Cline sets his beer down on the small table in front of the couch. “I want to know what’s going on with her dealer.” He glances at me and rubs the back of his neck.
“What do you mean?” Lucie asks, eyeing me.
“That was the last place she was known to be,” Cline says and turns to me, “and Lyn knows him pretty well, don’t you?”
“I used to know him, yeah,” I mutter.
“I’m going to see him after the show,” Cline says.
Stokes walks toward him with his arm out. “Not a good idea, man.”
Cline pushes his arm away and screws up his face. “Don’t tell me what I can’t do—”
“Hey, hey.” Stokes raises his arms and steps back. “I’m just saying, when you talk to the police, tell them about Taylor. Let them question him.”
Cline shakes his head. “I’m paying him a visit myself. You can either come and back me up or you can sit this one—”
“Everybody!” Jamie shouts. “Five until the show.”
We start to gather in the middle of the room, but Cline steps out of the circle. “Nah, none of this happy family band bullshit. Not without knowing where Pascha is.” He chugs his whole beer down as we all look at each other and pulls his Michael mask on before grabbing his guitar. “Let’s get this over with.”
Lucie kisses Mika goodbye, and Mika remains on the couch, blinking up at everyone.
“You’re not watching?” Stokes asks.
“Lucie and Jamie worked it out so I could meet Midnight Voices back here. They’re my favourite band—besides you, babe.”
Lucie shoots her a look in their matching outfits and grins.
Jamie leads us all out into the hallway and left toward the door. The party music gets lower and the crowd gets louder as someone comes on the mic and Jamie opens the door a crack, nodding to security.
“Please, put your hands together for our special Halloween opener for Midnight Voices, our hometown band, Haddonboro!”
The crowd hoots and hollers and the noise intensifies as Jamie opens the door and guides us to the stage. I scan the crowd, a flood of black, red, and white costumes with bits of colour in between. As I climb the stairs to the stage, some of the crowd is reaching out for us through the railing as security pushes them back.
“Hey.” Lucie stops me at her keyboard. “I hope you understand now why I was warning you about Taylor. Just not a safe guy to be around.”
I nod.
“Your song’s for all the women who’ve felt this way. It’s gonna be great!” She squeezes my arm and I give her a weak smile, mouthing thank you, before I follow Stokes to our positions in front of the mics.
The bright lights dim and I can make out all the people in the crowd.
Taylor stands by the bar, glowing under the blue light above in a leather jacket with a drink in his hand. He scans the stage until we lock eyes, a look of anger and confusion on his face until he side steps and disappears in the crowd.
Lucie starts playing the keyboard, a riff of the beginning of the first song, and keeps it on loop.
“How’s everybody doing tonight?” Stokes shouts and the crowd hollers and screams, with some howls mixed in. “Haddonboro is so honoured to open for Midnight Voices! We’re wishing everybody a Happy Halloween!” More cheers fill the bar. I feel eyes on me, and I catch Howard, stepping through the crowd, closer to the front, making my neck prickle with anxiety. “You guys want a trick? Or a treat? How about a treat?” Stokes nods back at Royal, and he begins playing the drums, creating a beat that some of the crowd sways to. Lucie plays the real intro to the song. Stokes turns to me with the same big, reassuring smile he did on the first night, and I take a deep breath and grab the mic.
Stokes begins to sing his part and I concentrate on his words. “Reach me with a whisper, might as well be a scream. What you do to me, I call it fate, you call it a dream.”
“Keep your distance,” I sing, “and I’ll bite my tongue for you. Just walk the other way, don’t try to play, I’ll act like I don’t have a clue.”
“That you want me,” we both sing, “there’s a red sky tonight. It may not come with a warning, but you keep me out of sight. You’ll think of me, you’ll reach out, and I’ll never be there for you. You want me, it’s a red sky, but you know I’ll turn it blue.”
As we continue to sing, Howard shoves his way closer to me, so he’s right before me, staring with a creepy grin.
I can’t look at him. I can’t let him intimidate me and ruin this.
I turn to Stokes and keep my eyes on him as we sing.
“Give me your number,” he sings to me.
“I’ve already got your number,” I echo back, remembering Taylor and I at his door, the night I first saw the black car with tinted windows.
“Tell me your secrets,” he sings.
“You know all my secrets,” I sing, and memories from last night, confiding everything in him flash before my eyes with the bloody tile floor—the bathroom—no—the kitchen. My old childhood kitchen and my dad’s blood.
As we approach the end of the song, I dare to look out at the crowd, at their rapturous applause and Howard is staring back at me with a crooked grin. I notice his costume. A brown apron, something like Alex wore when he greeted me at the door that afternoon, is wrapped over his neck, and tied around his waist. He holds up a butcher knife, the strobe lights glinting off the shiny metal as he hops around to the music, staring at me, and a flash of nausea rocks me.
“Ask me no questions,” I sing and Stokes joins in, “and we’ll tell each other lies. You
