Brooke & Ben: Before Fate Interrupted Page 2

  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.

  Roger finally released her hand and shook his head, his fake curly brown hair bouncing with the movement. “I came with a friend.”

  “Oh yeah? Who?”

  “Todd.” He licked his fingers, snuffed the joint and slipped it into a pack of cigarettes. He offered her a smoke and she shook her head.

  “You having fun tonight?”

  “I am,” he said, pulling off his mask. “But this damn thing is hotter than hell.”

  Brooke’s heart came to a screeching halt, leaving skid marks across her lungs. Bells rang and birds sang, which was impossible because only demon birds sang at night. She couldn’t tell if the bright bursts of light streaking across her field of vision were from the fire or something else entirely. “Yes it is,” she murmured under her breath, unable to tear her eyes from his face.

  Roger ran a hand over his short brown hair and took a deep draw of cool air. “Nice night though. We got lucky.”

  “We sure did.”

  “Never know which way it’s going to go in Iowa. I remember trick-or-treating in the snow before.”

  “Oh yeah? Last year must’ve been a rough one for ya.”

  He stared at her for a few nonplussed seconds before cracking a thin smile. “Funny.”

  She tried forcing a breath into her lungs but the scruff on his cheeks made
it nearly impossible. Damn scruff! “Did you try the coffin brownies yet, Roger?”

  “Naw, I’m not big on sweets.”

  Her face fell. “Seriously?”

  “Only kid in school who gave his Halloween candy away every year.” He hedged for a moment. “Okay, I traded some of it for Playboys but I donated the rest to the needy.”

  She crinkled her nose like she had just stepped in dog shit. “You don’t like sweets?”

  “Never have.”

  “What’re you an alien!”

  His laugh was music to her ears and she wanted to make him do it again. His eyes roamed her body and she didn’t mind. Not one bit. “Speaking of aliens, I love your costume. That is…wow.” His eyes paused to hover over her golden emblem.

  She folded her arms across her chest. “Thank you, and Wonder Woman wasn’t an alien.”

  “Pretty sure she was.”

  “She was from a Greek island of Amazonian women who were tired of putting up with men’s bullshit.”

  His eyebrows furrowed as he thought about it. “So…she was a lesbian?”

  Brooke laughed drunkenly. “No, she wasn’t a lesbian!”

  “But you just said it was an island of all women.”

  “That doesn’t mean they were lesbians.”

  “I think it does by default.”

  Brooke frowned, unable to stop wondering what it would be like to kiss his full lips, start with the top one and work her way down. She shook the random thought from her head. “Maybe they had visitor friends.”

  “Visitor friends?”

  She shrugged her bare shoulders. “Yeah, like overnight guests.”

  “And what about you?”

  The fire popped again.

  “What about me?”

  “Do you have a visitor friend?

  Humming birds launched in her stomach, their wings tickling her insides. “That all depends upon your definition of visitor friend.”

  He laughed, his eyes coolly raking her body. “Well, either way, you look like a bona fide super hero.”

  “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

  An awkward silence settled around them like a cold black wind. Brooke shifted in her high-heeled boots, her sudden case of not knowing what to say next making her fidget, the stubble on his cheeks making her blush.