Free Dead, Undead, or Somewhere in Between by J. A. Saare

his own laughter, lips contorting with the effort, and pulled me to his side.
    I stood patiently, nervous but somehow excited too. I felt like a spy, assuming different identities and working under cover. The Mission Impossible theme echoed through my mind as the lights shifted on the panel. My heart started hammering, and my skin began to tingle. The doors opened, and Goose’s arm tightened around my waist, leading us out.
    Directly ahead was a man in a black suit. Goose pulled me forward and approached the door confidentially. “Brad and Janet Hamlin, we were invited by Marcus Delmar.”
    He didn’t offer any further explanation and he didn’t look away.
    Jesus.
    Goose was a bona fide professional.
    I started to relax. Mr. Ethan McDaniel P.I. had this shit, no problem. The man in black nodded and moved away from the door to grant us access. Goose reached out and gripped the handle. Opening the door, he motioned me inside. I could hear the voices, high-pitched drones with pronounced vowels and leering pronunciation.
    I bit my lip, vowing I would not speak unless spoken to. I had two huge strikes against me. I had no formal education—other than the school of bar—and I came from the south. My southern accent wasn’t as severe as some, but it was evident, especially in a room full of millionaire northerners.
    Goose guided us across the room, toward a huge walk-in closet. He helped me out of my jacket and gently pulled my hair around my shoulders. Sensing my confusion, he led me inside and hung up the garment, showing me where it would be in case we made a speedy departure. I smiled nervously and his eyes tightened. He patted my chin with his knuckles, and I nodded in understanding.
    I would keep my chin up. To hell with the snobby bastards.
    He held out his arm and I took it without hesitation. This was a partnership now. I’d have to get used to trusting someone else besides myself.
    We exited the closet and walked into a huge room full of people. I suddenly understood the need for snazzy clothes. Everyone was dressed in form-fitting dresses, suits, and designer duds specifically tailored for them. The crowd was older, too. I was one of the youngest in the room, and probably considered eye candy along with the few other males and females with older dates.
    There were tables filled with drinks, and hors d’oeuvres were lined up on one side of the room. The wall opposite was open to allow a breathtaking view of Central Park, street-lit walkways as perfect as a watercolor painting.
    “So far, nada,” I leaned over to whisper in Goose’s ear, smiling pleasantly as a server with a tray offered us a glass of wine. I put the glass to my lips and took a small sip. It tasted slightly off, too sweet somehow, and I puckered my lips.
    Goose’s face tightened, and his eyes narrowed.
    As if to say I told you so.
    I would have spit the fluid back up if I could. How stupid could I be? The room changed as the air became crisper, the voices became clearer, and my vision…I saw every minute detail, ranging from the brownish seeds on the strawberries nestled on trays across the room, to the lint on Goose’s shirt as he turned to me.
    “Oh God,” I whispered, wanting to be sick but knowing I had to keep a straight face. I swallowed, aware of my tongue and the sweet taste that lingered on the surface.
    Goose moved in against me, a fake smile plastered to his face. He shifted close and leaned down. The feel of his breath against my cheek made me shudder as my legs swayed.
    “It will pass in another five minutes or so. You didn’t drink much.”
    “Okay.” Even my voice sounded different, like a purr in my ears.
    His hand grasped mine, and I could feel the heat as it radiated from his body in warm waves. He slipped my fingers under his arm, wrapping them around, and walked me to the window, giving me something to focus on until the feeling passed. I stared down at the trees and lamps in the distance, and slowly, things dulled.