Page 23 of The Wishing Game

But as I march forward, stabs of pain erupt all over my left arm. Without the benefit of the cast to keep it immobile, every little movement causes me anguish. And now that my adrenaline has started to wear off, the pain becomes increasingly more nuanced.

If only I'd grabbed some pain medication on my way out.

With a sigh, I continue on, curious to see what I'd been invited to. It's not as if I have anything better to do with the police still outside looking for me.

As I descend, the sound of music becomes louder and louder, and when I get to the bottom of the stairs, I notice an odd array of colored lights.

It's only when I step inside that I realize this must be a club.

The room is packed with people, dancing and swaying to the music. The lights alternate between red, blue, and pink, giving everyone an ethereal look. They look lost to the sound, their eyes closed, their bodies moving to the beat as if they were chasing the high of carpe diem—or, in this case, carpe noctem.

A melancholic smile flickers on my lips. Nikki would be so proud of my Latin—he taught me the basics himself.

"Welcome, Mrs. Archibald," a man greets me as I step inside.

I frown, confused at how he'd know my name, but I assume the person at the entrance might have let him know.

"Please, have a complimentary drink." He takes a fancy glass from his tray and hands it to me.

My mouth opens to refuse, but an errant thought pushes me to take it.

"Thank you," I say as I accept the drink. It's a neon color, something I've never seen before. But as I bring it to my mouth for a sip, a strong mango flavor with only a hint of alcohol hits my tongue. The drink is so yummy that I end up drinking it in one go.

"You may dance or go to the sitting area by the stage. The main event should start soon," the server continues, handing me another drink with a knowing smile.

Despite knowing I shouldn't, I accept it. It's too delicious to pass, and I don't think it's too strong to affect me—not that I'm an expert in alcohol. Nikki had never been a big drinker since it triggered his anxiety, so we've mostly had a glass of wine here and there with dinner. But this? This is just fabulous.

I take another sip as I walk toward the sitting area. My body is already becoming more relaxed, my heart rate dropping as my fear slowly melts away. I find an empty seat in a more secluded corner and sigh deeply as I finally sit down.

God, I don't think I've ever run as much or as fast as I did today. Then again, I don't think I ever imagined the police would chase me either.

The club is divided into three sectors. There's a rectangular dance floor in the middle, facing a main stage that's big enough to host a live show. All around, there are seating areas—tables with chairs, sofas, bar stools. There are a variety of enclosed spaces that allow for more privacy for those who don't wish to exert themselves.

If at first glance I'd thought that everyone was dancing, now that I have a better look around, I realize that the people on the dance floor are in the minority. Most people are on the fringes, glancing around suspiciously, some curiously. They're holding tightly onto the sparkly invite, their bodies tense and anxious.

Although there are some dressed normally, the majority are wearing odd costumes. I spot a few animal ones, some wolves, lions, and panthers. My eyes widen in appreciation as I study them. Their costumes are so realistic, it's as if they'd stepped out of a video game. There are also some more... eccentric ones. Some people are painted from head to toe in different colors. I spot a few pink ones, some green, and even some purple ones, all with some special features. The pink girl has translucent wings and the purple one has a fluffy tail.

"So pretty," I whisper to myself.

Compared to all these extravagant costumes, I'm only wearing a simple black dress. But the invite hadn't specified a theme, had it? My brows bunch up in confusion. I hadn't perused it enough for that, and now I wish I'd paid more attention.

But just as I think of the invite, I'm also reminded about its odd appearance and the fact that it kept following me around—or did it? There's no denying that there's something very odd about the entire situation. But I'm still not sure if this isn't a by-product of my accident.

Have I gone... mad? Is that what's happening? Maybe I'm seeing a distorted version of reality due to my head injury.

"Another drink?" A server stops in front of me, her tray full of the same neon drinks.

"I shouldn't." I lick my lips as my eyes zero in on the liquid.

Damn my sweet tooth! Why did it have to be so delicious?

"Are you sure?" she asks, pushing a glass toward me.

I'm ready to refuse, but somehow, I end up taking the drink and thanking her. Everyone is drinking the same thing, and I don't see one drunk person around. My initial assessment that it shouldn't be a strong cocktail was likely spot-on.

Sipping quietly on my drink, I realize that the pain from my arm is completely gone, my body so much more energized than before—and that's a feat considering how hard I ran.

"Is that seat taken?" A voice startles me from my reverie.

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