The Midnight Tour

“Flyin’ high, dude!”

“Top notch!”

Darke stuck out her tongue and wiggled it at them.

Dennis hooted.

Arnold squealed.

Then Vein pulled her jacket off, swung it over one shoulder, and started striding down the aisle.

Dennis and Arnold stared at her, struck silent.

Vein stopped a few rows back from the guys. “In here,” she said to Owen and Darke. She sidestepped toward the middle of the row. Owen went in next, followed by Darke. Arriving at the seat she wanted, Vein spread her leather jacket across its back. Then she turned toward the watching boys. “It promises to be a most interesting night,” she said to them. Writhing, she slid her tongue across her lips and gave her left breast a slow massage through her bra. “See you later, dahhhlings,” she said, and sank down into her seat.

Dennis and Arnold turned toward the screen.

Vein grinned. Darke laughed softly. Owen sat between them, feeling a little nervous but also, strangely, very safe. As if he’d found himself a couple of spectacular body guards—weird, maybe, but his.

It seemed more like some sort of wild dream.

A great dream.

After so many things going so badly, to be followed into the men’s room by these two bizarre, incredible strangers...

Did we really do all that?

Damn straight, he thought, and smiled. He could feel the reality of it all over his body.

They aren’t exactly strangers anymore.

Turning his head, he looked at Darke. She was staring forward, her eyes half-shut.

How could I ever think she was a guy?

She looked at him. A corner of her mouth tilted slightly.

Then she leaned toward him, reached over the chair arm that separated them, and gently took hold of his hand.

His heart raced. His mouth went dry.

This is crazy, he thought.

She’s holding my band like a normal girl.

But the feel of a girl’s hand hadn’t made Owen feel like this in a very long time. Not since he was thirteen, he supposed. Thirteen and holding Nancy Farrow’s hand...

“Is this row all right with you, professor?”

Monica’s voice.

It gave Owen a sudden sick feeling.

Darke’s hand tightened its grip.

“Lady’s choice,” Bixby said, his voice booming at its usual volume.

Owen swung his head, peered over his right shoulder and saw Monica coming down the aisle with the professor.

“What do you want to do?” Darke whispered.

The sound of her voice sent a thrilling warmth through Owen.

He looked into her eyes. “I don’t know.”

“I don’t want to get you in trouble,” she said.

“Speak for yourself,” Vein said.

“I mean it.” Darke released her hold on Owen’s hand, but he kept his grip on hers. Her eyes widened a little. She pressed her lips together.

“This’ll be fine,” Monica said.

Owen kept his eyes on Darke’s eyes. But he noticed that Monica’s voice had come from nearby.

“If you want her back,” Darke whispered, “I can help.”

“I don’t.”

“Are you sure?”

“I can’t stand her.”

Nodding slightly, Darke squeezed his hand. Her eyes shifted sideways, then returned to Owen. “Looks like she’s going to sit behind us.”

“Owie, is that you?”

He twisted in his seat and forced himself to smile. “Hello, Monica.”

She sat down directly behind Darke. “You’ve met Professor Bixby, haven’t you?”

“Hi, Clive.”

“Owie,” Clive boomed, and dropped into the seat behind him. “Too bad you missed the picnic. We had a ripping good time!”

“Glad to hear it,” Owen said.

“Had a spot of digestive trouble, did you?”

“Right.”

“A shame. Likely the Polish sausage. But of course, your sister also ate the Polish, and had no trouble at all.”

“Owie has such sensitive bowels,” Monica explained, smiling at Darke.

Sister?

Twisting around farther, Owen said to Bixby, “If my bowels are sensitive, it’s because Monica is such a pain in the ass. I didn’t have digestive troubles. I escaped from the picnic to get away from her. And she’s not my sister. She’s my former girlfriend. Presently, she’s my stalker.”

Clive looked astonished. “I say,” he said.

Monica, sitting rigid and motionless, smiled sweetly at Owen and said, “I’m the best thing that ever happened to you, buster.”

“What a laugh. You’re an obnoxious bitch and I’m sick of you.”

“That’s no way to talk to the lady, young chap,” Bixby said.

Darke turned her head. “What’s with you and your fake accent, professor?”

“Ah! Now we have the castrato weighing in.”

“Get bit,” Darke said.

Vein twisted around. “Can’t we all just get along?” she said, glancing from Bixby to Monica. “Otherwise, I may pay you a visit during the show. You might not care for that.”

They both stared at her.

The lights went off.

Owen turned forward.

In the total darkness., Monica said, “I’ve had enough of this foolishness. Come back here and sit with me, Owen. Right now. I’m not kidding.”

He didn’t answer.

Suddenly, a spotlight came on. Its beam slanted down through the darkness and lit the center of the stage. There stood Lynn Tucker, a microphone in one hand.

“I guess everyone’s here,” she said. “Welcome to the Haunted Palace. Before we start the film, let me give you some background. In 1982, the year of The Horror’s original release, Malcasa Point didn’t have a functioning movie theater. The old theater had burnt down a few years earlier. But Janice Crogan really wanted The Horror to be shown somewhere in town. After all, she’d written the book it was based on, and the film was about Malcasa Point. It’d be a shame, she thought, if none of her friends or neighbors would get a chance to see it. So she asked for permission to show the film at the high school auditorium. No dice. The Legion hall. No dice. The Elks. Nope. The K. of C. Huh-uh. She even asked permission at a couple of local churches. Everybody refused. When The Horror came out, Janice could find only one suitable place to show it—the dining room of the Welcome Inn. She