She’s right, I got nothing. I push out of my chair, grip the table for support, then head to the back of the club.
I bang through the men’s room door, and she follows me, then hops up on the counter and spreads her legs. “C’mon, what are you waiting for?”
I move between her legs, catching my reflection in the mirror over the counter. The same sunken eyes, same sallow complexion, and fuck-you attitude.
I jump back.
“What the fuck is the matter with you?” she asks.
I point to the mirror. “It’s him.”
“Who?”
My heart ricochets against my ribs, and I can’t catch my breath. “My father.”
“Get me outta here.” I turn away from the image and face the Grim Reaper. “This can’t be happening. Please, I’ll do anything you say to make this better.”
The Grim Reaper fades into the background.
“Don’t leave.” I reach out to him. “Not until you tell me what to do.”
A gust of wind swirls around me, and he’s gone.
“Help me. Don’t leave me here. I don’t know what to do,” I mumble into the darkness. “I don’t know what to do.”
I shift, then startle awake and almost fall off the couch. I’m panting, air sawing in and out of my lungs. My skin is clammy. Anxiety and dread grip my insides. When I’m able to focus, I see the sun peeking over the mountains in the distance.
I still have a chance. All I have to do is tell Cheryl how much she means to me. Tell Portia how sorry I am that I let her down.
I can do this. I can make everything different. I can make everything right.
I jump off the couch, whip open the sliding glass door and enter the empty kitchen. I go from room to room on the first floor, but there’s no one. I check my watch. It’s late morning. Cheryl and Portia are always up by now. My heart bangs against my ribcage, fear twisting my gut.
I race up the staircase and barge into Portia’s room. She’s sleeping peacefully, and my body relaxes. I pull the covers over her, and when I lean in and kiss her forehead, she disappears. I yank back the sheets, and the bed is empty. I search the room, but I’m alone.
I stumble down the hallway to my bedroom, then sit on the edge of the bed and watch Cheryl sleeping. Soft, easy breaths expand and contract her chest. I rest my hand on her shoulder, and she vanishes into thin air.
Just like Portia. They’ve evaporated under my touch.
I check our bathroom—empty—then fling open the closet door. My side of the closet is stuffed with clothing, but Cheryl’s side is empty, with only a few hangers dangling from the rack.
I pull open the drawers—empty. Her side of the double bathroom—empty.
I’m too late. Everything the ghosts warned me about came true. I’m alone, and there’s nothing I can do about it because it’s all my fault. I made it happen.
I have no one to blame but myself.
I stagger back down the stairs, check the rooms again, then stand in the center of my empty foyer,my empty house. Everything I’ve worked for—everything I thought was important—gone.
My heart pounds hard. Nothing makes sense without my family—Cheryl and Portia. The room spins at a dizzying speed. I reach out to the wall for balance, but there’s nothing to hold on to, nothing to ground me. Just a deep, dark, swirling whirlpool of regrets.
15
Two Days Before Christmas
NICK
“Nick? Nick, wake up.”
