Page 1 of The Night Shift
Prologue
Holly
November 14th, 2019
10:34 p.m.
I often wonder if I’m insane.
Sometimes I feel like my mind is a perpetual haunted house, ripe with these flashes, and I don’t know if they’re nightmares or memories. I don’t know what’s real and what’s not.
“Here you go. One gin martini, extra dirty, eight olives.” Loud music blares from the speakers and the bartender puts my drink on a napkin and slides it toward me.
I mutter a quiet “thank you” as she saunters off to tend to another customer, her strawberry blonde waves bouncing with each step.
I bring the glass to my lips, immediately getting a mouthful of unmixed vermouth. The flashing strobe lights catch on my manicured green nails. I momentarily zone out, finding a strange kind of calm in the pulsing light and the way it reflects off my nails. My illusion of peace is quickly shattered by a burst of laughter that cuts through the music, reminding me of the busy scene around me.
Bodies jammed on the dance floor. Neon lights. Music thumping. Glasses clinking. It’s a Saturday night, so the bar is pretty crowded. I look to my right and see a creepy thirty-something-looking businessman hunched at the far end of the bar. He’s been relentlessly hitting on the lady next to him. Each time he’s tried to pull her into a conversation, she shoots him a sweet “please fuck off” smile followed by silence.
Then there’s the weirdo a few seats to my left. Greasy brown hair and slightly tanned skin. Each time he’s gotten up to go to the bathroom, he takes a seat closer to me upon returning, followed by an obnoxious “hey there” smile.
And finally, the happy couple sitting across from me on the opposite side of the bar. There’s nothing particularly “wrong” with them, but they’ve each been nursing a Long Island iced tea for the past forty minutes and it’s starting to piss me off.
Looking away, I take another sip of my martini. Despite all the noise around me, a dangerous sort of quiet settles over my shoulders like dust on a statue. I hear a faint buzzing sound. It’s so faint that it feels like it’s coming from deep within the walls of my own mind. Like some sort of high-frequency humming. A slow chill starts to set in. I drop my eyes and massage my temples. When I look back up, I find Aanya staring at me from behind the bar with glowing white eyes.
Her dark brown hair is twisted in a loose ponytail. She’s wearing the same mustard yellow shirt, along with the same faded overalls. A nauseating pressure starts to crush my chest from the inside. She moves to give the bartender access, even though she doesn’t need to. It’s not like anyone but me can even see her. I look down at her wrists. The gaping slashes are still there, but at least the blood is all dried up now.
My phone buzzes.
I take a deep breath and pull it out of my purse. Several texts from my sister.
Five are a bit old.
April:Hello, birthday girl.How was the mixer?
April: Meet any cute doctors?
April: What time will you be back?
April: Do you want some dinner?
April: Hol?
And one is from right now.
April: There’s some mac & cheese on the counter. Please eat before you sleep. Love you.
I set my phone facedown and go back to finishing my drink.
“Hey, there.”
I look to my left and see the tanned, muscular hand resting on the back of an empty bar stool next to me, and then up into the stranger's face.
“Are you here alone?” he asks.
It’s the guy from before. Weirdo Number Two. Greasy hair and slightly tanned skin. I notice the way his eyes dart down toward my chest. I’m still wearing my dress from the internship mixer. Dark green and satin with a high-neck halter. My breasts are hardly visible, but he looks anyway.
“No, I’m waiting for my boyfriend,” I lie. “He’s running a bit late.” Of course, I could tell him the truth and say, “no, I’m not interested,” but men tend to respect an imaginary “not-there” man more than an actual woman saying the word “no.”
