Lacking a wine glass, Erin poured the wine into an insulated plastic tumbler and retreated into her bedroom with the tumbler and the bottle.
She drank a big swallow of wine and coughed. Perhaps this wasn’t the best idea.
Then again, she didn’t have any better ideas. She took another sip, set the tumbler and bottle on the nightstand, changed into her pajamas, and crawled under the covers.
Two tumblers of wine later, her head buzzed like a beehive. She should have eaten something to soak up the wine, something more than a nibble of dog biscuit, but it was too late.
Erin rolled onto her side and closed her eyes. The room spun. She searched her mind for comforting thoughts to chase away the impending nightmares and found nothing.
Instead, she recalled her last words to Mark. The Lord forsake you and the Devil take you.
Erin shuddered with embarrassment. Could she be any more childish? She cringed into her pillow and pulled the covers tighter, willing herself to go to sleep.
With her eyes still closed, and her mind drifting in a state between wakefulness and unconsciousness, a frisson crawled over her skin from the top of her head all the way to her toes, wiping away the tension in her body as it rippled through her. If this was a dream, she didn’t want to wake up. It was far more pleasant than her current reality.
A sound like an unfurled bolt of silk brought her to the edge of awareness. She dreamily observed a pair of gray feathered wings unfolding over her. Instead of feeling frightened, she felt sheltered—safe—as she tumbled the rest of the way into the darkness of sleep.
2
The phone on the nightstand rang.
Erin groaned and rolled across the bed. She grabbed the phone and mashed the button to pick up. “Hello?”
“Well, hello there. You sound rough.”
It was Joyce, Erin’s mother.
“Mom?” Erin blinked at the clock. 8:00 a.m. on the dot.
“What are you doing in bed, honey? Weren’t you and Mark always up with the chickens?”
“Mark isn’t around anymore, Mom, and there never were any chickens. Unless he was hiding those from me, too.”
“It’s amazing how you can still make jokes about it,” said Joyce.
“Would you rather I made death threats? It would be more satisfying,” said Erin, lying back on a pillow and closing her eyes.
“Don’t say that. It sounds so un-Christian. Besides, you and Mark were a great couple. I just don’t understand what went so wrong.”
Erin sat straight up and triggered a massive pain in her head. “A great couple? Are you kidding? He cheated on me, Mom. We’re divorced. There is no ‘you and Mark’ anymore.” She rubbed her eyes. “And if we’re going to talk about being ‘un-Christian,’ how about we talk about Mark’s behavior instead of my reaction to it?” Erin smacked her lips together, trying to work some saliva into the foul-tasting desert of her mouth.
“Of course, darling,” she trilled. “Have you eaten? What are you making for breakfast?”
“No, Mom, I haven’t eaten. I just woke up. And I don’t know what I’m making for breakfast.”
“Did you ever make Mark breakfast?”
“Oh, my God, Mom! Lay off.”
Her mom clicked her tongue. “You know, honey, men like to feel taken care of.”
“Like little boys,” Erin said, standing up and stretching.
“Exactly! You do understand, but for some reason you never follow through on my advice.”
“Can’t imagine why,” said Erin, sliding her feet into her slippers. “Mom, I gotta go get ready for church.”
“You’re not afraid to see Mark?”
“Mark is dead to me.”
“That’s a little extreme, don’t you think?”
“No.”
“Well, wear your good dress. And put on some makeup.”
“Sure, Mom. Bye now.” Erin hung up the phone and hurled it onto the unmade bed. She didn’t even know why she bothered going to church anymore. Habit, maybe. Or just a desire to make Mark and Genevieve squirm.
A crash from the direction of the kitchen made Erin jump.
Nancy Drew looked up from the floor next to the foot of the bed.
Erin picked up the half-full bottle of wine, ready to throw it.
Nancy stood up and swished her tail back and forth.
They crept into the hallway leading to the kitchen.
“Who’s there?” called Erin. “Is that you, Mark?”
“I’m sorry,” called a male voice. “I was just looking for a mug and I knocked a plate off the shelf. How do you like your coffee?”
Definitely not Mark.
Erin stepped into the kitchen and confronted a nattily dressed, youngish man in a dark red suit and bow tie. “Who are you?” She deftly flipped the wine bottle up to hold it like a club, but forgot that it was still half full of wine and poured it all over herself.
The man rubbed his closely-trimmed salt and pepper beard. “Are you in the habit of pouring wine all over yourself, or is this a special occasion?”
“Get out of my house, or I’ll call the police!” She brandished the now-empty bottle as her fuzzy slippers slowly absorbed the puddle of wine.
“Why don’t we start with introductions? Hi, I’m Andromalius, but you can call me ‘Andy’ for short.” He smiled, exposing a row of gleaming white teeth, and held out his hand to shake.
He didn’t seem like a murderer—but then, would he? Erin backed away. “I don’t care what your name is. You need to leave right now.”
He put his hand down. “But you invited me.”
“I invited you?”
“You invited me,” he said, as if he had received an engraved invitation by mail, signature required upon delivery. He seemed hurt.
“How did I invite you?”
“Oh, you remember,” he said, waving his hand airily.
“No. I don’t!”
He sighed and took a small step closer to her.
Nancy Drew, noticing that he had also moved closer to the jar of dog biscuits, approached him expectantly.
“‘The Lord forsake you and the Devil take you,’ remember? Does that ring any bells?”
Erin lowered the wine bottle. “What did you say?”
“I said”—he stood up straight and pointed his finger at her in a way that unmistakably reminded her of herself—“The Lord forsake you and the Devil take you!”