Dear Adelaide,

2

Dear Adelaide,

         Somebody somewhere is digging seven new holes in the earth.

The grasp around my throat tightened. Sharp and unyielding. I tried to scream, to call out, but the small white lights were already beginning to dance across my vision. The world slowed. I saw the face cast over me and for a moment couldn't recognize it. All at once the touch of the hand at my neck was unfamiliar. The fingers were too soft, the lines of the palm were shooting in all the wrong directions. It was hand I was certain I once knew, a face I once thought was familiar. But all at once, I found I was facing a stranger.

The porcelain rim of the tub burned cold across my back as I dangled just above its water. Trapped. Trapped. Trapped in my own bathroom, held in place by the hand at my throat. My eyes floated down to the shape of the light cast from beneath the door. There I found the swirling of colors, of partygoers in their split tails and gowns, moving like planets to the sound of saxophonic jazz swing, just outside. Just down the stairs. Moving in their masks, swirling in their hundreds. Unaware of the great tragedy that had begun to play just above them.

If I could only call out, call for help, surely someone would hear it. Or perhaps someone would look up from the garden, a pair of familiar eyes searching my window. Someone who could see. Someone who could save.

But the hand at my neck felt wrong. Something about this whole scene wasn't quite right. As if it were just a vision, peeling back at the corners, like worn away fabric, aged now and coming undone. Someone else's world. Someone else's story,. And someone else's death. How could it be, that this death was now my own, here dangling in the hands of a stranger? What year was it?

The one who held me before my death had been saying words for some time now, perhaps they had been laughing maybe. But there was blood in my ears, and the world was made of dancing lights, and so all the sounds around us seemed instead, to be swirling into a pooling droll. Out of the whir came a chorus of voices from just down the stairs. They were singing a familiar tune. Singing for me. A song I already somehow knew the ending of.

Happy Birthday to you-

Somebody somewhere climbed the stair. Younger back then, faster back then, but still not fast enough to save her. Never fast enough to save her.

"Please..." The sound hardly squeaked out of my throat.

Rage danced in the eyes of the one who took my breath. I held on tightly to the hand at my throat, digging my fingernails into it, clinging onto anything I could to keep the dipping lights from going out. The grip loosened a moment and I fought for a gasp of air.

Somebody somewhere scanned the doors of the hall. They'd walked by her door hundreds of times, just to know she was there sleeping behind it. To whisper in secret how they loved her. But this time her door was hard to find, masked by confetti and party sounds and streamers, and the whir stir age-old curse of time.

The song had started up again downstairs. Hundreds of voices. Happy Birthday to You. Happy Birthday to You-

The crunch of shoes on a gravel path. A modest heel. Coming up the drive.

Dear Adelaide,

                Somebody somewhere is preparing for your arrival.

The hand at my against my skin trembled for a moment with its grasp around me. For a moment I believed it feared killing me. The knob of my bathroom door shook suddenly, pounded. Somewhere behind it someone was shouting, someone was drawing up a fist as they tried to bust through.

This time they would be there in time to save her. This time, the last time. The last night. The last party. One more round. This was it. This is it. What year was it?

Although it had not yet come aware of it, the music playing up from down the stairs had become a sort of farewell hymn. A final prayer for the dead. "Happy Birthday Dear-"

Somewhere, somebody's hand broke through the door. Reaching. Reaching to save her. An arm reaching through for the lock. This was it. This is it. This time, the last time. Like every time before. Reaching in to save her.

The eyes behind the mask remained unmoved. And the hand remained locked at my throat.

"Happy Birthday Dear Adelaide...Happy Birthday to you."

Red.

And he slammed my skull into the edge of the tub.

Dear Adelaide,

                     Somebody somewhere is digging seven new holes in the earth. Somebody somewhere is marking their calendars. Somebody somewhere is preparing for your arrival.