ROMANCE: Mr. Mystery: (New Adult Bad Boy Romance) (Contemporary Mystery Short Stories) (124 page)

I let out a grin and remembered what Tracy had said about the organizers of the party having thought of everything. My heart felt like it was pumping faster and I felt slightly dizzy.

“Thank you”, I muttered and accepted the pills from him. I popped them in my mouth immediately and downed it slowly with the cold chilly water that had also been placed on the tray.

“Are you driving home?” he went on to ask in a concerned voice. It was a bit bizarre talking to a person whose face was concealed behind a mask but at that time he was the only one in the room who made sense. My two sexual partners had both disappeared and I couldn’t track them among the sea of naked people who were still having sex.

I instantly loved the arrangement that the party offered. There was no way you could get attached to anyone after the sex nor was there a platform of getting the other person’s contact information.

“Yes I am” I answered meekly.

The drugs that he had given me seemed to have already started kicking in and I began to feel energized. I searched the vicinity for my red dress and slid it back on.

“In that case”, he said “You should take one more”.

He handed me another small white pill that I immediately popped in my mouth and slowly got to my feet. My legs felt fine and the room was still enough for me to glide across. The soreness between my legs was slowly decreasing.

“I will have someone escort you to your car ma’am”, he said and I assumed that he must be the head of security.

I regained my composure and swiftly followed another man in the same kind of mask out of the room. There were sex noises still echoing in the air as I left and part of me envied them. I wished I could stay for more action and thrill but I had to be up bright and early the next day for work.

I followed the man out of the building with my mask still on. The exit looked different from when I had walked into the building and I wondered why that was the case. Probably because I was more sober and alert when I arrived. He led the way to my car and got the door for me.

“Are you sure you can drive?” he asked again as I got into the driver’s seat and looked around. I felt all right and my body felt energized. I threw a quick look at my reflection in the mirror and my eyes looked slightly watery but nevertheless fine.

“Yes thank you”, I answered.

“Have a good night ma’am”, he went on to say as he slammed the door to my car shut and waved slightly. He still had his mask on and I was left wondering what his face looked like.

“Thank you”, I managed to say and waved back at him.

I took off at a snail’s speed as I thought of how crazy and wild my night had been. I threw a quick glance at the digital clock on my dash and noticed that it was only midnight! It felt like I’d been in the club for hours!  I felt my stomach growl with hunger and I let out a laugh. I would have to stop by a burger joint on my way home.

I looked at my reflection in the rear view mirror and broke out in a contended smile. Until next time…. It was good to be me.

THE END

Jacqueline quietly closed the door to the guest room. Penelope’s room now, she corrected herself with a sigh. She walked down the stairs, back to the living room, picking up a forgotten sweater, Penelope’s discarded suitcase, a few paper plates that hadn’t been thrown away. The house was finally quiet after another draining day of mourners coming and going. Entering the kitchen, Jacqueline surveyed the disaster awaiting her there.

She shook off the exhaustion that was creeping in and started collecting the half empty glasses that littered the table. Hooking a glass in each finger, Jacqueline picked up four glasses in each hand and crossed the kitchen to the sink. Halfway there a glass slipped from her fingers, falling to the floor and splintering into tiny pieces on the tile. With a frustrated groan, Jacqueline set the rest on the counter and bent down and began to pick up the shards. It felt like this day was never going to end. 

She reached for a piece that had skidded under the table only to pull back her hand in pain. She looked at the bright red blood erupting from a gash in her hand and felt her stomach start to roil. She hated blood. Jacqueline grabbed for the dish towel, only to see it covered in a sticky pink substance, remembering that Aunt Sylvia used it to clean up a jelly salad spill.

She pulled open the drawer where the clean ones were kept. It was empty. Jaqueline looked back to the pool of blood collecting in her hand, then back to the dirty towel. She recognized the feeling of tears gathering behind her eyes. The ones she’d repressed for days.

Jacqueline sank down to the floor, tears wetting her cheeks. Maybe it was the exhaustion of the past few days, or maybe it was burying her sister this afternoon, or maybe it was finding out that her niece was now her ward. Whatever it was, she couldn’t stop the tears from spilling out and began to shake with uncontrollable sobs.

She and her sister hadn’t been close for years but Jacqueline mourned the loss of who her sister used to be. The sister she wanted to remember her as. She cried for her niece who lost her mother, and she cried for herself, left with one more of her sister’s messes to clean up.

Through the fog, the exhaustion, and the tears, Jacqueline heard the door. Someone else knocking. Someone else bringing a casserole, or flowers, or a half-hearted sympathetic smile. She didn’t want to talk to anyone else today. She didn’t want to hear one more person tell her how wonderful her sister was, all the while avoiding her eyes because they didn’t really believe what they were saying. Her sister was a junkie, and hadn’t been a wonderful person in years. There was no use hiding that fact. Lord knows her sister never did.

The knocking persisted, though, becoming louder, more obnoxious. As much as she wanted to just sit there and ignore whoever it was, she couldn’t tune out the sound. Jacqueline wiped her eyes on her sleeve and got up. She had forgotten about the cut on her hand, but was quickly reminded when she tried to use it to get up. Jacqueline winced and used her other hand to pull herself off the floor.

She took a minute to inspect the cut. It was deeper than she thought, blood still trickling out of it, and she had to shake the feeling of nausea that tore through her at the sight of it. Once she dealt with her visitor she would have to scrounge around for her first aid kit and see if she had a bandage big enough to cover it. But for now she grabbed the dirty dish towel, found the cleanest side, and pressed it into the cut.

Taking a few deep breaths on the way to the door, trying to pull herself together, Jacqueline unlocked the deadbolt. She had barely turned the knob when her guest pushed his way into the house. His jet black hair was swept to the side, his shirt only half buttoned. His face showed more than a decent amount of scruff. His eyes darted past Jacqueline and around the room.

When he didn’t see what he was looking for he began moving through the house. A normal person would have assumed it was an intruder and tried to call the police. To Jacqueline, who had spent too much time cleaning up after her sister, figured he was one of her junkie friends either coming to party or to crash here. A few had even come to mourn and tell her how
totally bummed
they were.

Even though he may not be a complete stranger, he still wasn’t welcome. Now that her sister wasn’t using Jacqueline’s house as a flophouse whenever she decided to blow into town, Jacqueline was no longer under any obligation to let all these losers into her house.

She followed him as he searched around the main floor, still not finding what he hoped for. Moving to the back of the house to the kitchen he stopped, pieces of glass crunching under his heavy black boots.

“If you’re looking for the free food, it’s gone. There’s nothing left for you here.”

He finally turned to her, his steel blue eyes piercing her. She had enough experience to know that he wasn’t high. That still didn’t make him any more welcome.

“I need for you to leave.” She said, exhausted.

“No.” His voice was rough, gravelly.

“No?” She tried to inject a little enthusiasm into her voice, but it just came out flat, matching her mood.

“Not until I know for sure. I heard some of the guys talking, but I didn’t believe them. I had to come here and see for myself.” He rambled.

“What?”

“Is she really dead?” He asked, not quietly like most people speak of the dead. His voice boomed.

“Yes. Her funeral was today.”

The mixture of emotions flashing across his face - pain, relief, guilt - was hard for Jacqueline to see, because she too struggled with those same feelings. What kind of person would be relieved to hear her sister died? It was a small bit of relief to see the same feelings reflected in someone else.

He paced the living room with big, heavy steps that shook the floor. Jaqueline felt bad for this man, really she did. He obviously knew her sister beyond just seeing the addiction, which was something most couldn’t see past, but Jacqueline was beyond comforting anyone else tonight. She sat on the couch and watched him, waiting for him to say something else or to leave. Finally he stopped pacing and looked down at Jacqueline.

“Did she kill herself?” He asked, those piercing eyes boring down on her. She shook her head. “Overdose then.” He said. It wasn’t a question.

“It was very tragic.” That was her standard comment to all those who came over to offer their sympathy, but this time it felt even more false than all the others. If only she could muster up some lilt to her voice then maybe it would have come out more sincere.

“Bullshit. What was tragic was how she got herself there in the first place. She was a fucking idiot.”

Jacqueline’s eyebrows shot up. She supposed she should be offended or something, but it was hard to deny the truth. This man was curious to her and definitely no one she had seen around her sister before.

“How did you know her?”

He laughed, mirthless. “That’s a loaded question, isn’t it?”

“It is?”

“Who really knew her? How did you know her?” He asked, though it sounded more like an accusation.

“I was her sister.”

“Oh shit.” He said, fixing his eyes on mine. He raked a hand through his long hair, then scrubbed his face with his hand. If she didn’t know any better she really would think he was high by the way he was acting, the way he was dressed. “Sorry. I’m an asshole. I didn’t even know she had a sister. I always imagined that kind of girl doesn’t have any family.”

He sat down on the couch beside her, long legs stretching out in front of him, and put his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He sat that way for a long minute before straightening and looking at her again. Jacqueline could see some sadness reflected in his eyes this time.

“I knew her a long time ago. She used to follow the band around.”

Jacqueline nodded knowingly. No other explanation was needed, she remembered well her sister’s groupie phase.

“So why come looking for her now?”

“It’s complicated. I guess I always assumed I would see her around, or things would work out between us. I was probably fooling myself, though. She could be a bitch when she was mad.” He winced and shrugged a shoulder “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I knew my sister better than anyone. I’ve had her temper turned on me more than a few times.” Jacqueline pointed across the room to the patched up hole in the wall from the last time she was here. The wall was fixed but Jacqueline’s lamp never recovered.

“Why did you let her keep coming here?”

“It wasn’t her that was doing it, it was the drugs.”

“That’s bullshit.” He barked. “You might know your sister, but I know addiction. If she wanted to get help she could. She had a hell of a lot to live for and someone willing to help her. She has no one to blame but herself.”

“Maybe.” She said, her voice a stark contrast to his booming. She had spent a great deal of her life talking people down, bringing them around until they were calm, rational. Arguing with someone who was looking for a fight wasn’t going to get her anywhere.

Jacqueline studied him, taking in his dark hair that was long enough to push behind his ears, his clothing, which consisted mostly of black on black, his brooding eyes. His nose looked like he had been in more than one fight in his life. He wore a scowl like it was a fashion statement. She had assumed he was one of her sisters strung out friends, but then he said he knew her from her groupie days. Jacqueline tried to place him, but he didn’t look familiar to her at all. She took the opportunity to both settle her curiosity and change the subject.

“You said you know her from the band. Do you play or are you one of those men that help set up?”

He chuckled, a smile tugging at his lips. “A roadie? No, not a roadie. I play in the band. I take it you’re not a metal fan?”

Jacqueline wrinkled her nose. “No. Not really my style. Are you any good?”

“We’ve won a few awards.” He said, this time really smiling. His smile took the edge off of him, disarmed him. He pushed the hair that had fallen into his face back. “I’m Dante.”

“Jacqueline.” She said, offering him her hand, only to pull it back when she saw the towel still wrapped around it.

Dante shackled her wrist and pulled it to him. His firm grasp on her was a welcome sensation.

“You’re bleeding.” He said, looking down at the towel. Blood soaked through it threatening to take over the pink splotches on it.

“It’s nothing. I cut myself on a piece of glass.” She said, trying not to look at the amount of blood covering the towel.

“It’s bleeding a lot.” He said, reaching for my hand again. I pulled it close to my body. “Let me see it. I’ve had a lot of experience with patching up wounds.”

“I didn’t realize playing in a band was such a risky career.”

“It’s not, I just happen to have a lot of idiot friends. Now come on, let me see.”

Jacqueline hesitated, assessing him before finally extending her arm to him. He cradled her hand in his palm and gently unwrapped the towel. His hands were warm and his thick fingers moved with a delicate precision she would never have imagined. The hair he had pushed back earlier slipped free and brushed across his face.

Jacqueline resisted the urge to tuck it back, to run her fingers through it all. She wondered what it would be like to touch his stubbled face under her fingers. Her hand shook in his, but it had little to do with the wound. When he exposed the skin Jacqueline had to look away from him. Dante twisted her hand one way, then the other.

“How did you do this?”

“I broke a glass.”

“It’s pretty deep. You might even need a couple stitches.”

Jacqueline glanced up the stairs to where Penelope lay sleeping. “I would rather not. Can’t you just help me bandage it for now?”

“I’ll try, but if I can’t stop the bleeding then there won’t be much other choice. Do you have any gauze or anything?”