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Blackness.
Chapter 30
I wake upin a strange bed.
No.
It’s not a strange bed.
It’s my old bed from my lakefront condo, but the sheets are different. They’re patterned with teeny tiny bouquets of wildflowers.
I’ve never seen these sheets before.
But the yellow water stain above my head is very familiar. It looks vaguely like theMona Lisa.And I had this very thought only a week ago when I was lying in bed waiting for my alarm to gooff.
A week ago.
I’m in my basement.
I’m not supposed to be in my basement.
I fly out of bed at Usain Bolt speed. It’s definitely my basement apartment. The low ceilings. The soupy smell. Frank. Hanging in the shower. Acting like his normal spidery self.
No.
No, no, no, no, no.
Something has gone wrong. I’m supposed to be back. This isn’t back.
I search my nightstand for my phone. It’s not plugged in where it’s supposed to be. I rip the covers from my bed and search under it, around it. The bathroom. The kitchen. My desk. It’s not here.
I have no way of contacting the outside world.
Fuck.
I need to find out what happened. I need to talk to Dax.
There’s a pile of clothes next to my bed. They’re not my costume from last night. I actually have no memory of wearing them recently, but I don’t have time to dwell. I throw them on, grab my purse, and sprint out of the house, trying to figure out where I went wrong.
I had the candles. We did the hand-binding thing. We didn’t do anything with the chicken, but the chicken has always been an unnecessary item of flair. Nothing makes sense.
I hit the asphalt of my front driveway and stop in my tracks. Parked in front of my house is my car. The gray Volkswagen Golf GTI Sport I bought after my first annual commission.
In my old life.
I make a full circle. Just to make sure it’s not an auto doppelgänger. But there’s no question it’s my license plate. My favorite Aritzia sweater is tossed on the front seat.
What the actual fuck?
I reexamine my keys. My VW key is on the chain. This doesn’t make sense, but what the hell. Time is of the essence. I unlock the doors, climb into the driver’s seat, and challenge every yellow light all the way to Aunt Livi’s store.
She doesn’t answer my banging on her apartment door, and the store below is still locked up tight. With no other ideas, I let myself in with my spare key, hoping it will hold a clue to what the hell is going on. The store looks the same. But there’s no evidence of the night before. No candles. No yarn. No chicken.
But there is something.
It’s just the wrong thing.
What the hell have I done?
