Page 17 of The Trick

“Sorry. Why I’m here. Right.” The inflection in his voice brightens as if a light just went off reminding him why the hell he came to my house in the first place.

He begins patting the inner lining of his jacket, mumbling something under his breath with a strong scowl across his brows. A few more seconds pass until his face lights, moving his hand from where he was just digging in his pocket. “Ah, here it is!” he exclaims, retrieving a white envelope out from where he was just searching. He glides his now shaky hand in front of him. My gaze falls to where his hand is now flat against the table, with the envelope still in his possession. With his unsteady fingers still hovering over the seemingly nondescript envelope, he moves his other hand back to the mug.

The ceramic mug clatters against the oak table a few times as he tries to steady his grip. Though it doesn’t prevent him from lifting the cup to his lips for another giant gulp and steam ripples around his face as his swallowing becomes audible.

An obnoxious and long-winded sigh escapes his lips. He places the mug down, appearing increasingly shaky before he addresses me with an awkward gaze. “Does the name Maddox Crane ring any bells Ms.–” he continues speaking but my hearing begins to wither after hearinghis name.

I don’t know how, after all these years, that god forsaken name is still capable of making my stomach drop. I shift in my seat, switching my crossed legs, my face remains expressionless despite the conflicting rush I feel spread within my veins from the mere mention of his name. “What about him?” I ask, in a matter-of-fact tone, interrupting whatever he was going on about.

His lips begin to part, though all that sounds is a rugged inhale. Judging from the way his upper body is beginning to sway, the blend I served him is starting to kick in.

“Mr. Van Brunt,” I snap. “What about him?”

Sweat begins to bead past his temples at a rapid rate.

“Ugh, sorry, is it hot in here?” he asks, shaking his head appearing increasingly disorientated.

“No,” I deadpan. “Now what about him?” I repeat, this time raising my voice, though it’s appearing that the triple potent blend is working its deadly magic. A boisterous gasp leaks from his mouth again, except this time it’s followed by a coughing fit that causes him to hunch forward. Sweat continues to drip down his increasingly pale face.

I rise from where I am seated, pretending to look concerned. “Well, since you don’t look too good, I’ll just take this.” My lip pouts matching the condescension that is ripe in my voice. I hinge forward to the center of the table. “Here, let me get that from you,” I breathe, prying his sweaty fingertips from where they begin to stain the envelope with perspiration.

Bringing the flimsy envelope into view, I notice how light it feels. Though before I inspect what’s inside, I really need to have this guy stop hacking so loud and just put him out of his misery. Placing the envelope back on the table, I walk to where Brody is keeled over on the chair.

I wrap my fist around the back ofhis sports jacket. Yanking the gathered material upward, I continue to pull his weight with my hand until he is sitting somewhat upright. “Here, let me help you.” Keeping one hand on his backside, I extend my other toward the now half empty mug. Bringing it to his lips, I maneuver them open.

“I watched a documentary once about how there are so many herbs that can help improve our health. It’s why, despite my black thumb, I keep some handy in the garden. Open up Mr. Van Brunt, this will help open your airways.” I lie, holding his body upright so I can pour the remainder into his mouth. He begins to gasp though it quickly morphs into a gargling as the liquid begins to splash against his lips. I tilt his head back so as much of the potent blend can get in and seal his airways shut. “That’s it, just a little more to go,” I whisper in his ear andas I let go of him, his body thuds against the wood table.

I avert my gaze to the small clock on the wall across from where I stand. Good, I have enough time to figure out the latest round of incriminating evidence against me and still get to Satan’s on time.

Picking up the envelope once more, I lift the half-sealed flap to discover that there’s asmall polaroid placed inside. Retrieving it from the envelope, I’m even more confused because it's of a log cabin. I continue to stare at the picture, trying to piece together why this man brought it over here in the first place and what it has to do with Maddox when a bright light flashes in my periphery.

My heart begins to bounce around my chest when an even brighter flash of light,presents itself. This time coming from the front of the house.

Worry creeps up on me for a moment but it quickly dissipates when I’m able to process that the lights are not the typical red and blue associated with the law. Whatever is flashing outside is bright with a yellow cast. Still looking ahead, I tip toe closer to the back sliding door when a pulse begins to vibrate from my thigh harness. Loosening the strap of my harness, I grab my phone and notice two new texts from my mom.

Mom: Call me now.

Mom: !!!!!!

Ah, what now?

My eye’s roll as I press the green call button, pinching the phone between my shoulder and ear so I can continue to try to see where that flash of light came from. My phone vibrates against my ear, before the grainy ringing is replaced with my mother's voice.

“Blair, where are you?” My mom asks, nagging at my ear drum.

“Hi, Mom. I’m good and you?” I say sarcastically.

“I’m serious, where are you? We need to talk.” Her voice sounds more urgent this time.

“I’m home but this isn’t really a good time.”

A disapproving sigh filters through the phone. “You know, I wish you didn’t insist on going there today.”

It doesn’t come as a surprise that my mom doesn’t approve of my decision to drop out of NYU my sophomore year to pursue other avenues. I’ve tried my hand at an array of different jobs, but nothing has held my interest or felt quite like dancing at Satan’s has. It just feels like home. Plus, I make enough money working three nights a week that I have time for my otherhobbies.

“Tonight, or in general?” I ask.

“Honey,” she begins, gearing herself up for a mini lecture. “My feelings about that place aside, it’s not safe being out tonight.”

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