8 - Wraiths of Memory Returning

“I HAVE COME!” Wolf shouted, ever the dramatic.

Everybody cheered, even the few in a headlock. Quickly, the smugly grinning Wolf let himself be dragged into the crowd by the pool table by the more shifty looking partners whose purple eye circles made Frankie wonder if they were Disney villains.

She went to follow when someone knocked into her from behind.

“O pardon,” the man said politely. She turned, and almost staggered. He seemed dizzyingly tall, perhaps almost a foot above her five feet, six inches. He wore nearly the same get up as Wolf, except somehow both more nondescript and ominous at the same time. His bald head glimmered in the disco lights.

“You look especially lovely tonight,” he said kindly.

She struck a pose, turning sideways and tilting her head back. “Why thank you.” She smiled and batted her eyes. A few seconds passed with no speech, save that din that went on around them.

Speaking of which. She suddenly realized, he did not notice the racket around them, did not notice the flying bottles, belts, and other various things behind him. No, his eyes were fixated on her, and only her.

She was suddenly very aware of her body, every curve, where every part of her was in space. Her breathing came quicker, her chest rose more with each breath. Memories began to writhe, circling like sharks in mist, below the surface like the wraithlike things from somebody’s popular series. Her rising chest reminded her—her old job reminded her—

“I am a human, you know,” she found herself blurt.

“O, I know,” he said smoothly, but the way he looked at her she knew he didn’t.

A hand instinctively fell to cover her exposed leg. “Why don’t you go play with your buddies?” she said, casually as possible, constantly position shifting to keep her leg hidden by the dress as something stronger than panic began to well in her chest.

He stepped closer. “Why don’t you come play with us?”

“No.” Her mouth had gone dry. Her other hand rose in a futile attempt to hide her chest, to fill the abyss the plunging neckline cursed her with. “I mean—I have to go find Wolf. I’m always with him.” She glanced around for him, her trauma rising, memories beginning to resurface even as she sought and found him not.

Someone touched her hair. “Do you like blackjack?”

She nearly screamed as she tore away. “NO!” she cried. She ran. The wraiths began to rise, men as tall as he, staring hungrily. Can I leave? No dear, you need the money. Swirl that tassel, that’s it girl. You are lovely. Come here, sweet…

Her chest hurt. She burst out, panting, and rushed behind the building to cry. She curled into a little ball. The cameras, the exposure that left her cold, the stares that left her empty. Why, there could have been any other job, but she was hunted out, flattered, then suddenly forced to make herself vulnerable in front of men who were stronger than her. She smiled for the camera and felt nothing but hate. No, this must not happen again…