer?

I barfed down the front of his brown leather jacket.

“Oh God, I am
so 
sorry!” I raised my eyes, initially surprised he wasn’t wearing a mask like everyone else, and then I gaped at him. His familiar mahogany eyes stared back, and the Earth halted, crashed into Jupiter for all I knew. In that moment nothing else existed.

I must be dreaming.

To test the theory, I dug my fingernails into my arm. Okay, not dreaming, but something wasn’t right. The blue drink from hell must produce hallucinations because the guy I’d dreamed about for years had his arms around me, and I was very much awake.

“Don’t worry about it.” He glanced down at his soiled jacket and winced. “I’ll live.”

I opened my mouth and willed a word out—any word—but couldn’t find my voice.

He lowered his arms and stepped back, watching me carefully as if he believed I might crumble to the floor. “You okay?”

“I’m okay,” I mumbled. 
Not okay. Not okay at all. I’ve finally succumbed to insanity.

His gaze fell to his jacket again. “I’ll be right back. I’m gonna grab some paper towels.”

As soon as he disappeared into the men’s restroom, I bolted.

My dreams held me prisoner in fragmented horror. Sound bites of tortured pleas . . . a flash of waves trailing down the naked curve of a woman’s back . . . rope securing bloodied hands and feet, circling a slender throat . . . the click of a lighter, its flames licking exposed flesh.

I wasn’t sure which turned my stomach more—the torture, or the endless screaming, reminiscent of a lobster boiled alive. The noose tightened around her neck, silencing her permanently. I willed my eyes open, but the dream wouldn’t let go. Another scene unfolded.

Masked faces crowding around me, pushing and shoving. Not much different from masquerade night, yet different in so many ways. These faces displayed an array of paint; ghoulish masks and costumes to match . . . sexy personas . . . ugly rubber monster faces.

In the middle of the funhouse chaos stood the man I’d dreamed about countless times. He turned away, but not before I glimpsed despair in his eyes. He staggered down the uneven sidewalk, heavy boots crunching over a layer of leaves as a blanket of fog surrounded us. The haze obscured the glow of the few jack o’lanterns that dotted the street, and I realized which night played out in my dream.

Halloween . . . still a week away.

He disappeared from sight, and I hastened my steps until I found him halfway down an alley where a dark figure attacked him. Blood spurted from his head in gruesome vividness, spattering the canvas of my mind in crimson.

I jerked awake, heart pounding as sweat and tears dampened my face, and rolled over to face the clock. Six-fifteen. I went over the previous night, searched through the haze of alcohol-influenced memories, and retrieved that first shocking moment when I’d come face to face with him. Had he really been there? Part of me wondered if I’d imagined the whole thing.

The eerie silence of my bedroom unnerved me almost as much as the nightmares. I missed the familiar noises of home—sounds I hadn’t realized were in the background until they were gone. The weekend party animals, laughing and occasionally singing or arguing, but always present every Friday and Saturday night. The early morning commuters humming along the highway. Anything to chase away the dreams.

They’d taken a frightening turn during the last few weeks. I didn’t want to believe they held any significance, but my track record with the bizarre was hard to discount. Since going back to sleep was futile at this point, I kicked off the covers and pulled on a pair of sweats. As I pushed my feet into my slippers, raised voices filtered in through the window I’d cracked open. I rushed outside and found Six standing in her doorway, a red satin sheet grasped to her chest.

“Get out of here!” She flung a shoe at her latest conquest. He ducked but didn’t quite manage to escape the shoe’s mate. “I mean it, Kevin!” A dark T-shirt joined the shoes.

“What’s your problem?” Glaring at her, he pulled the shirt over his tousled head of brown hair. I recognized him from last night. He’d been with another guy, and I’d placed them both into the hunky gym category. “You think you can do better than this, babe?” Kevin stepped back and spread his arms.

“I’m not your 
babe
.”

“What you are is
not worth it
.” He stomped toward Six and pulled a condom from his pocket. “For your next fuck,” he sneered, tossing it at her feet, “in case you find a willing moron.”

“You’re the moron!”

I rushed to Six’s side just as a black Toyota pickup jerked to a stop in the driveway. The other guy from the hunky gym duo hopped out and joined the drama. Judging by his damp, sandy blond hair and fitness garb, he’d come straight from the gym.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“I need a ride. The chick went psycho.”

Six growled. “I’ll show you 
psycho
, you sick fuc—”

“Calm down.” I placed a hand on her arm and addressed Gym Guy. “You need to get your friend out of here.”

A set of stunning blue eyes twinkled at me. “Sure thing.” He flashed a wide grin as he pulled Kevin toward the truck. “See you around,” he called out before hopping into the driver’s seat. Kevin sent one last glare in our direction as they left the driveway.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

Six nodded. “How much of that did you see?”

I bit back a smile. “Enough. You sure know how to start a day.”

“Sorry about that.” She ran a shaky hand through her bedroom hair.

“Did he hurt you?”

“No, nothing like that. Kevin’s a jerk.” She paused, and an impish grin spread across her face. “But damn if that man can’t use his tongue.”

“Not a good mental picture, Six.”

She laughed. “Sorry. Come in—least I can do is make some coffee.” She bent to retrieve the condom and the morning paper and then tossed them on the couch as she headed for the bedroom.

The studio was tiny, though she’d gotten creative with the space. A tall row of bookshelves sectioned off where she slept from the sitting area. Splashes of red added color—from the filmy curtain on the window in the living room to the throw pillows on her futon. She reappeared a couple minutes later wearing a black dress that swished against her ankles.

“What happened to you last night?” She switched on the coffee pot.

“Do you want the long story or the short?” I picked up the newspaper and joined her at the small dinette.

“Start with the short,” she said. “My attention span stinks before I’ve had coffee.”

I fiddled with the paper’s thin edges and thought about the previous night. “I kinda . . . puked all over this guy.” 
Not just any guy.

“You didn’t!”

“I did. Then I hightailed it out of there as soon as he went into the men’s room.” I pushed the paper aside and buried my face in my hands. “I am such an idiot.”

“And a lightweight.”

I lifted my head, indignant, but the teasing glint in her jade eyes pacified me.

“So what did he look like? Have you seen him at the Pour House?” she asked, referring to the tavern where we both worked as bartenders.

“No, never seen him before.” Not in the flesh anyway. I glanced at the headline on the front page, and the words jumped out at me:

Woman’s body found hanging near Diamond Lake.

* * *
 

The atmosphere at the Pour House remained unchanged, despite news of the murder. Customers ordered their usuals, laughed over a game of pool, and got obnoxious after drinking a few too many. The media hadn’t released the name of the victim yet, but I couldn’t help but dwell on her identity. I wondered if she’d had long and wavy hair like the woman in my dream. Had she been raped? Burned? The sick feeling in my stomach wouldn’t abate; it intensified as the night wore on.

“Anyone home in there?”

Startled, I met Six’s speculative gaze. “Sorry. I’m zoning again, aren’t I?”

“Wanna talk about it?” She wiped the counter, cleaning an already gleaming surface.

“No, I’m fine . . . just tired.”

Six nodded toward the front entrance. “Maybe Mr. Blond-and-Interested will perk you up.” She winked in typical fashion and dashed away as Kevin’s friend approached.

“I was hoping to find you here.”

I stifled a groan. “Hi.” His name escaped me, though his roving eye didn’t.

“I’m Brad.” He extended his hand. “You probably don’t remember me from last night.” His hand folded around mine, and an uncomfortable sensation settled over me.

“No, I remember,” I said, resisting the urge to squirm. “I’m surprised to see you here. I figured High Times was more your scene.” I moved a couple feet down the bar and picked up an abandoned glass. Ice cubes clinked together like wind chimes. Brad followed my every move.

“High Times is lacking in cute bartenders,” he teased. “I thought I’d drop in and say hello. You didn’t give me much of a chance last night, and after this morning, well . . . I didn’t want to leave under such bad circumstances. Kevin can be a real ass.”

I couldn’t help but wonder why someone so confident and good-looking would be interested in someone like me. Plain and boring . . . damaged. I suddenly felt out of place, much too jaded for my age and swimming in a sea of older, more experienced and interesting people.