Kristin Jacques is an author of speculative fiction with a penchant for genre dabbling. She lives in Ye Ole New England with her husband, two gremlins, and two very fat cats. When not writing, she is herding gremlins, artistically stacking the overflow of books on the dining room table, and shooing monsters out of the closets. She is the author of Zombies vs. Aliens. She is team Zombie. Kristin can be found at @KrazyDiamond on Wattpad.

The chocolate landed in the fire, sizzling and popping in the heat. The scent of burnt cocoa mixed with woodsmoke, wafting up into the night air, to the stars, like a sacrifice to the dead. Josh snorted, taking a sip of warm beer as his fingers worked another chunk off the Hershey's bar.

Seven beers, a bonfire, and 2A.M. appeared to be the formula for philosophic thoughts. Josh once dated a religion major who told him some cultures burnt a part of their meal, feeding the loved ones that had passed on through the smoke. Fitting, since Amy loved chocolate. He took another sip of beer, flicking a piece off his thumb to join the first, staring as it melted and dripped, hissing where the chocolate sank into the white hot coals. His eyes stung from the smoke. That was it, why they blurred and filled, just smoke.

His friends brought him here to get out of the house, to relax over beer and s'mores and moonlight over the ocean. For a while, as Dan lazily picked at his guitar and Beth strung twine through sea shells, he could remember the nights like this he'd spent with Amy without the pressure around his chest. He drank to ease the vise, to breathe easier. He kept drinking as the others eventually passed out, attempting to chase away the phantom hovering in his thoughts with beer after beer. A useless gesture, when she hovered there, on the edge of vision, cut off jeans on her long tan legs. He could see her dancing out the corner of his eye, moving to the slow sensual rhythm of the fire, her favorite flower blouse whipping in the ocean breeze.

Josh blinked, the chocolate melting against the warmth of his fingers. His next sip was a difficult one, forcing beer through the tightness in his throat.

He took a breath, feeling that familiar pressure set in despite the buzz. He hadn't had an easy breath in months. Not since the night he woke pinned between the steering wheel and the guardrail. Amy sat next to him, so quiet and still. The figure at the edge of vision shimmered, a mirage of the flames, long tan legs soaked in blood. Josh clenched his jaw until his teeth creaked and threw the rest of the chocolate into the fire. He listened to it sizzle, watched the paper blacken and curl away, revealing the melting chocolate. The smell of burnt cocoa grew stronger, enriched by the clean salt scent of the ocean.

A figure flickered on the edge of his vision. He ignored it at first, believing Amy returned to haunt him. The ocean breeze whipped at a white dress, hugging curves. Josh turned to the movement as she stepped out of the night, emerging into the firelight that sparked in her dark eyes. A person, a woman, staring down at him. The beer fell from his numb fingers, spilling across the sand. Josh stumbled to his feet, the movement making his head spin. He hadn't moved in seven beers, the buzz tipping over the ledge as he tried to keep his feet under him.

The woman grinned at him. "Sorry to startle you."

Her voice was honey and whiskey that shot straight to groin. He slid back onto the damp sand before he embarrassed himself further.

"Didn't think anyone would be out this time of night," he said, hoping his voice wasn't too slurred.

She either didn't notice or care, taking a step closer to the fire. "Do you mind if I join you? It's rather chilly out here and your fire is wonderfully warm."

"Uh, sure, pull up a log," he said. He was slurring, bad enough to tell in his inebriated state. Josh internally berated himself until the woman leaned forward, shadow and flame painting her features. He hadn't looked at a woman in months. Beth didn't count, she was like a sister, and Dan's girlfriend. The warning flag went up, doused in beer and exhaustion. Would she look that beautiful if he were sober? He realized he was staring, ensnared by sharp cheekbones, pouting lips, and those eyes; a light color against her darker skin tone, a stunning contrast. She smiled, causing his brain to stutter.

"Your fire smells delicious," she said, inhaling deep. The fire snapped, but she didn't pull back from the upward shot of sparks. "Is that chocolate I smell?"

The back of his neck heated. Josh rubbed it, taking a breath. The vise was gone, vanishing as he spoke to a beautiful woman with the perfect set-up of a romance novel. Crackling bonfire, check. Moonlit ocean, check. Flimsy see-through white dress, check. He cleared his throat, shifting in his damp shorts as he pulled another Hershey's bar from the package.

"Want some?"

Another shadowy smile as she leaned back, perching on the log opposite him. "No, but I like the smell."

"I could toss more in," he offered.

She looked up at him. For a moment, the shadows deepened on her face, a mask of hollows and pits, moonlit and pale as bone, her face a leering skull. He blinked, the illusion vanished. Josh shook himself, a chill running along his the back of his neck while the fire warmed his legs.

"That would be wonderful," she said, with the same teasing grin but there was a gleam in her eye that had his fingers tearing off the paper, breaking off the first chunk to toss in the flame. More sweet, bitter, burnt chocolate smoke. She leaned forward to breathe it in, giving him a better look at her; he couldn't take his eyes off her enchanting face or the clear pleasure she seemed to draw from the warmth of the fire.

"Where did you come from?" Josh blushed at her raised brow, wishing he'd cut himself off at three beers so he didn't sound like an absolute idiot. "I mean, the beach houses are kinda far from this stretch. Even the parking lot is a ways off. Specially for this time of night." They chose this spot for its remoteness, far from the usual wild beach parties. It wasn't swim safe but it was worth the long walk, to spend a night with the song of the surf and the stars full and shining away from the light pollution. He had brought Amy here many times. Time spent making love on beach blankets, whispering about the promise of the future while their eyes feasted on the living gallery above them.

"Oh, just down the way," she said, gesturing vaguely down the dark surf. "It was too beautiful a night to sleep. Your fire was beacon in the dark."

"I didn't expect to keep it going this long," Josh admitted, tossing another piece of chocolate into the flames. He had kept feeding the fire long after the others went to bed.

"I am glad you did," said the woman, holding up her hands to warm them. She was underdressed for this weather. Even with the bonfire, he still wore a thick knit sweater to ward off the chill of the late spring night, cooled further by the ocean. The breeze shifted, plastering the dress to her breasts, molding to her stiff nipples.

"I'm Josh," he blurted, forcing his gaze up to her face. He felt his body responding to a song it hadn't listened to since Amy...

The heat of the moment floundered. She was just a beautiful stranger, passing in the night, stopping to warm her hands. He flexed his jaw and flung another piece of chocolate into the fire.

"You look sad Josh," said the woman.

Beth had said the same not two hours ago, before she trudged off to their nearby tent in defeat.

"Sorry to be a downer," he said through his teeth as he searched for an unopened beer. They'd brought a 12 pack. There had to be one left. He'd been sad for eight months, twenty two days, two hours and counting. Sad since the day they put Amy in the ground. Another piece of chocolate flew into the flames.

"You don't have to pretend for me," she said. She rubbed her hands, staring into the fire. The shadows were playing with his imagination again, shading hollow pits of her face. "Why are you sad?"

He tossed another piece in, debating with himself how much to reveal. There was a certain freedom, an alchemical interaction, in sharing grief with a stranger. Sometimes it seemed the people he spoke to at random, a waitress in a diner, or a fellow passenger on the city bus, resonated with that deep, soul searing grief in a way his nearest and dearest never could. He cast his line, praying through the fading haze of alcohol he found the same momentary connection.

"My girlfriend died," he said. The words never failed to dredge up the memory of that night anew. Metal pinning him in, banded across his chest. He couldn't get enough air. Amy silent and still beside him; half the engine rested in her lap. Through her lap. Blood drenched her long tan legs. He'd blacked out when the truck hit them, a mixed blessing. Unconscious, his muscles must have relaxed, likely what kept him alive. Unconscious, he missed Amy's final moments. He woke up with her hand on his arm, conscious enough to reach for him.

"And you miss her. Nothing wrong with that," she said.

Wasn't there? Yes, he missed her, but people dealt everyday with loss and grief. They moved on with their lives but Josh was stuck. Still stuck in that car, pinned beneath the metal, suffocating. "Would you throw more chocolate on the fire?"

He frowned but followed through on the request, tossing in the rest of the bar. The woman shivered as the smoke rose. The movement made him uneasy. He couldn't help thinking of sacrifices and spirits.

"Which direction did you say you came from?" He didn't know why he asked. The chill was back, diminishing the pleasant buzz and leaving sour beer in his stomach.

"Down that way," she said, waving her hand in the opposite direction she told him before. The moon drifted behind the cloud cover. The mercurial ocean snuffed out to a heaving black abyss to his left. The shadows encroached all around, until the bonfire was a final bastion against the dark. Through the flames, he could barely see the stranger, nothing more than a pale dress and eyes that caught sparks of light.