Page 107 of The Neighborhood Witch

“A parlor trick. Stage magic,” Alice’s words from last Halloween filled his mind.

He pulled out Alice’s phone and turned on the flashlight. He rushed over to the wine rack along the back wall. He pulled bottles, searching for anything that could help.

“Luck?” Hugo said. “Maybe.” He placed the bottle under his arm, his hand holding the phone.

“Contortion? No.” He pulled more and more bottles. “Courage. Insight. Happiness. None of these are going to work.”

He continued. “Fertility. Not right now. Protection. Too late. Youth. I guess I’ll try luck.” He placed the phone into his pocket and ran back up the stairs.

He charged into the living room. Alice’s body lay still on the velvet couch like a corpse in a casket. Her face had turned a pale blue. He knelt beside her, holding the bottle in one hand and gripping the top with the other. The cork buried flush into the bottle’s neck.

“Fuck. Corkscrew.”

He set the bottle on the coffee table, stood, and took off for the kitchen.

“She’s a damn human corkscrew. What are the odds she has one?” he murmured to himself.

He yanked open the counter drawers and rifled through their contents. Silverware, kitchen towels, cooking utensils. A drawer full of coupons, batteries, and other various odds and ends. None held a corkscrew.

He flung open the cabinet doors. Plates and dishes. Coffee mugs. Glasses. Nothing resembling a corkscrew.

He opened the final cabinet door. Wineglasseshung upside down. Resting in the corner below the hanging glasses was a lever corkscrew.

“Oh, thank God.” Hugo exhaled. He grabbed the corkscrew and hurried back to the living room.

Hugo repositioned Alice’s body, so her head was atop the arm rest. He placed the corkscrew overtop the bottle’s neck. He squeezed and pushed down on the lever. The corkscrew descended into the soft wooden stopper. He pulled up and, with a small ‘pop,’ the cork was free.

He opened Alice’s mouth. Her lips and jaw were cold to the touch. He poured in a small bit of wine—not much. He didn’t want to drown her trying to resuscitate her. He closed her mouth and tilted her head back. He waited.

Nothing happened.

He tried a little more.

Nothing.

He picked up Alice’s torso, hoping it would help her drink the liquid. He waited.

Nothing.

He placed her down. He ran back into the basement and wine cellar. He continued searching the bottles for anything to help. He found nothing. He let out a barbaric yawp. The same primal scream he imagined he let out in the church a year ago. He checked the phone. No calls. Zero bars. He rushed out of the cellar. One bar.

He dialed Ez again. “You’ve reached Ez. I’m not able to come to the phone at the moment because I’m probably working behind the bar. You know what to do, kiddo,” Ez’s prerecorded voice said once again.

Hugo hung up. He stood there; his emotions overwhelmed him. His eyes filled with tears. He could not hold back the deluge as tears fell down his face. He collapsed to his knees on the basement floor. His hand was the only thing keeping him upright. He could barely breathe through his sobbing. Fear washed over him at the realizationthat he couldn’t help her. He couldn’t help either of them. He hunched over and gasped for air with every sob.

“Why?” Hugo asked. “Why did this happen? Why did this happen again? Help me!”

His words pleaded out into the darkness for anyone or anything to listen. There was no response.

He raised his head. There, in the corner of the basement, below the stairs, rested an oak wine barrel. Not an ordinary wine barrel. Their wine barrel. The wine they made together. The one with the special potion that caused Alice to move and enter his life. The one Hugo insisted they make the traditional way. The one where Hugo and Alice shared their first kiss. Where they embraced for the first time. Where they made love for the first time. The Lovers’ Kiss.

He had to try it.

He climbed to his feet and went back into the wine cellar to grab a glass. He hurried over to the barrel. He grabbed the wooden stopper in the top center. He wiggled it back and forth; it wouldn’t give up the liquid held within. He continued working it until the stopper relented.

Hugo set the glass down and grabbed both sides of the barrel. He pulled with all of his might; his leg lodged under it to provide extra leverage. The barrel was unrelenting. The wooden brace below prevented any movement. He pulled with all of his might.

“Come on, you son of a bitch,” Hugo yelled. His grip was slipping.

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