THIS BOOK WILL KILL YOU

8_deadgirlsdontparty_

By the time I get to the door she's gone. Not gone, of course, because she was never really there. Dead girls don't party. All the same I push up on my tiptoes and stare through the crowd, through the heaving mass of bodies, through the smoke, through the trembling, music-filled air.

It's her, it has to be. She's walking away from me, moving around people as fluidly as water. Her hair's styled in a perfect pixie cut, dyed electric blue. She's wearing a neon pink halter top which reveals the small of her back, faded hipster jeans. For a moment it looks like she's turning back but before I can get a good look at her somebody appears in the doorway, pushing past me, shouting something so loud it makes my ears ring.

I wait for them to pass before heading out. The dead girl—Cara, I tell myself, her name's Cara—has gone again, and I'm in such a rush to find her that I walk right into someone. He's too drunk or high to notice, they're all too drunk or high, grinning like idiots, all moving exactly the same way. I get the feeling I'm inside an engine, the cogs and gears grinding in perfect harmony. At least until somebody grabs my arm and I turn to see the man from the room I've just left, the frat boy who was trying to talk to me.

"You're going too fast," he says, his grip too tight. I tug once, twice, and on the third go he releases me.

"What?" I say.

"Too fast, I thought you wanted to dance. Here's good."

I shake my head, start walking again. Is that a flash of electric blue up ahead? It's heading for the exit and I barge and shove and curse my way after it. By the time I get to the front door I'm soaked with drink and with other people's sweat, and the coolness of the corridor is welcome. There are a few people out here but not many.

"Did a girl just leave?" I say. "Short? Blue hair?"

I'm talking to nobody in particular, and nobody in particular answers me. There's only three other apartments on this floor, but the stairwell door is open and I can hear footsteps. I chase them out, listen to them echoing above and below and all around, like there's an army marching in here. I stare over the banister, seeing nothing, then look up and catch a flash of pink ghosting up the stairs.

I'm halfway to calling out but I don't, running instead, not quite brave enough to take the concrete steps two at a time. There's the sound of a door opening, and when I turn the corner I see it swinging slowly shut. There are no more floors after this one so I follow the sound of the dead girl into the third floor corridor. It's harder than it sounds, because there are no lights on up here, the door opens onto nothing but darkness.

"Hey?" I say, a whisper. The music from downstairs is muted, like there's a ton of insulation in the floor. It's quiet enough that I can hear the pop and whine of a camera flash, right in my ear. I wiggle a finger in it, wondering why I didn't see the light. Who the hell is taking photos up here? Fumbling my cell out I fire up the flashlight and shine it through, seeing a short corridor, four doors, and Cara.

She's facing away from me, standing right in the corner, so close to the wall that it looks like she's got her head pressed against the peeling wallpaper. It's so dark in here, even with my flashlight, that it looks like she's in black and white, like she's just stepped out of an old photograph. Even her hair looks washed out, grey.

"Hello?" I say, not quite enough to make it a word. Cara doesn't move, but I can hear her talking, whispering. That awful, sucking sensation of déjà vu grabs me. I think she's going to turn around and there's going to be nothing where her face is but a hole. I'm backing away before I'm even aware of it, but my ass hits the door and it cracks against the wall and suddenly the dead girl turns to look at me.