The last of the golden and scarlet leaves of autumn flutter to the ground as zombies, Jedi and princesses run around in the tree-lined streets, their giggling and squealing echoing through the crisp air. Hummingbird Lane was always magic at Halloween. It's funny. Sometimes I feel like a completely different person than the little girl who left Adair a decade ago. And yet sometimes I feel exactly the same.

I hear the screen door slam behind me and feel strong arms slip around me.

"Happy Halloween, kid." Wyatt purrs into my ear. I lean back against his chest.

"Happy Halloween, Wyatt." I sigh, deep and heavy.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Just thinking."

"About?"

I scan the neighborhood and watch adults socializing on their lawns while kids in homemade costumes run door-to-door. The same plastic gravestones, now faded and cracked, adorn the Montgomerys' front yard. Crotchety Mr. Garland still glares out his front window, his scowl barely visible with all his lights off. "How some things never change."

His arms tighten around me. "That's not a bad thing." We watch Eliza skip up to Martha's door, dressed like a unicorn and practically dragging my mother behind her. "It seems like just yesterday that was us. I believe the last time we were together on Halloween I was dressed like the red power ranger. What were you, a cat?"

"Evie. From Pokemon."

He laughs. "Oh yeah, you were always into that nerd stuff. I guess you're right, some things never change." He tickles my ribs and I fold forward, laughing.

"Hey," I elbow him lightly and he laughs again. "I remember that's the night you ate all your candy and half of mine, and blew chunks in Mr. Garland's flower bed."

He grabs his stomach and pretends to wretch. "That's enough of story time. I'm going to vomit."

"Which memory makes you sick? The barfing or Mr. Garland's reaction?"

He shudders. "Both." He gestures across the street. "Look at him, staring right at us, the creepy bastard." He kisses the side of my neck. "We should at least give him a show." His lips continue their descent down my neck as he makes a dramatic display of running his hands up my sides. When he grabs my left boob, Mr. Garland's eyes go wide and he yanks his curtains shut. Wyatt and I are still laughing about it when we're interrupted by a dragon, astronaut, and corpse bride. The unenthusiastic preteens utter half-hearted "trick-or-treats" and proceed to wipe out the candy bowl. I roll my eyes and turn to refill the bucket. Wyatt holds the door open for me and swats my ass as I walk by. 

The second we're inside, he reaches for my wrist and lightly tugs. I step toward him and he wraps his arms around my waist. He leans in for a kiss, and I forget the protest that was just on the tip of my tongue. "I missed you," He murmurs as he slips a piece of thick cardstock in my hand.

"What's this?" I ask, bringing it up to eye level to read the elegant, gold-embossed script.

"It's an invitation. For the Policeman's Ball next month."

"A ball?" I ask, excited at the prospect of getting dressed up with him again. "What kind of ball?"

"Silent auction, awards banquet, dinner." He raises my arm and twirls me around, then pulls me close and wraps his arms around me. "You in a sexy dress," He whispers in my ear, his cheek against mine as he sways from side to side. "Drinks and dancing." 

I can't help but smile at his mood. "I'm looking forward to that. Sounds like I need to go shopping for a dress." 

He releases me and reaches for the fridge handle. "A sexy dress," he adds, grinning at me over the fridge door. 

I roll my eyes and open the bag of candy sitting on the counter. I pour it in the cauldron as I hear the pop of a tab.

"What time do you have to go in tonight?" I ask. He takes a long swig from a can.

"Not for another hour." He takes another long swig, and sets the can down, revealing the Budweiser label.

"Should you really be drinking, then, officer?" 

"Please," he scoffs. "It's one beer." He reaches out and bops me on the tip of my nose with his index finger. " What are you doing tonight?" He asks, abruptly changing the subject.

"Oh, um, I'm going to go to the library to finish my essay, then I'm going out with the girls later." He cocks his head to the side.

"Essay? For the drug rehab thing?" 

"The drug court externship, yeah."

He leans back against the countertop and takes a long swig from the can, then smirks. "Okay. Good luck with that."

The sarcasm in his voice irks me. "What? You think I won't get the externship?"

He shakes his head. "It's not that. It's just that I think it's a waste of time."

His harsh judgment stings like a slap across my face. He's never expressed this kind of sentiment before.

 "Excuse me?" 

"Drug court is a joke. What, you get a pass because you chose to get high before you committed your crime? No. Criminals belong in jail. Not some pansy-ass rehab shit."

My face warms, and I swear I can physically feel my veins constrict as my blood pressure rises. "Well, some people only commit crimes to feed their addiction. Fix the addiction and you prevent the crime from even happening."

"A harsh enough punishment will prevent others from committing the crime. That's how law enforcement works."

I'm not sure our current method of law enforcement works at all, to be honest. If so, wouldn't we see crime rates drop as incarceration increases? Statistics show the opposite is true. I look at Wyatt's narrowed eyes and strained jaw and try to change my approach. I reach up and stroke the side of his face. He leans into my palm. 

"That may be true, but that's not how addiction works."

He shakes his head and I drop my arm. "Addiction never works. It only destroys. Look at what it did to Brenda. To you." 

I look over his shoulder, out the window behind him to see Eliza perched on Brenda's shoulders, her big curls bouncing as she throws her head back and laughs. "Yes, but look at what rehab did for Brenda. And Eliza," I counter.

He stares at me through narrowed eyes for several moments. "Whatever, we'll just have to agree to disagree." He takes another drink while I chew over his words. Waste of time? Pansy ass rehab shit? This is what I study. What I want to do as my life's work. 

He takes a deep breath. On the exhale, his shoulders drop and his expression relaxes. "Where are you and the girls going tonight?" He smiles, his entire demeanor shifting. I take a second to process his question and mood swing.

"Pregame at the apartment and then party at the Pike."  I brace for another argument, certain he'll object to my plans, but he just chuckles instead.

"Okay." He responds, again with sarcasm, but with a playful half smile.

"What?" I ask, grinning despite my best efforts.

"Pregame for you means passed out by nine. I'll be very, very surprised if you make it to the Pike. But if you do, be careful."

"Yes, sir." I say with a salute. He glares at me. 

"I mean it. Call me when you leave. And when you get home."

"Okay."

"Don't accept drinks from anyone. And don't get in a car with anyone who has been drinking."

"Okay," I whine with an exaggerated eye roll as I turn to leave. I walk toward the back door and open it a few inches, but he's across the room in two strides, slamming the door shut with both hands just to the sides of my face, caging me against the door with his body.  

"Do not roll your eyes at me, Blaise. I'm serious. You're lucky I'm letting you go at all. Do not make me worry about you all night and regret my decision." He smacks the door, just inches to the right of my face, with such force the glass rattles.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and my breath catches in my throat. "Get. Off me," I manage to spit through gritted teeth with all the confidence I can muster. I take a deep breath and prepare myself, but almost immediately he takes a step back. He still doesn't drop his arms, leaving me trapped in the space between the door and his body.

I turn to face him, giving myself more options in the event he continues to block me. I raise my eyes to meet his. "Get off me," I repeat with more confidence. His eyes go wide for a moment before he steps back and drops his arms. His head follows.

"I'm sorry." He says to the floor.  He reaches out toward my face, and I lean just out of his reach.  "I'm just frustrated." He drops his eyes to the floor again and pulls at the hair at the back of his head. " I can't go to the party, but not being able to keep an eye on you is making me a little crazy." 

I try to put myself in his position, to look at things from his perspective. "I'm disappointed, too. But you need to get your shit together. You have no right to talk to me like that, and certainly no right to put your hands on me."

He takes a step back. "What are you talking about? I didn't touch you."

"You did. You-" I stop and replay the last few minutes in my head. He was terrifying, but he's right, he didn't touch me. "Well, no, not technically. But-"

"But I overreacted and I'm sorry if I scared you. I love you, kid. You know I'd never hurt you."

For the first time in my life, I don't know that at all.

---

The air on my damp skin is cold, but I'm still somehow unbearably hot. Maybe it's the flames from the bonfire at our back. Or all the dancing. Or maybe its the whiskey Jana and I have been drinking straight from the bottle.

Hannah weaves side to side as she tries to make her way toward us. She stumbles and bumps into a large barrel. It tips over, spilling red solo cups onto the ground.

"I'm not picking up any more trash. Damn raccoons," Hannah slurs.

"What?" I ask, as she plops down beside me and grabs the bottle out of my hand.

"The raccoons. They spilled the trash."

I look at the bottle, trying to estimate how much I've had to drink. Hannah isn't making any sense. "Um, you just spilled the trash."

"Not that trash. The other trash. Cameras and raccoons and such." She belches, then takes another swig from the bottle. 

I turn to Jana. "What is she talking about?"

Jana steals the bottle away from Hannah, but doesn't drink it. She screws the cap back on and holds it just out Hannah's reach.

"Drunk ass," Jana mumbles. "She's had to clean up trash at work all week. Her boss thought they had a dumpster diver, but they put up security cameras and all they caught were raccoons."

"See! See!" Hannah shouts and points at Jana. "Raccoons." She repeats smugly.

Jana rolls her eyes and hands me the bottle. "I gotta piss. Don't let her drink anymore."

When Jana stands, Hannah tips over and leans against my side. She puts her head on my shoulder, reaches up, and squeezes my cheeks. The fluffy, stuffed boa constrictor wrapped around her neck smacks me in the face and I swat it away.  "You're so pretty." She swipes the bottle from my hand and giggles.  "I see why Wyatt loves you." She sighs wistfully and takes another swig from the bottle. I reach to grab it. I take a drink and wince as it burns the back of my throat.

"And I'm not even," she hiccups and sways, "I'm not even mad about it. I like you. And your cute face." I jerk my head back to prevent her from pinching my cheek again. I stare a hole in the baby-blue flight attendant's hat pinned to the side of Anna's head, willing her to turn around,  and come help me, but she's flirting with the lab partner she's had a crush on all semester. 

Hannah swings her legs to the side so her harem-pant covered legs drape across my gray wool miniskirt. She inches closer. "Listen to me. Listen to me. Sh..." she giggles. "This is serious." I pull her face back a few inches and turn toward her.

"Okay. I'm listening."

"Wyatt is not good."

I sweep her legs off of mine and stand up. She wobbles to the side and I offer her a hand so she can regain her balance. "Okay Drunky McDrunkerson. I think we're done here." She sways to the music in the background and I laugh a little. I'm going to have to keep an eye on her.

She points at me with one eye closed and sways again. "I'm not your enemy, Blaise."

I pick the bottle up off the ground and point to the keg. I sway a little and stumble on the uneven grass. "No. The whiskey is. I think we should switch to beer now."

"In fact," she slurs, ignoring me and reaching for the bottle. I hold it just out of her reach and she tips forward before regaining her balance. "I might be the only person who really understands when he hurts you. And he will." She sings the last few words and then falls over on her side in a fit of giggles. I should ignore her drunken ramblings, but she hit a nerve. Suddenly I remember the feeling of his back against me, pinning me to the door. I feel a wave of panic wash over me and temper it with another long swig from the bottle.

My phone vibrates in my bra, so I reach in my shirt and fish it out. I hesitate before I answer. I don't want to talk to Wyatt. But if I don't, he may come out here looking for me.

My phone vibrates in my bra, so I reach in my shirt and fish it out. I don't want to talk to Wyatt. But if I don't, he may come out here looking for me.

"Esscuse me," I slur to nobody in particular. I walk on my own, past the edge of the crowd so I can hear. The last thing I need Wyatt to hear is Hannah bad-mouthing him in the background.

The phone vibrates again, slipping in my sweaty palm. I grasp it but hesitate before I answer. I'm not sober enough to deal with Wyatt right now. To carefully choose my words so I don't piss him off or hurt his feelings. I take a deep breath before I answer.

"Hello, Wyatt." I take care to enunciate each word. He'll have no idea I'm drunk.

"You're drunk."

Dammit. "I am at a keg party. That was the general plan."

He laughs, but not his mocking laugh, the good laugh. The warm one. The one that lets me know he's in a good mood. That he's happy with me this time.

"Blaise, we're ready to go!" Jana shouts from across the field. I hold up my index finger and she rolls her eyes.

"Fair enough. Are you having fun?"

"If you consider listening to a drunk person ramble nonsensically fun, then yeah." I hiccup.

"I love talking to drunk people. I find that's when they're the most honest. Are you heading home soon?" He sounds weird. Tired. And maybe a little sad.

"Blaise," Jana yells again.

"Hold on," I tell Wyatt. I cover the mouth piece with my palm and shout back. "Give me a minute!" I turn my attention back to Wyatt.

"Who are you yelling at?" I hear Wyatt's muffled voice and realize my hand is over the speaker, not microphone.

"Jana. Sorry. What?"

"I just asked if you were heading home soon."

"Yeah, I think so." 

"Okay, well find the girls and head home, but don't take Route Forty-one. There's been a bad wreck."

"Oh, no. Is everyone okay?"

He sighs into the phone. "No, babe. You know how that road is. It's a mess. I'll probably be working it for hours. Do you have a safe ride home?"

"Blaise," Jana and Anna yell my name at the same time. I'm annoyed by their lack of patience. "She's about to pass out. We gotta go!" Anna yells. Hannah is standing between Jana and Anna, but barely. Her arms are slung over their shoulders, and they stumble trying to support her weight.

"Just go without me. I'll catch the next one!" I shout back.

I uncover the bottom of my phone and return my attention to Wyatt. I'm too drunk to multi-task. "Yeah, the Sigma Chi's are running shuttles back to campus."

"I don't like you in a car with those frat boys."

"You don't like a lot of things." I snap.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

I sigh. "Nothing."

"Look, I can't do this right now, Blaise. You can't even imagine the night I've had. I don't know when I'll get out of here, so text me when you get home."

"Okay."

There's a commotion on the other end of the line and he says a rushed goodbye and hangs up before I even get a chance to respond.

I stumble back to the parking area to catch the next shuttle, but with the exception of a few cars scattered through the lot, it's deserted. I wait for the next shuttle, but it never comes. 

I'm alone.

My breath catches in my throat when I realize I'm stranded, my heart rate accelerating by the second. My chest constricts painfully, so I clutch my shirt, even though I know it won't help. It never does. Shit, not now.

I climb on the hood of a random parked car and lay back on the hood. I feel like I'm floating. No, drowning. I look around for something to ground myself, but sink into a sea of stars. There's nothing but sparkles on blackness. I squeeze my eyes shut.

I'm at the beach. I'm sitting in the sand, and it's warm and soft. The waves crash to the shore, the cold water barely reaching my toes. I exhale. The ocean sucks the wave back into her belly. I inhale. The waves wash up on the sand. I exhale. I lay with my eyes shut for several minutes, breathing, the sound of the ocean in my mind drowning out the sound of the music in the background.

It helps, but the panic attack is still there, lingering in the background, waiting to resurface.

I should call Wyatt. Even if he's working the accident, he would send another trooper out to get me.

I swipe my thumb across my screen.

I should call Wyatt.

My thumb lingers over a different name, instead.