As the final words of the inauguration speech faded away, leaving a vibrant energy that buzzed through the museum's grand park, I stood at the periphery, my eyes sweeping across the sea of guests as they transitioned from polite applause to wanton revelry. The atmosphere was electric, charged with excitement and the clink of glasses filled with the evening's signature concoction – the green moon drink.
Amidst the laughter and the din of conversations, I remained a vigilant sentinel. I took mental notes of everything, my planning instincts on high alert. I was part of the scene but separate, sober amidst the intoxication. As time ebbed, I noted the subtle shift in the air. The once ubiquitous green glow of the drinks dimmed, glasses now more often cradling amber spirits or left abandoned on linen-draped tables. Guests, too, began to thin, dissolving into the night-like mist. It wasn't noticeable to others since everyone now was roaming the museum freely, but to me, it was clear.
I searched for signs of the Lowell family, patrons of the museum and the night's honorees. They had been present, their laughter a melody above the crowd, but now there was a hollowness where they had stood. No one seemed to question their absence; the party pulsed on without them, oblivious.
Finally, the moment came when I could steal a breath. It was a luxury I seldom afforded myself during events, but the lull offered a brief respite. With a lightened heart, I made my way to where my girls were clustered, sparkling in their evening attire, their eyes alight with mirth and mischief.
"Can you believe this turnout?" Joy exclaimed as I approached. Her voice was a blend of awe and the faintest hint of envy, her gaze taking in the splendor of my handiwork.
"Everything's perfect, Lina," Sara chimed in, though her words were measured, careful not to tread too close to the invisible line between her and Joy.
I accepted their praise, the corners of my mouth lifting into a genuine smile. I felt a burgeoning sense of pride swell within my chest. Their reunion before the inauguration had mended some fences, and yet the air crackled with unspoken words, hanging thick between Joy and Sara.
"Thank you," I replied, my eyes flitting between my friends, acknowledging the compliment and the complexity of their dynamics. "It's not over yet, though. Have you noticed anything... off about tonight?"
Their expressions shifted, intrigue knitting their brows. I leaned in closer, my voice a conspiratorial whisper. "The Lowells, for example. They've disappeared."
A collective pause enveloped the group, a shared realization that indeed, the patrons had vanished, along with a surprising number of guests. But before we could dissect this curious observation further, the music swelled, calling the party back to life. The girls were swept up in the renewed energy, leaving me alone with my thoughts once again.
The music changed to a sensual rhythm that made people sway and move closer together; the lights dimmed slightly, and the scent of sweat and perfume intensified. I couldn't help but smile as I watched Coco dance with one of the waiters, his body moving fluidly against hers as they swayed to the beat. I caught her eye and mouthed something that made them both laugh. The crowd surged forward, circling around her and the girls as they danced unabashedly, lost in the moment. Slowly, Coco swayed her way to the girls, the guy following her every movement.
The bass throbbed through the museum halls, a heartbeat syncing with the pulse of the partygoers. Amidst the revelry, I leaned toward the group, lowering my voice to a hushed tone that belied my growing concern. "The Lowells are gone," I murmured, scanning the dwindling crowd. "And others too. It's like they've been siphoned away, unnoticed."
Coco, her eyes alight with the sheen of champagne and secrets, leaned in close enough for me to catch the scent of her floral perfume cutting through the musk of the throng. "Oh, Lina," she said, her words laced with an exclusive knowledge, "there's an afterparty, but it's strictly for the VIPs. You know how these things go."
"VIPs," I echoed, skepticism threading my tone. "But where are Ben and Gemma? They wouldn't leave without saying goodbye." My eyes darted across the room, landing on empty spaces where familiar faces should be.
"Probably just slipped out early," Joy suggested, her attention already stolen by a waiter passing with a tray of champagne flutes.
I let the matter rest, though unease clawed at the edges of my mind. The girls, now unfettered by their earlier tensions, swirled into the dance floor's embrace, laughter pealing from their lips. I watched them go, my heart lightened yet tethered by the threads of unanswered questions.
Choosing to indulge in a rare moment of respite, I approached the buffet, the spread lavish and largely untouched. I selected a canapé, its flavors bursting delicately on my tongue, and sipped a glass of wine, allowing its rich warmth to fill my chest. Engaging in small talk with a cluster of guests, the trivialities of conversation were a soothing balm to my frayed nerves.
As I made my way to the restroom, the corridor was quieter, shadows pooling in the corners away from the celebration's glow. My heels clicked on the marble floor, a solitary rhythm until—
A sudden grip, firm and unyielding, clamped around my arm. A gasp escaped my lips as I was yanked backward, the world tilting as I stumbled into darkness. The door swung shut behind me, plunging me into a space dense with the smell of bleach and pine disinfectant. My heart hammered against my ribs, panic rising like bile in my throat as I faced the cold sweat-inducing unknown.