Free Dead Spell by Belinda Frisch Page B

generic ketchup, an expired carton of milk, and a single can of beer. She popped the tab on the beer and took a mouthful, swishing the crushed pill loose and swallowing. The second handful of pills went down easier and, as she finished the beer, they took hold. She was woozy and tired and as she walked out of the kitchen, she tipped off balance and crashed into the dish-filled sink, scattering and breaking two mold-covered milk glasses.
    “I hope you’re happy.”
    She staggered into her bedroom and pressed her palms and forehead to the cool glass of the mirror. The face staring back at her was ruddy but pale, her makeup blending into funhouse swirls of red and black. She blinked until her pinpoint pupils were clear in her reflection.
    “This is what I want.”
    She gasped, unable to draw a full breath.
    Time was almost up.

 
     
    20 .
     
    Brea and Jaxon stood under the marquee of the old Summit Theater. They were among an eager horde of horror fans, many in theme costumes, waiting for the doors to open to Shreikfest.
    Brea knew she should have been more excited, but worry, anger, and preoccupation prevented it. She looked at her cell phone for the tenth or so time, and seeing no calls from Harmony, slid it back in her pea coat pocket.
    Jaxon leaned over and gave her a playful nudge. “She’ll call. You two have fought before, right?” He sounded unconcerned.
    “Of course we’ve fought, but she never stays mad this long.” She didn’t tell him what Harmony accused him of and didn’t have the guts to confront him about it. “I left her a message over two hours ago and she isn’t calling back. That’s not like her, not even when we’re fighting.” She took the phone back out and restarted it in case it had a glitch.
    “Would you knock it off? You’re going to kill your battery.” He took her phone, shut it off, and put it back in her pocket.
    The crowd moved toward the man in the white gloves releasing the crimson rope.
    “All ticketholders this way, please. Anyone who needs to purchase a ticket should go to the window to my right. Will-call in the left line only.”
    “Ready?” Jaxon wrapped his arm around Brea’s shoulder and the two of them were nearly knocked down by a woman in a Victorian gown with an enormous bustle.
     “I feel a little underdressed.”
     “You look great,” he said. “Let’s try and enjoy this.”
     
    * * * * *
     
    It was after one a.m. by the time Shreikfest let out and going for two when Brea got home.
    Her mother was asleep under a blanket on the couch and she made it upstairs without waking her up. When she hung her coat on the back of her desk chair, her cell phone fell out of its pocket.
    “Oh, crap.”
    She turned it on. Seven messages. She entered her password and listened.
    “Brea, it’s Adam. Call me when you get this.”
    In the two years he’d been dating Harmony, he’d never once called Brea.
    She dialed his number from the missed calls log.
    The phone only rang two times, but it felt like a hundred.
     “Brea?”
    “Adam, what’s wrong? Where’s Harmony? Is she okay?”
    He coughed and sniffled, crying so hard that she couldn’t understand what he was saying. Instinctively, she started crying, too. “What did she do? Where is she? Adam, what happened?”
    “She did it. She…killed herself.”
    “What?” The words were momentarily incomprehensible. “Adam, no. Oh my God, no. When? How?” Guilt stunned her into an emotional vacancy built on denial. “It’s a mistake. It has to be.”
    He drew a ragged breath. “It’s not. Charity found her, overdosed.”
    Brea couldn’t help but to notice the irony. “Why are you calling me, where’s Charity?”
     “She signed out of the hospital AMA , but the cops brought her back after she found Harmony. They have her up on the BHU.”
    BHU. The Behavioral Health Unit. She remembered when Harmony was locked up there. She had been so sedated that she could barely hold down a conversation.
    “What