Coyote Nights

By Debra Elaine Medina

Matt Shaw trudged into his future: job, marriage, homeownership, expensive acquisitions. In spite of his growing indifference, it seemed too late to turn back. Then Hannah crashed his Halloween party, and before long, nothing else mattered. "Go on," Matt said, leaning back, trying to act relaxed, as if he'd heard a couple hundred "how I became a vampire" stories. "It seems like there's fog in the row of trees at the back of the cemetery. Like a fog has come up suddenly. It's hardly ever foggy in Albuquerque, so I was surprised. Wondering if things could get any creepier." Hannah's knee was bouncing steadily. "Then I thought, did I see movement? I looked up from the grave toward that row of trees, and I think there's someone there, like I could see a face for a second, but then maybe it was just a swirl in the fog. I can't quite make it out. I better go. I said it out loud, and my voice startled me. It seemed loud. It made my heart jump. "But I keep standing there, and I know there's someone in those trees, but I just can't quite see it, and I'm afraid to move. Maybe if I stand still it won't notice me. It will get darker and the fog will get thicker, and who or whatever is there won't be able to see me and then I can get out of there. I can run, maybe, if I don't trip over something. A grave or something, somebody's flowers. These thoughts are racing through my mind, but my body feels heavy and slow." Hannah took a drink of her beer. Matt felt as if she had forgotten his presence. Her face was serene, almost smiling. "I sort of stopped thinking then, just stood there. My hair felt damp, my face was cold. When I forced myself to focus on where I was, I saw the face again, from the corner of my eye. Much closer now, maybe fifty feet away. I mean, I didn't really see it, like I see you now, but there was this impression. Something really horrible zeroing in on me, the mouth was too big and the eyes were glittering, with dark circles all the way around them. Something sneaking. The skin looked yellowy white against the gray white of the fog. It had cloaked itself with this fog, so it could get close and then pounce on me, like some huge spider. "I lost the image whenever I tried to focus on it, but I knew it was there. I knew I was in trouble. Then maybe twenty feet, then maybe fifteen, then I could see the hands and arms reaching and it was on me. It got its hands on me, and I don't think I ever even moved. Didn't turn to run, just stood there like a deer in headlights. It was ugly and it stunk, but it said sweet and comforting things. Even the pain, when it bit me, took place in the middle of all these kind, encouraging words and thoughts it put into my head. I think I was convinced this monster had my best interests at heart."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 28, 2019
• ISBN: 9781684568338

Book preview

Chapter 1

It was a great party, even for the high school. Everyone was in a noisy mood, but not mean or aggressive. Nobody tried to start anything. Junior Baca’s bear attack victim makeup was widely admired. Renee Sandoval, the girl of Junior’s dreams, came as La Llorona, the weeping woman, in a tight, wispy black outfit, draped in black scarves, looking very mature. She had a date, an older guy, but she danced with Junior a few times, and she let him hold her close during a slow song. She looks so good , Junior thought, inhaling the honey scent of her shampoo, but he knew he had to be careful. Her date was big, looked like he worked out, and he was keeping his eye on them. His only concession to the fact that it was a costume party was a motorcycle tire track across the front of his white T-shirt. The exact meaning of this was unclear, but Junior had to admit the guy looked very cool.

Junior put his mouth close to Renee’s ear and breathed softly. Who’s the guy you’re with?

Steve, a friend of my sister’s boyfriend. It’s the first time we’ve gone out. He’s moving to Arizona this weekend. He starts a job in Phoenix on Monday, Renee said, looking into Junior’s eyes. She was the same height as he was, and there was a dimple at the corner of her mouth. Her eyes were a clear brown, like amber. Her parents owned an office supply store, and her dad was on the city council, and she had an uncle in the state senate. She was going to go to college next fall, probably out of state, and major in broadcasting.

So you’re not going to see him anymore?

I don’t know. God, Junior. Her cheek brushed Junior’s as she turned her face away. He wants me to come out there.

It’s your first date and he said that?

Well, he’s known me since I was, like, twelve. He went to Highland High with my sister. He just wants me to come out sometimes, so we can see each other. He said he’d come here sometimes too. I don’t know, though. I don’t want to not be able to date when it’s my senior year. What a drag.

I want to go out with you, Renee. I’ve been asking you, but you always say you’re busy.

You always ask me when I’m already doing something. I would’ve gone otherwise.

Junior’s heart leaped, and he felt a jolt of blood up his arms and down his legs, making his knees rubbery. His hands went sweaty. He wanted to squeeze her body against his. Then he remembered the red wax and crushed Styrofoam brains stuck to the side of his head and the plastic bear claws from a cheap necklace he’d found in an Old Town tourist shop and epoxied into his hair. This must look freaking ridiculous.

Well, don’t go out there, okay? To Phoenix. We could start going out.

Renee relaxed into Junior a little and then pulled away again. I don’t know, even if I go out there sometimes, I’ll still be in school and all. We can probably go out. Just don’t get Steve mad, all right? I don’t want to deal with it. Don’t ask me to dance anymore tonight.

Now Junior felt crummy, but she was right. He didn’t want to start anything with this Steve dude. And he didn’t want Renee to think he was her slave, even though he probably would be if he could just get something started with her. Junior was worried. He had slept with a girl twice when he was fifteen, an older second cousin on a family vacation, but now he was nearly eighteen and hadn’t scored again, not even last summer when his friend Rob had found a couple of girls. They went out with those girls all summer, and he never got any, not even once. His girl said she was too scared of AIDS. Rob had made it with his girl, but then there had been a big mess when summer was over and she expected to go on dating. She went to a different school, and Rob said after a few weeks he realized he didn’t like her enough to keep things going. She kept calling, and crying over the phone, and then when Rob finally got her to stop he started missing her. He was afraid to call her back, though.

The song ended, and Junior started to tell Renee that he would call her, but she turned away and pulled her hand free of his. Let’s not talk about this now, okay? I’ll see you in class. He watched her walk slowly over to Steve, her hips swaying elaborately. Steve threw a territorial arm across her slim shoulders and kissed her, his eyes open and focused on the painted claw marks running down under Junior’s left ear.

Junior danced with a couple of other girls as the night went on, but it was spoiled for him. The wax began to itch. It got under his fingernails when he scratched. The costumes and makeup everyone was wearing began to seem stupid. He thought about how all his money from working last summer had gone into fixing up the truck, and now he was broke, and he didn’t know what to do after he graduated. He could start at the University of New Mexico next year if he lived at home, but he wanted to get a place of his own. There were two other kids at home, a younger brother and sister, and his little brother had been planning on having the room to himself when Junior moved out. His parents’ house was so small, so full of stuff everywhere you looked. Toys, and the crucifixes his mom wouldn’t stop buying. Once, his dad told her there weren’t that many crosses at Calvary, and she had gotten real mad.

The band announced it was playing the last song, and Junior decided to sit it out on the bottom row of bleachers behind the refreshment tables. I’m not smart, I’m not good-looking, and I’m not rich, he thought, with a note of finality. He stared at the floor. Then a shadow fell across him, and he looked up to find Rob standing there in front of him with a cigarette protruding from each nostril. He was dressed as the dweeb male cheerleader from a popular comedy show. The thing was it kind of suited him.

Hey, Junior, you want a smoke? Rob asked in his Gomer voice.

No, Junior answered, not with your snot on it, and grabbed the cigarettes from Rob’s nose, putting a hammerlock on him and trying to shove them into his mouth. Let’s get out of here! they yelled in unison, and began to the door, pulling at each other to try to be the first to hit the crash bars.

They burst into the parking lot together and ran to the truck. Junior began to peel off his head wounds. I don’t want this shit all over the inside of my truck, he said, painfully trying to pull the bear claws out of his hair.

No, leave it on, man. Let’s drive around up in Four Hills, Rob said, reaching in through the open window to the inside door handle. The outside handle didn’t work on the passenger’s side.

The cops will get us, Junior said, getting behind the wheel.

No, they won’t. There’ll be parties going on, we won’t be the only ones out. We’ll blend in.

Yeah, we’ll blend right in. The cops won’t notice a beat-up truck driving around in Escalade land. All right, let’s go. But don’t be stupid. My dad will kill me if he has to pick me up at some cop substation tonight. Junior revved the engine and peeled out of the parking lot.

They went the long way, all the way up Central, exchanging greetings or insults with the other cruisers, stopping off for a few dollars’ worth of gas and a couple of Cokes, then finally turning on Tramway. It was ten thirty, which only gave them a couple of hours before their parents got pissed.

Rob was right; there were parties going on. Lights were shining from clerestory windows, and the long, winding streets and cul-de-sacs were lined with cars. There were people out on the lawns, and a lot of front doors were open, with people coming in and out.

Look at all these white people partying, man. Oh, sorry, your whiteness, Junior said in fake apology.

Shut up, Rob answered. We need to get into one of these parties. We need to get some beer. We need to meet some rich girls. You shouldn’t have tried to scrape off your neck wound. We’ll have to find someplace with a keg outside or something. If we go into one of these houses they’ll call the cops for sure. Keep your eyes open for someplace really crowded where we won’t stand out.

It was a warmer night than usual for this time of year, and the moon was nearly full in a cloudless sky. Junior parked the truck behind a long line of cars and looked to the west as he got out. The city sloped down and away, lights stretching out for miles to the west. He could even make out the dark dividing line of the Rio Grande and could tell where his neighborhood was by using the lights of the faraway downtown buildings as a guide.

Man, this will never work.

Have a little faith. Follow me. We find a yard with a lot of people in it and act like we belong there, and if anyone offers you a beer, just say yes. Rob led the way down the street. One place had a lot of big landscaping rocks and yucca by the sidewalk, and they could see several loosely assembled groups of people in the yard. The front door was open, and laughter could be heard coming from inside.

This place is packed, man, and they sound like they’re all pretty tight. Let’s give it a shot, Junior said, getting into the spirit of the thing. They entered the yard through a grouping of yucca and large rocks that was set apart from the more brightly lit areas.

Dude. Look. A cooler. People with beers. Act natural, Rob stage-whispered. The boys walked casually toward the cooler, exchanging Hey, man, how ya doin’? Cool costume, with anyone who seemed to notice them. One or two looked at them curiously, but no one tried to stop them. When one guy burst out laughing at Junior’s costume (Damn, man, that’s harsh), Junior joked with him loudly while Rob used the distraction to approach the cooler and snag two beers. They quickly popped the tops and slugged down half, figuring they’d be escorted off the premises any second and had better get it while they could. They were standing together, looking at girls, and trying to figure out ways to talk to them, when a middle-aged female voice pierced the darkness. Young man!

Rob and Junior froze. She was standing on the front porch, looking right at them. You, in the sweater. Junior moved a couple of steps away from Rob and took a long drink of his beer, hoping to finish it before she came down and grabbed it away and told them to get the hell out of her yard.

Help me a minute, will you, dear? Come get this folding table.

Rob looked at Junior and back at the form standing in the doorway. She was gesturing at him. Go! Go! Get over there, Junior hissed, and Rob handed him his can of beer.

Sure. Yes, ma’am.

Junior watched as Rob transformed himself from smart-ass party crasher to helpful young fellow. He followed the woman into the house, shooting a fake-terrified look over his shoulder at Junior, while Junior sucked down the rest of his beer and started in on Rob’s. He scoped out the yard to locate the quickest escape route back to the truck for when the woman caught on and threw Rob out.

Moments later Rob came back through the door carrying a large folding table, the woman close on his heels with a huge platter.

I don’t know why so many people are out here in front, she was saying as Rob set the table down on its long edge. Most of the food’s in the back. Carl is grilling back there. He’s been grilling back there for three hours. I don’t have any idea what time it is. It’s wonderful, so many people turned out this year, and there are parties all up and down the street.

It’s the view, maybe, Rob said, sliding the table nearer the cooler and extending its legs. He stood it up and conscientiously rocked it back and forth to be sure it was steady.

What? the woman asked, still holding the platter.

The view. Of the city. Why people are out in front.

Oh! Of course. You’re right, I’m sure. I guess you couldn’t see it from the back. The wall and all. She set the platter down on the table and pulled off its foil covering. Now there are taquitos here, and some of those cream cheese pinwheel things with jalapeños that Mrs. Estefan always makes, and some, oh, I don’t know what all. So tell everyone to get something to eat. Don’t want people just drinking without any food in their stomachs, do we, uh [she was obviously scrounging for his name], aren’t you the Jefferson boy?

No, ma’am. Rob Everett. I’m, I, I work at the place you all, where your husband gets his oil changed. And this is Emilio Baca, Rob said, waving Junior out of the shadows. He works there also. Your husband was kind enough to mention you were having a party this evening.

The woman looked baffled for a moment and then patted Rob on the arm. Well, be sure to go get a burger or some brats and say hi to Carl, then. He’s back there grilling. Just look for the cloud of smoke and you’ll find him in the middle of it. He’ll have emphysema before the night is over. She smiled kindly. Are you sure you boys are old enough to drink?

Rob opened his mouth to answer when someone called out from inside the house. Bonita? Bonita, Carl says are there any more buns. Bonita turned on her heel and hurried into the house. Rob bit into a taquito. Bye, Bonita. Don’t be a stranger, he called after her, and Junior handed him a fresh beer. Carl doesn’t deserve that woman, Junior. I can say that without even meeting him.

Junior snorted with laughter. She liked you, I could tell. I bet you could get right in there. You want me to get lost for a while?

No, man. She’d just break my heart. Thanks, though.

Chapter 2

Matt was fried by midnight, and Kiki was giving him the look. As he was reaching into the refrigerator for another beer, she came out of nowhere and partially closed the door on his arm, trapping him.

If we aren’t seen standing together, Matthew, no one will get that we’re John and Yoko, she hissed, and I want to make sure we show up in people’s pictures they’re taking of the party. Everyone and their freaking cell phone cameras. Ann asked me if I was Cher when she got here. You said you’d help me answer the door so people would get who we were right away. She seemed really angry.

Ann who?

Ann Sands from work! What difference does it make, Ann who? Quit disappearing on me.

Look, everyone is probably here by now, and I’m sure they all know who we’re supposed to be, Matt said, pulling the door open so he could get his arm, and his beer, out of the refrigerator. Get off me, Kiki, it’s supposed to be a party.

He loved the John and Yoko idea when Kiki came up with it, but it had taken all one Saturday to buy a white suit he’d never wear again, and to find a wig and fake beard that looked right. Even then Kiki spent hours dyeing them the exact color of reddish brown she wanted. The little round wire-frame glasses had set him back seventy-five dollars on eBay. And then they had arrived with one earpiece cracked and bent, and he’d spent another thirty-five dollars to get them repaired.

Now, four hours into this seemingly endless party, the wig and beard were itchy and hot, and he wanted to take the white jacket off. (Right, so then you’ll look like some anonymous hair ball in a white shirt for Halloween, Kiki had said when he complained.) She’d probably shut herself in the bathroom and cry if he spoiled her costume idea now. Guys were, no doubt, already whizzing in the landscaping, without Kiki taking an entire bathroom out of service.

Matt took Kiki’s elbow and steered her through the pods of guests toward the camera flashes he could see in the dining room. Now let’s pose for a bunch of pictures and let everyone get a good look at us, figure out who the fuck we are, and then I want you to knock it off so I can have a little fun. I think these costumes were the whole reason you even wanted to have this party. So people will say every Halloween ’til hell freezes over, ‘Do you remember the time Matt and Kiki went as John and Yoko?’

Who gives a rat’s ass what people remember, Matt? Who cares, okay? Let me go. I’ve got to get our camera and get someone to shoot us. And don’t make me hunt for you. She walked off toward the bedroom.

Someone should shoot us, all right. Freakin’ dwarf, Matt thought, watching Kiki walk away. Looks just like Yoko. Must be channeling her through that wig.

With much raucous laughter, people posed them from memories of photos and Rolling Stone and album covers, and eventually the picture taking was done. Kiki joined an unsteady group of work friends in a corner of the den. Matt knew he was free then, more or less, until the party ended. She was happy with those women from work whether he was there or not, thank God, as long as there was enough light in the vicinity to glint off the two-karat diamond at the center of her engagement ring.

Aha. What’s this? Someone had, blessedly, brought a bottle of good scotch. There it was, unopened, on the kitchen counter. He had passed it, unnoticed, on his trip to get another beer, but it called out to him just as he opened the fridge door, his head swiveling, his eye locking on, his hand reaching past the assorted six-packs and closing caressingly around a cold plastic bottle of club soda.

Oh, baby, he said as he filled a tall glass with ice and began picking at the seal on the top of the bottle. He cut his thumb on the foil. Shit. He always cut his thumb on the damn foil. Penance, he said. A small price to pay, but a price all the same. A pity to pollute this fine scotch with soda, but he was already loaded and it seemed only prudent. He might be glad for it tomorrow. And if Kiki noticed a glass in his hand instead of a beer bottle, he could say it was ginger ale. The color would be right, and the bubbles, as long as she didn’t stick her nose in and take a whiff. Which she very well might do. And then go off on him about trying to stay somewhat sober. We have guests, Matt. Guests. In our home. Expecting hospitality.

Oddly, there was no one in the kitchen. Quite a few people out on the patio, he could see them through the window over the sink. Should I hide this, he wondered, as he poured scotch over the ice cubes in the glass, listening to them skritch together as the golden liquid caressed them. That would be sort of cheesy. The person who brought it might want some. I know, I’ll take it with me. It will be in plain sight to all and yet under my control.

He topped off the glass with soda then and tapped the ice cubes to make them bob, mixing the drink.

Through the laundry room, then to the back door, to avoid the congestion near the French doors leading from the dining room. It was a fun party, in spite of his future wife’s bitching, but Matt was exhausted from being congenial. It wasn’t in his nature, really. The guests were mostly just work acquaintances, and people Kiki knew. It must be after midnight. He wanted to sit in the dark awhile and sip his drink and just observe. There were bound to be some interesting and revealing activities this late in the event that he could file in the mental dossiers he kept on coworkers. Some incident that might be brought up at a later date, used to advance his career, or Kiki’s.

The house had a children’s play area in the back, one of the reasons Kiki, always the planner, had wanted the place, so Matt walked over to the swings and sat down on one of them, just out of range of the patio lights. He placed the bottle in the cool grass. This was nice. Just sit here and breathe for a few minutes. Relax in peace. People were laughing, and he could even hear voices from other parties along the street. The night air moved across his face and riffled the hairs of the now ridiculous wig and beard. He had to admit, he’d got a lot of laughs tonight, repeating lines from Beatles movies in a pretty convincing Liverpudlian accent. People picked up on it and kept doing it all night. Kiki might just get that legendary party status she was trying for. Maybe she’d be happy for a while and ease up off him, and they would have a few weeks together where he could remember why he wanted to marry her, aside from the trust fund. Before the bullshit started up again.

Someone put Sheryl Crow on the stereo. He sang along in his head.

Hello.

Matt started, and some of his drink slopped out of his glass onto his pant leg.

Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. But then, maybe I really did mean to, it is Halloween, right? Ha ha.

She had a nice voice. Relaxed and comfortable, easy on the ears after all this raucous hilarity.

That’s all right. I didn’t know anyone was here. So close. Matt turned in his swing as she stepped into the light.

Pretty. No, beautiful. Glittery black eyes and perfect skin. He looked at her red lips and realized she had come to his Halloween party as a vampire. Only two or three people had come as vampires, and it occurred to Matt that it was odd, such a Halloween staple, after all. Too corny, maybe.

The woman smiled, and he could see she had even gone as far as sharp incisors, long ones.

Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lennon, she said, covering her hand with her mouth as she laughed softly. Back from the dead and all. I’ve always been a fan.

Something that looked like blood was on her hands. Something that looked like blood was on her mouth and chin, Matt noticed, as she took her hand away from her face. She held her hand out to him. He wondered why, uneasily, as the seconds passed, until she spoke again.

My name is Hannah.

Matt laughed self-deprecatingly. Forgive me, I’m an idiot. Must be drunker than I thought. He took her hand and shook it. My name is Matt. Matt Shaw. Would you like to sit down? He gestured toward the empty swing next to him.

Mmm, she purred, and she sat down in the swing with her pretty legs stretched out in front of her. She looked around at the yard and the party guests as if this was all foreign to her, then turned back to Matt, gave a little smile, and swung herself in a small arc.

So. Are you a friend of my fiancée? Kiki?

No. I don’t know anyone called Kiki. She swung herself a little higher. Matt noticed her flat stomach and long torso as she leaned back in the swing. Some nice abs under that dress, he’d be willing to bet. "To be perfectly honest with you, Matt, I don’t know anyone. I was, well, I was at a different party, a very small one, but I guess you could say I was done there. I more or less wandered into your backyard. If you can call climbing over your wall wandering in, I mean. This is your backyard?"

He nodded. Feeling himself fall into her direct gaze and warm smile, he took a drink and imagined what it had looked like, her climbing over the wall.

So, I don’t know anyone here, is what I’m getting at. I hope you don’t mind.

I could introduce you, Matt murmured stupidly.

Well. No, no. That’s not really necessary, probably. I’ll just sit for a moment and then find my way back. I’m not keeping you?

No, no! Heck no. Don’t sound so eager, he thought. Christ, I’m drunk, but what a babe. Stay as long as you like. There’s still some food left in the house, I’m sure, if you’re hungry.

She seemed strangely grateful. Surprised. There’s been food for me all up and down the street, she said. So many choices.

Would you like a drink? Matt lifted the bottle of scotch from the grass.

Um, there’s no glass, Hannah replied hesitantly, and Matt leaped to his feet, then grabbed for the swing’s chain to steady himself. The night was spinning a little. He wondered if there was any coffee made.

He handed Hannah the bottle. Stay right there. I’ll be right back. He lunged for the kitchen door, dodging a perfectly hideous clown and a Catholic cardinal with a huge red laced bra over his vestments. Matt paused long enough to point at this person, one of Kiki’s coworkers, and say, I always thought there was something extremely perverse about you, to which the priest responded by blowing a kiss.

There were people in the kitchen this time, someone pouring corn chips into a bowl and someone at the sink rinsing glasses. Shit, shit, she won’t still be there, Matt thought, hurrying, determinedly avoiding eye contact for fear of being spoken to and delayed. He reached for an everyday tumbler in the cupboard and then thought better of it and went around to the dining room to get a crystal highball glass from the china cupboard. He dropped some ice cubes into it and retraced his steps to the swings. It was black out there now. The moon must’ve clouded over. Goddamn it, she’s gone. Then two feet and beautiful legs swung into view and he saw she was still there. Her white hands held the chains, her head was back, and he could see her long neck, blood makeup staining the area under the chin. Then her head came down and her eyes fixed on him. It seemed as if she stopped mid swing and hung there for a long time. She was frowning, and her mouth was fixed in a cruel expression, but no, it must’ve been his imagination or some trick of the light, because he looked into those eyes and felt warm and welcome. She sank slowly back down to vertical in the swing and reached down for the bottle of scotch she held between her thighs. She raised her eyebrows as Matt just stood there, staring.

Come to me. I’m thirsty now. He couldn’t exactly hear her, but was pretty sure that’s what she said. He sat back down in the swing beside her and took the bottle of scotch from her and poured her a drink. Enough! She laughed, and he saw he had poured her glass a third full.

What exactly are you trying to do, Matthew?

Never mind about that, he said in an attempt to be sophisticated. He felt around in the grass for his own drink and added a splash to refresh it. What do you want to drink to?

Hmm. Hannah frowned. Unmasking? Sheryl Crow let out a scream from the speakers in the den.

Unmasking?

Chapter 3

The light was all wrong. Matt’s temples hurt, and it hurt when he moved his eyes, and the light in the bedroom just seemed all wrong. He flexed his neck painfully and realized his head was jammed against the headboard. He seemed to be scrunched up into the most uncomfortable position possible.

Oh, man. He carefully straightened his twisted back and extended his limbs one at a time until he was lying on his back. Crap.

Okay. It’s Saturday. I don’t have to be anywhere. The thing to do now is get up. Slowly. Get some coffee, maybe. His stomach suggested that coffee might not be possible. Maybe some water to start. Ice water. Wasn’t vitamin C supposed to help? No, that was only if you took it the night before. He turned his head to look at Kiki’s side of the bed. Empty. He hoped she wasn’t in the same condition.

Okay. Here we go, he said to no one and raised himself carefully into a sitting position and swung his legs over the side of the bed. It wasn’t good. The digits on the clock radio read 12:37. Fur-lined mouth and an ache on one side of his neck. He was still wearing the white pants of his costume, now a mass of wrinkles, and one red sock, but realized when he went to the bathroom he had no underwear on. Best not to think about that just now, he decided. Just get a couple of ibuprofens from the medicine cabinet. He opened the cabinet door and sprang back in horror as a small animal leaped out and landed in the sink. The sudden movement caused a hot, clenching pain in his neck, and his stomach contracted at the same time. Matt turned on his heels barely in time to fling up the toilet seat cover with that terrible clack, and he discharged his stomach contents into the bowl. He straightened immediately to see what the thing in the sink was before it pounced on him, and realized it was his John Lennon wig. Instead of relief, he felt extreme irritation. He lifted the wig between two fingers, throwing it onto the floor and turning on the tap so he could rinse the foul taste from his mouth.

This is the last time, he said to his red-eyed, puffy-faced image in the medicine cabinet mirror, that I ever drink like that. The last fucking time. Why is my neck so sore? There were two zits or bugbites or some damn thing on the right side, straight down from his earlobe. Allergic reaction to that stupid wig, maybe.

Matt brushed his teeth, rattled two ibuprofen tablets, then a third, out of the huge bottle of generic that Kiki kept on hand at all times, wisely he had to admit, and stood still for a moment after swallowing them with a half glass of water, just to be sure they were going to stay down before he left the bathroom.

Where the hell was Kiki, he wondered, unzipping the trousers of his costume and letting them drop to the floor. He stepped out of them and pulled off the remaining red sock, then groped for his dragon-festooned yukata from the hook on the back of the bathroom door.

The kitchen was grotesque. Smeary glasses covered the counter, and plates of leftover party food. Matt found a clean plastic cup, filled it from the water pitcher in the fridge, and got the hell out of there before he got sick at the sight of the mess.

It seemed best to sit down at the dining room table for a moment, rather than attempt the journey to the living room all in one go. He rested his chin on his hand and took occasional careful sips from the cup. Obviously today was going to be a total bust. He tried to think back and identify the moment when he had gone too far, but last night existed in his memory only as choppy images and a sensation of uneasiness. Was there something he should feel guilty about?

Oh, hell, here she comes. Kiki’s slippers were audible now, coming toward him. Flip, smack, flip, smack.

She stopped cold when she spotted him. He didn’t look up, but slumped back on his chair, rubbing his neck.

Honey. You look like shit. She sounded cheerful, in a subdued kind of way. She flip-smacked over to him and placed some photos on the table, moving aside a plate containing a single carrot stick and some ashes. I should’ve taped my eyes.

What? What could that possibly mean? You should’ve what?

Taped my eyes, Matty. Kiki leaned her hip against his shoulder and put her arm around him. She lifted one of the photos by the corner and held it in front of him. Matt leaned back, the corners of his mouth drawn down and his eyes opening wide to get as much light as possible in through his irises so that he could make out the images in the photo. Yup, they were John and Yoko, all right.

Taped the corners. Of my eyes. To look Japanese.

Matt laughed weakly. Of course.

I printed these this morning. We’re out of printer paper. You left me, like, half a package.

You’re the only one that uses the color printer, Kiki, Matt said, offended.

Bullshit. The pictures are great. The party turned out great. Sorry if I got wound up, Matt. I just wanted it to be something special. But look, this one’s weird. Kiki