Page 38 of Shattered Veil

Thin, pale ankles clasped in my hands.

Cassie’s body—mostly naked, sweaty, and writhing above mine, colored in sepia tones—hedonism incarnate.

An unknown woman, bloodied and bruised.

Cassie, once again, this time fully clothed and giving me a soft, somber smile as I held her face in my hands.

Claire, shrieking from the depths of her guts as a knife was thrust in her thigh.

Luke in a hospital setting, shirtless with streaks of iodine across a long gash on his ribs as he watched a doctor stitch the wound closed.

Save for those of Cassie and the woman who looked to have been beaten, they were all memories. Horrible memories. They weaved in and out of each other with the daunting fluidity of a rushing river encapsulated in ice—quiet, deadly, and cold…very cold.

I woke with the foreboding feeling that typically lingers after nightmares, staring at the ceiling with eyes wide open. It was only a few seconds of trying to make sense of the visions that were leaving me like condensated breath on a winter’s day when I realized why I had woken in the first place.

My phone was vibrating on my bedside table, the screen alight with not only the time of—fuck me—2:09 A.M., but also with Luke’s face. Wearing an amused yet annoyed gaze, I had taken the shot with quick fingers while he was wearing a Santa hat—it was a picture I took nearly a year ago at our Christmas visit to our parents’ house. I reached for my cell and swiped to answer his call.

“’S’late.”

Luke spoke through the speaker and into my ear. “Are you alone? Are—are you home? Are you home and alone?”

I was certain that I could hear him pacing while he said it—the pitter patter of his quick feet was hollow upon what could have been hardwood, and his tone was inherently anxious.

My chest squeezed. “Um, yeah. It’s two in the morning, what do you think I’m doing? What’s up?”

He rushed out, “We have a problem.”

I sat up quickly. “What is it?”

“Can you come down to Henry’s?”

“Yeah, I, ah—just give me a few?”

He exhaled heavily. “Yeah, okay. See you soo—”

“Wait, wait, what’s wrong?” I asked. “You sound nervous.”

“Not over the phone, Jay—just get here.” His voice went faint, as if he were pulling the speaker away from his ear, and I heard him speak rapidly, “Did anyone call Cas—”

The line clicked, my head swam, and I looked at my phone in my palm, perplexed. I could have hypothesized endlessly about why he desperately needed me to meet him after closing time at Henry’s or why he was asking if anyone had called Cassie, but I didn’t. I couldn’t because the panic in his voice was all too clear, and it was all I could do to spring out of bed, yank on whatever clothes I could find, and half-jog my way down the street.

I was careful to mind my steps as I moved. The ground was covered in at least an inch of powder, and thick flakes were clinging to my hair by the time I had made it. My hands were already throbbing with cold, and when I went to allow myself inside the bar, the front door wouldn’t budge.

“The fuck?”

I pushed and pulled with more force in case it was somehow jammed, and by the time I was considering reaching into my pocket to call Luke and question it, he was opening the door for me from the inside.

He stood in the entry, his hair sticking up on all ends and his eyes wild.

“Get in.”

I followed his instruction and crossed the threshold. “Jesus, you look like hell.”

The music was off. As he strode away from me, Luke’s steps echoed much like they had minutes ago through the speaker of my phone.

He ran his hands through his hair in agitation and insisted, “Lock the door behind you.”

I glanced to the door and back to him. “Um—”

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