Callahan: A Gothic Tale

Margarita in the New Year

12 Margarita in the New Year

"And every day is a start of something beautiful." –"All You Are" song by Matt Nathanson

4 pm, One Week Before New Year's Eve, Early 2000s, Living Room, Vera Manor

"Ray isn't going to come home, is he?" as tears fell upon her alabaster cheeks.

Harry shook his head, trying his best to observe Whitelighter decorum in front of his Elder. "I'm afraid not." He couldn't bear to see Marisol like this, knowing she had already endured immeasurable sorrow. In an effort to aid beyond what his own capabilities could provide, he had directed her to Charity, a fellow Elder entrusted with removing whatever raw pain remained.

He always wondered, with Marisol's prophetic abilities, why she would ever want to confide in him. Perhaps her skillset only took her so far, being able to see the future, but not in as cohesive an order as she wished? But he brushed the thought aside, taking another sip of his Earl Grey tea, fixed by Marisol with a splash of cream and a half teaspoon of sugar.

"This doesn't make sense..." she murmured, half to herself as she stared at the dregs of her teacup. "This doesn't make any sense at all..."

8 pm, Three Days Before New Year's Eve, Early 2000s, Attic, Vera Manor

She found herself pacing the knobbed, cobweb-strewn floorboards of Vera Manor's attic, Egyptian Tarawet texts strewn on the table alongside Greek tracts of the voluptuous marbled Aphrodite with her honeyed flowing locks. Frantically perusing and reviewing what she knew of fertility gods and goddesses amidst the ancient tomes, she heard the attic door creak open—

"Mommy?"

She dashed over to the little girl. "Mellie, you're supposed to be asleep!"

The child shook her head. "I wanna be awake for New Year's!"

Marisol laughed aloud as she gathered her daughter in her arms, closing the attic door behind them as she carried her back to her bedroom. "Silly, New Year's Eve's not for another three days!"

"Waiting should be illegal!" the girl exclaimed as Marisol gave her an amused look.

"Sweetie, have you been watching Law & Order reruns again?"

She heard a vague mumbling against her shoulder as the girl nodded. "I like Captain Olivia."

Marisol stroked her daughter's lovely dark hair as she laid her back in bed, tucking the covers around the child. "I know you do, sweetie, I know,"

10 pm, Two Days Before New Year's Eve, Early 2000s, Kitchen, Vera Manor

Ping. One new message.

She checked her email messages regularly, using her spam folder to filter, and eventually cease, familial communication. How did this message escape?

Curious, she hovered over the email header, which had emerged by way of a corporate address. Not recognizing the name, she tilted her head, puzzled. Delete or spam? Marisol briefly wondered, before taking a chance and clicking on the link itself, opening the email's contents.

Inhaling sharply, she recognized its sender.

Dexter.

Her eyes skimmed his written text. Old-school at heart, he never seemed one for modern technology, but he often found ways to surprise even her.

I miss you, it read. I'm in town for business over New Year's. I'd love to see you again. Can I stop by?

-DV