She pauses, her eyes searching mine. “And I hate that we only really see each other during our October trips with the gang. I don’t want us to drift apart.”
We already have. She just doesn’t want to say it out loud because then we’d really have to talk about it. I think about telling her how different she is now from the girl she used to be in college—the girl that would shop in the dollar store bins with me for pretty much everything, from food to clothes, now wears red-soled shoes and uses a food service that delivers freshly prepared dinners to her houseeverynight.
I still shop in the dollar bins because I still have to.
This weekend alone has drained seventy-five percent of my savings.
We are not the same anymore.
I squeeze her hand back and manage a weak smile. "Maybe we should make more of an effort to meet up outside of the getaway," I say, though I know it’s a lie. It’s not just our schedules that have changed. It’s us. But for now, I’ll let her hold on to the illusion that we can somehow bridge this gap that’s grown between us. Between all of us. “And I’m sure seeing Lyle again at this silly amusement park tour will be fine. It won’t be an issue. We’ll all have a good time there.”
No, we won’t. And I think this might be the last friend’s getaway I go on for a long time.
“Great,” she says, jumping up from the couch. “Oh, I’m so relieved. Okay, now,” she says, spinning around. “I reserved some fun spa treatments in town. We have vampire facials,” she says, ticking off each absurdly named spa treatment on her fingers, “witches brew bath soak with pumpkin spice body scrub, ghostly hot stone massages, mummy wraps, and a zombie toxindetox treatment.” She pauses, her expression suddenly serious. "And Tori, if you can't, you know,” she bites at her thumbnail, “pay or have any trouble, just let me know. I’ll cover it for you." Her words sting—a reminder of the widening gap between our worlds.
“Oh, that all sounds great,” I say, faking a smile, “but I didn’t get any sleep last night. Maybe I’ll just stay here and catch up for a few hours and meet you all for dinner.”
“Oh, okay,” she replies as I walk her to the door. “I’ll text you where we go for dinner. I’m thinking lobster and crab legs, or... we could do something a little less, uh, extravagant.” She hesitates just outside the door, making a pouty face—such a childish gesture. I know I should say something light, maybe make a self-deprecating joke to ease the awkwardness, but instead, I just stare back at her and say nothing.
“Right, okay. I’ll talk to you later then,” she says, clearly uncertain.
I want to tell her that lobster and crab legs sound delicious—because they do, I just can’t afford them right now—instead I just nod, close the door, and dig myself out another suitcase drink.
Her edibles suck.
I sit on the edge of the couch, the small bottle of whiskey half-empty beside me. The warmth of the alcohol spreads through my veins. I take a long gulp, feeling the burn as it goes down, and lean back against the cushions, staring at the ceiling. I sip again and again.
My eyelids feel heavy, and I blink slowly, the room starting to blur around the edges. I rub them, trying to shake off the drowsiness, but it doesn’t help. The whiskey has made me feel warm and lethargic, my thoughts drifting aimlessly: Black roses. Creepy security guards. Jonathan. Hayes.
Suddenly, my phone buzzes, jolting me out of my thoughts. I grab it, expecting a text or notification, but the screen is blank.
Siri’s voice cuts through the silence. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure I understand. Can you repeat the question?”
I’m so confused. I haven’t touched the phone or prompted Siri at all. I look around the room, half-expecting to see someone there, but I’m alone.
“I’m sorry. Can you repeat that?” Siri whispers.
Siri whispers?
My heart pounds in my chest as I stare at my phone.
“I didn’t get that, could you try again?” Siri asks. The voice is different—lower, more sinister. It’s not Siri’s usual calm tone. Panic sets in. Is this some sort of trick? I frantically look around the room for whatever device might be making my phone act possessed, but there’s nothing.
I drop the phone, my hands shaking. The screen goes dark, but then it lights up again, and Siri speaks once more, her voice distorted and creepy. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
With trembling hands, I try to turn off the phone, but it won’t respond. The screen is frozen. “Siri, turn off,” I whisper, my voice shaking.
“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Siri responds, her voice almost mocking.
I toss the phone onto the couch—but the couch is gone. The room around me warps and shifts, and I’m suddenly standing in a different place entirely.
A rancid smell hits me, thick and nauseating, like rotting meat mixed with something acrid and metallic. In the corner, a dim, flickering light reveals the ghostly figure of Liliana. Her form is translucent and eerie, hunched over a pile of clothes, her fingers clawing through them with frantic, jerky movements.
I gasp. Her head snaps up, and her hollow, sunken eyes meet mine. Her mouth opens, but no sound comes out. Instead, achilling, unnatural wail echoes through my head, reverberating off my skull, making my bones vibrate. She stands, then squats back down, her movements disjointed and unnatural, like a marionette on tangled strings.
The temperature plummets, and I can see my breath misting in the cold air in front of me. Liliana’s mouth twists into a grotesque grin, revealing sharp, jagged teeth. When she finally speaks, her voice is a guttural hiss. "Revenge is always fun."
A new sound reaches my ears, like a faucet left running. The strong, sour smell of urine invades my senses as glistening trails of piss drench the clothes beneath her and pool around her feet.
