I spun away from the memory and took in where I was now, not wanting to miss a thing. A frown creased my brow, and my satisfied grin wilted.
I was very confused with what I was seeing. The rooftop became a vacuum. All the air around me was slowly being sucked away. I felt even more disoriented than before.
How could I be looking down at my own body curled up on the plush, purple couch? This was just so wrong. Like, seven ways till Sunday wrong. Could I reach out and wake myself up? I knelt down, stood back up. Just too weird. So far beyond bizarre.
"At my own party?" I yelled out again. Because someone must have deposited something pretty damned crazy in my drink to be seeing this. I mean, I'd dropped acid a couple of times—also last summer—but I'd never experienced anything remotely close to this. The fanciful brocade wallpaper of the Villa waving and creeping? Uh-huh! The Persian carpet undulating underfoot in the historic building's hallway? Yep, you betcha! The crouching gargoyles moving on the tenth-floor balcony of Ethan and Katya…right now? Okay, that had happened before tonight too. So, absolutely!
But this? This was completely fresh.
I looked around for the guy who'd delivered the tainted, violet drink to me. He must have been one of the many friend-of-a-friends who showed up. I hadn't known him. He looked familiar, seemed familiar, like maybe I knew him slightly from a previous party or in passing from one of the clubs.
I didn't see him anywhere now.
"Wake up!" I yelled at myself. "You're missing your own party!"
The me on the sofa didn't stir or respond in any way. I sat down on the pretty, dark vermillion and gold Persian rug and cradled my face. My elbows rested on my knees as I stared dismally at myself.
"Unbelievable," I murmured, shaking my head faintly. "This isn't really happening," I reasoned, trying to talk myself down. "I want this to be over. I need this to be over now. It's my party. I don't want to be doing this. I want to be over there, with Evie and Katya and Rachel and Mari. Dancing. I want to be dancing." I spoke their names like a charm, as if invoking each one would make it all better.
Then a very simple thought dawned on me. Suddenly and sickeningly, it wafted through my mind like a whisper on the cool ocean breeze.
"Oh. Oh. No. No, no, no way." My stomach twisted, then took a steep dive. I choked on my breath. "That couldn't happen." I shook my head distractedly, whispering, "I'm not dead."
A man's voice off to my right interrupted my lament. "Um, sorry, but you are. It really has happened." My gaze darted to the opposite end of the sofa. "I was wondering how long it would take you to come to that particular conclusion," he continued, looking down at his watch, then back to my face. "Not bad."
"Excuse me?" I couldn't have heard him correctly. It had to be the drugs.
"That's you." He nodded in my direction. Well, at the other me on the couch. He shook his head indifferently. "An overdose of some sort, unfortunately . . . Not sure what he slipped you, to be honest. Whatever it was, it stopped your heart while you were sleeping. Quite peaceful, actually."
I slid him a sideways glance, not entirely ready to take my eyes off myself, and not entirely buying into what he was saying. In fact, far from it. What was he on? Why was he messing with me?
I looked him over thoroughly, wondering how I knew him and why he was at my party. He was casual in black Levi's, boots, and a green flannel shirt over a black T-shirt, with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His hair was a golden brown, spiky and messy in a sexy bedhead kind of way. His eyes, somewhere between green and blue, had no end in their depth, and I found them to be somewhat unsettling and incredibly alluring at the same time.
I shook my head to clear it. I was pretty sure I didn't know him.
If I wasn't right smack in the middle of a crisis, I might have found him cute. In fact, wait . . . I had seen him a little while ago, before all this drama began. I vaguely remembered seeing him arrive. I'd been deep in a conversation with Ethan and Seth, but my sight was drawn to him. As he entered the rooftop, he paused in the doorway, scanning the crowd as if he were meeting up with a friend. I recalled thinking he was really good looking with the devil-may-care manner he exuded and an electric smile that sparked in his eyes. I'd wondered for a moment if he was with a date or, hopefully, alone. He would be a nice birthday gift.
Rachel had come along and pulled me away before I could play host by introducing myself and offering him a drink.
He had an easygoing manner about him, evident in the way he lounged so casually with his arms spread out across the back of the couch. He had a warm, wide smile, but under the circumstances . . .
"Nice turnout, darlin'," he said, gesturing at the numerous guests as he popped a cheese-topped cracker into his mouth and savored it with a sociable smile. "Mmmm. Malvarosa, nice choice." His gaze landed on the birthday banner. "Rotten bit of luck there." He gestured at the banner.
I frowned. I didn't want to look at myself anymore, so I focused my attention on him. The cheese was a gift from Katya. She had special-ordered it just for me from Dean & Deluca. How'd he get some when I hadn't had a chance at it yet?
I couldn't quite place the accent. Was it Scottish? Irish? Do I know anyone within my social circle from Scotland or Ireland? Sticky cobwebs kept reforming in my head against my will. I shook it to clear out the cotton candy fuzziness.
"Can you bring me some coffee or something? Or maybe go find Evie? Maybe she'll know how to get me down from this."
He just kept looking at me, heaving a heavy sigh and rolling his eyes while shaking his head. I don't care how cute he is, he's pissing me off. He didn't make any move to help me or get anyone else to help me. He just gestured with a nod back over to the sleeping form at the end of the couch.
"Why don't you go to your friend? Why haven't you gone over to her yet, Claire?" he asked me simply.
Good question. However . . .
"My name's not Claire. It's Nika."
I started rising to get help from Evie, but I couldn't budge. A pounding fear began to beat inside of me. A thought was teasing just at the edge of my consciousness. What was it? I tried to wrap my brain around it, but it kept slinking away. I abruptly felt more panic-stricken.
I looked back to him. As he studied me, I saw something in his demeanor shift. He must have seen the anxiety on my face and realized exactly how I was feeling because something in his face softened. His expression became gentler and less self-satisfied.
That might even be a trace of concern creasing his brow. Oh, relief. Maybe this game is over, and he realizes he's gone too far and he's going to fix it.
But he didn't move. He just sat there.
We stared at each other, one trying to read the other. I looked back over at my body and shook my head. This had to be a joke, or a very bad birthday hoax gone awry.
"Come on," I pleaded softly. I begged him with every ounce of earnestness I could muster. "What's really going on? This is some sort of really bad prank, right?"
He shook his head gently and tried to reach for my hand. I slid it away. I didn't want to be touched.
"Well?" I waited for him to provide a response, hopefully the one I wanted to hear. The proverbial light bulb blinked on in my head. Vincent, my ex, could have planned this! He may have heard about the party. He'd been the one who broke things off, but he still hated the fact I was over him. He was just spiteful enough to do this. This was much worse, but it did call to mind our second date when he'd taken me to a concert in Hollywood, and his ex-girlfriend had been there. He paraded me around in front of her several times, cleverly positioning us near her, and then behaved extra affectionately with me. At the time, I wasn't aware he'd been the one to end their relationship. Once I knew, I felt a little sick and disappointed. That poor girl. He'd broken her heart, and he had the nerve to flaunt his new love in front of her. Cruel. Looking back, it was a perfect insight into who he truly was.
"Did Vincent put you up to this? Come on, tell me. Was it him? Do you know him?"
He shook his head.
"You can't be serious?"
He merely nodded. My breathing was becoming unsteady. I heard light, cheerful laughter coming toward us. It belonged to Evie and Mari. I stood up, smiling. Mari was carrying a slice of cake on a plate. It looked to be chocolate mousse cake with strawberries . . . yum.
"Ha! See!" I cried out at him, directing his attention to them. "That was a really messed up joke—" I broke off, my sentence incomplete as Evie passed through me.
She passed through me.
I trembled, strangling on my own breath as if I were being garroted by a wire. My legs gave up all their strength, turning to mush. Tears stung my eyes as I sank to my knees.
I raised my face to him, feeling the wet beads roll down my cheeks.
"So, that's it?" I managed after a moment of searching his face, in a desperate attempt to determine if he was screwing with me. "You're telling me the truth, aren't you? You're telling me I really am dead."
He nodded solemnly.
"This is no joke. No bad, bad, stupid, idiotic joke?"
"Sorry darlin', wish I could say it was. You seem like a lamb, but . . ." He motioned around at the party, then toward the other end of the couch, "This party's over for you."
I managed to glare at him, a weak glare through tears, but still. What was that remark supposed to be? Witty?
"Well, that's just messed up. Majorly. Why now? I just got my life back. Everything is finally right." I squeezed my eyes closed, willing it all to be a dream, a nightmare. More vicious droplets of fear and despair burned behind my eyelids.
"No. I'm not doing this." I turned my tear-streaked face to him. If I was dead, why was it so damned hard to breathe? How could I feel so sick? "And who are you, anyway? Why are you here? I didn't invite you. Why do you know what's happening? Why can you see me, but Evie and Mari couldn't? Evie walked right through me." I fired off the questions in rapid succession, not giving him a chance to answer.
"Claire, we should go now." He said it so simply, after checking the time on his watch again. He reached forward, as if to take hold of my hand.
I didn't care how good the words sounded coming from him, with his nifty accent. "No way. Not gonna happen." I scrambled away from him and stood back up, unsteady but still holding my ground. "I don't know you, and you're not answering any of my questions." I jabbed an accusatory finger at him. My eyes widened in conviction and then in speculation. "And stop calling me that. My name is Nika. Did you do this to me?" I accused.
"No," he protested, a look of aversion on his face. "I'm an Usher, not a Grimmig."
"What?" I rolled my eyes and huffed. I didn't know what the hell he was talking about. His words were not making any sense to me. I could feel my ears heating up, an odd thing they tended to do when I was faced with a maddening situation.
"The fellow who gave you the drink . . ." He strode closer to me, and I edged further away, toward the propped-open roof door. I should have heard the gravel crunching beneath our boots, but I didn't. Why can't I hear the gravel crunching? "He was a Grimmig, your Grimmig tonight."
I stared at him. "Do you know how crazy you sound?" The look on his face was unwavering. With everything I'd seen and experienced tonight, who was I to dispute his statement? Who was I to say anything at all right now?
"Doesn't change what's happening."
I felt breathless and unnerved. His words didn't clear away my unease at all. My emotions were all over the place, but it was anger burning its way to the forefront.
"Well . . . that's just fucked up! He poisoned me?" I fumed.
"Not exactly. Not on his own. The fellow over there," he said, pointing to the opposite side of the roof, where a youngish guy in goth attire stood near the makeshift bar. "He slipped a little something extra into your glass. Not quite sure what it was, though I can't imagine it would have led to any sort of happy ending either. Of course, not nearly as harsh as this, but probably still traumatic, I'm sure. Your Grimmig merely gave it a little extra kick to push it over the edge."
He was so matter-of-fact. I shook my head desperately, not wanting to accept any of this.
"And who are you?" I glowered at him.
"I'm Dermot." He extended a hand in greeting. I ignored it with a look of contempt on my face. I might have had some romantic notions when I first saw him, but now he claimed to have something to do with my death. Why would I for any conceivable reason want to touch him now?
"I'm your Usher."
Like this bit of info would make it all better.
"I'll explain it all to you when we reach our destination."
"To where? And wait. No." I shook my muddled head. "I'm not going anywhere with you," I growled at him, edging closer to the door.
Dermot sighed. "We have to. We can't hang around here. Sooner or later, most likely sooner, someone is going to try to wake the birthday girl, and then things are going to get truly interesting. Do you want to see the reaction of your friends when it happens? Do you want to watch the paramedics try to revive you? Trust me. You do not want to hang around and watch the aftermath. I've seen it happen. It will be even less fun for you than this right now."
"It's all too fast. I can't think straight." My breathing was ragged, as I absorbed another bout of dread.
"I don't mean to seem uncaring, but it's the truth of the situation. These are things you have to consider."
"Can they see you? Can they hear you?
"Yes, but only if I allow it."
"And are you? Allowing it?"
"Not since I began speaking to you."
My head was spinning. My throat was burning from the exertion of holding back sobs. I moved markedly away from him, making my way through my friends, looking all around me as I turned among them, willing them to see me, speak to me, touch me, hug me . . . Oh hell, even bump into me. The closest thing I got was another person walking through me on their way to the bar. Dermot followed closely, always just an arm span away.
"Look, darlin', I do this every day. Well, nearly every day. I'm doing my best to be delicate and take your feelings into account, but you've got to cut me some slack. Work with me."
"This is not real."
"How much proof do you need?" Frustration tinged his voice.
I took one last look at myself, and my friends gathered for me. They're all so happy and unaware. A moan of absolute desolation escaped me. I darted for the door. I tore down the single flight of carpeted stairs, passing my neighbor's door, and skidded to a halt at the front door of my own apartment. I reached for the doorknob, prepared to race through and barricade Dermot out, but my hand passed right through it.
The air in my lungs rushed out in dismay. "Shit!" I cried. I gave it another go, and another, but my hand passed through the metal as if my fingers were made of fog. I sighed distraughtly, wondering if I were to lean my head against the door, as I so utterly felt the need to do, would I pass through it?
"We've got a lot to talk about, and we can't do it here."
I glared at him in response. The fire of rage and resentment hit a crescendo. My mind suddenly felt focused and sharp. Something hummed deep within me, making the fog and cobwebs fall away. I grabbed at the shiny brass doorknob and felt my hand grip it solidly. I grinned and turned it, swiftly pushing the door open.
"What?" Dermot sounded terribly perplexed. I felt immensely satisfied with my achievement. "No. No. You can't do that."
"I just did," I said to him smugly, rushing through the front door and slamming it in his face. I slid the deadbolt into place quickly behind me. He was not welcome here.