She rose gracefully from her spot on the couch and took my hands, resting one on her hip and holding the other loosely in her own.
“Let’s dance, baby.” She smiled up at me, waiting for me to lead her into the dance.
I pulled her body tight against mine and began moving to the music.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked, her head resting against my chest as we swayed, barefoot and clothed in nothing more than sports shorts and a plain t-shirt from my closet.
I heaved a heavy sigh. “No. I just want to hold you while we move for a while.”
She nodded, resting her head on my chest as we moved to the music. And dancing around my living room as she wore my clothes and smelled like my soap, I almost believed she belonged to me.
I pushed down the feelings bubbling in my chest as I held her. I’d been mere moments away from telling her how I felt in that little theater before the lights came on and we saw the gruesome crime scene in front of us.
Now the words were stuck in my throat, wanting to burst past my lips, but I continued to bite my tongue, convincing myself that now wasn’t the time.
Or maybe I was just chickening out because I was scared of losing her.
“You’re quiet.”
I kissed the top of her head, breathing in the scent of my shampoo in her hair. “Is that bad?”
“Not bad. Just different. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine. It’s you I’m worried about. Aren’t you scared?”
“Of course I’m scared. This was my shot. My one shot on Broadway and I can feel it slipping through my fingers. They could call this whole thing off. The police could shut it down and then where would I be? Working a waitressing job every evening while I went out on auditions every morning?”
“You think they’ll shut it down?” I asked, my voice a little too eager.
She straightened her spine and narrowed her eyes at me. “This isn’t a hobby, you know? It’s my career. Just because it’s not a normal 9-5 job, doesn’t make it less valuable.”
Her anger snuffed out as quickly as it ignited, and her eyes brimmed with tears. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
My fingers skimmed up over her ribs and back down again. “I know, princess. You deserve to be up on that Broadway stage on opening night, soaking up the limelight. I want to see you there. I just want them to find the culprit first.”
She nuzzled into my chest. “It feels like my dream is unraveling, like it’s slowly coming apart at the seams. And I don’t know what I’ll do when all that’s left of it is a pile of thread at my feet.”
“You’ll keep chasing that dream, princess. And I’ll be there cheering you on the whole way.”
She sniffled and wiped away the tears from her cheeks. I tilted her chin up with my thumb, pressing my lips to hers. I could feel the words I wanted to say coating my tongue, but I swallowed them back down, ignoring them as I teased my way into her mouth.
I would tell her. But not tonight.
Haunted
Ihurrieddownthevacant hallway. The sensation of someone watching me felt like cold fingers running up and down my spine. I unleashed something when I’d killed Cheryl. Something wicked and ominous. It shadowed every doorway I passed. Looming and large.
I had the urge to run, but it wouldn’t do me any good. The ghosts stalked me wherever I went. Nick’s bloody face haunted my dreams and Cheryl’s voice tormented me when I laid awake at night.
“You did this,” she said. “They’ll find out. And then you’ll be alone and pathetic. A nobody. Just like your dad always said.”I’d put in my earbuds, turning my music on full blast to tune out the sound of her accusations.
Nick’s bludgeoned skull stared out at me from my mirror, blood dripping from the eye sockets, and I’d wake up screaming, sweat beading on my skin and guilt thick in the surrounding air.
they both followed me to rehearsals amidst the cast’s mutters of curses and superstitions.
The curse was mine. I was the one who’d brought the menacing spirits here. The one who spilled blood and brought the Grim Reaper into the fold. The one who kept my dreams alive when Cheryl and Nick had tried to snuff them out.
And now I was like Lady Macbeth, cursing the spots of blood that wouldn’t wash off my hands. Stained and marred by pangs of my conscience.
