4: Murder at the Masquerade

"I'll have some more of this stuff, it's smashing! Bloody Brilliant," requested Mason, with one hand holding a liquor glass and the other hastily tugging on the arm of an annoyed bartender.

George grabbed his arm forcefully and dragged him away from the bar, his sneakers squeaking across the wood floor.

"We're not here to drink, we're here on business," said George, reprimanding him.

"Let's see—" Mason made his hands like a scale and slowly raised and lowered each hand representing each choice. "Business… booze… business… booze… business… BOOZE!" he finally agreed, looking at his highest lifted hand which happened to not be empty and instead, held his preferred liquor of the moment.

"I say cheers to no hangovers in the morning!" he loudly announced to a small crowd in the vicinity.

He walked a short way from George, went over to a man in the group wearing a Pilot get-up, and swung him into a casual "manly" shoulder-hug.

"Eh, chap?" continued Mason, grinning.

He took a swig from his own drink and then grabbed up the man's bottle of Jack Daniel's Premium Whiskey and took a gulp of that too.

"Hey what's the big idea pal?" he gruffly lashed back.

Everyone close by turned toward Mason. Appalled, "the Pilot" knocked away the reckless Brit and recovered his drink.

"Mason must you cause such a scene?" asked Georgia desperately as he returned to her. "You know, the overall plan is to blend in here and apparently that's too hard for you to grasp. We're lucky there are so many people here so that the host doesn't notice we don't belong."

"C'mon Georgie, loosen up. It's a party!"

"Yeah, and in a matter of minutes this celebration will turn into a funeral!"

"Aw, why so cynical? Don't you want to have a good time?" questioned Mason, worried about her mood.

She was acting so strange lately and it seemed to be only getting worse ever since that day at the bar with him, Daisy, and Ray. That was it! When she accidentally admitted to the entire club through a microphone that she lost her virginity… when she smashed that store window… She tried to hide her conflicted feelings about Trip from them, but they must have started to eat at her again.

"It's this fancy party! It reminds me of…"

"Wait!" halted Mason, bringing a mostly fisted hand to the brim of his lips.

"Oh God, it reminds you of Trip's father's funeral doesn't it?"

"Y—yeahh," choked out George. "It really does. The white linen tablecloths… the snooty people—well, if most of them didn't have on masks, but you know what I mean."

She circled her hand about the room to point out the comparisons. Already, she felt a wave of sickness in her stomach just by putting the connection out into the open. It hurt too much. He had hurt her too much. When she was alive she was always smart to keep her distance and constantly shielded her heart from those unworthy of her love. Now that she was dead, she must have forgotten what made her survive—truly survive. She fell hard and fast for Trip, and she should have known that he'd want to play with her feelings, get her in bed, and then leave. It was just oh so typical.

But it wasn't his fault, it was hers. Or at least, she felt that she was the one to blame. After all, she was dumb enough to believe he had even an ounce of respect for her. He didn't even care. Then he had to strip her of her last slither of dignity by slashing the tires on her car. It was so uncharacteristic of him too. What kind of rich boy would stoop so low? And the worst part about it was that she really didn't have any hard feelings towards him as of late. When she first heard about it from Mason she was positively livid, but now it was completely impossible to be mad. She absolutely hated herself for not being able to hate him too.

Mason, noticing how distraught she was, embraced her. Her head was just below his chin and he soothingly stroked her long hair. As he pulled back from her, he looked into her eyes. They were brimming with tears. Coming closer to her again, he leaned down to plant a soft kiss against her forehead.

If only she would feel better, he thought. I hate seeing her like this…

"Want some Georgie?" he offered, holding up his glass while his other hand rubbed her back. "Might numb things a bit."

"I-I don't really feel much like drinking. Thanks though… Mason."

"Ah, I understand."

George's lips broke into a small grin.

"Can you even afford all that liquor you bought earlier? Last I knew, you only had a buck seventy-five in your wallet."

"SSHHh, don't let that bartender hear! Besides, I put it on my tab."

"Mason… uh, hell-lo! You don't have a tab!" clarified George.

"Actually Georgie girl, I do," began Mason, trying to explain. "Or should I say, Mr. Wellington does."

He winked.

"Mason, you're awful."

"I know," he replied, admittedly.

He brushed back his messy brown hair with an army-green, fingerless glove-covered hand.

"Must you wear those things?" queried George, indicating the fashion faux pas. "You know, if they were black lace, you'd totally be Madonna in the 80's."

"Real funny Georgie. Real cute… Hey, you know what? That'll be my costume tonight. I'll be part Miss Material Girl!"

Then all of a sudden he started singing the hit song from way back when and George knew she was just going to lose it.

"Living in a material world… MATERIAL!"

Luckily no one could hear him over the blaring speakers of the stereo playing creepy Halloween jams.

"Mason, please!" begged George, clasping her hands over her delicate ears.

"Sorry! I just really wanted to wear a costume tonight. Would've been fun," he said, pouting.

"Yeah," agreed George. "I mean we didn't even really dress up for Halloween yesterday. We were only 'ghosts'. Plus, I'm sure all the stores had a big clearance on everything today. I'm sure Daisy got hers someplace like that. Or at least that's probably where she got her cop outfit... I know Roxy didn't let her borrow hers."

"Ah, some other time I suppose."

"Speaking of Daisy, she wanted me to ask you why you haven't been sleeping at your own house. You told us you needed a place to stay, but you never exactly told us why."

"You aren't going to believe this," laughed Mason, feeling a tad embarrassed. "But I've misplaced my keys to the damn place."

Georgia rolled her eyes and picked up a cracker and dip appetizer at the snack table directly next to were they were standing.

Between bites she said, "You should have just told us. We have an extra key."

"Yeah, seems kind of stupid to not have, huh?"

Georgia nodded with wide eyes and a smile. But as soon as Mason started off to get a 'sip of vodka,' she reeled him back in with her finger, like he was a trout and she was in full charge of the fishing pole. He didn't look too happy.

"C'mon Mason, you've had enough. Don't make me have to sign you up for Alcoholics Anonymous!"

"Not AA! They make you slowly QUIT drinking!"

"Well, that's kinda the idea of the program, Mason old boy!" she explained, reaching up to pat him on the shoulder.

"Alright! Alright!"

George suddenly felt the urge to check her watch. It was a good thing she did.

"It's 9:27! Holy shit, only a few more minutes and I've still gotta find 'R. Friedman' or I'm dead—they're dead! Actually, come to think of it, we'll both be dead. I mean I already am... uh, yeah," she fretfully exclaimed as quiet as she could.

"Oh, that's little Ricky that is. He's the guy at the front door. I noticed his ID Badge hanging off of his front shirt while we walked in."

"Ok, so what about yours?"

"'E. Benner?' I dunno; I'm still trying to scope them out in this madhouse."

"Well, scope harder!"

Hearing the mention of the name Elizabeth, Mason moved closer to a gossiping group of middle-aged women dressed like elegant ladies of the 1920's; all decked to nines in expensive, real diamond and gold jewelry. In fact, the bling was worth big, BIG money on the streets. Enough for someone to cut your throat for... It was really dangerous for them to decorate themselves so sumptuously, but then again this was supposed to be a wealthy, invitation-only party, so a lot of weirdoes shouldn't be on the guest list. Still, you never know. Oh well, Mason and George would soon find out. Hopefully her death wouldn't be as brutal as what they had pictured in their mind.

He moved in closer to sharpen his listening ability and reassure himself that he had located the right person on his post-it. Checking out the little yellow sticky once again, he realized George was right. Apparently his was going to die just a teensy weensy bit sooner than hers.

"Elizabeth Benner?" he threw out into the open.

"Why yes," a person answered in a self-aggrandizing way, giving Mason their full attention.

She thought it strange that this unfamiliar young man knew her name, but then again a lot of people knew her name.

"Wow, I've seen all your movies. It's truly an honor."

The woman looked at him strangely, tilting her phantom-esque mask to the side to uncover her eyes. She had never starred in any films... she was a realtor!

"Uh..." began Ms. Benner, but Mason was already speaking again.

"You look gorgeous tonight," he complimented, taking her hand and spirit at the same time.

Flashing an awkward grin, he hurriedly made himself scarce. He always liked to say or do something nice before the victim met their ultimate doom. It was just the right thing to do.

It all happened in a sort of blur. As the woman walked to the very back of the apartment to use the restroom, a suspicious-looking "cowboy" with a red bandana covering most of his face exposed himself from the shadows. He quickly took off his bandana and held it at his side. He followed Elizabeth Benner until he was able to sneak up behind her. Brandishing a knife and slipping the bandana over her mouth, he gained control of her. Only Mason and George saw the man lead her into a back bedroom.

Mason and George watched in horror. You'd think that after taking so many souls, they'd be used to it by now but it still stung. Especially after yesterday. That poor sick boy waiting to get cough medicine from his father... George couldn't even look when the serial killer came up to his doorstep.

It was absolutely horrible for them to just stand there and watch and do nothing about it. It was such an out of body experience for them. Sometimes just witnessing a terrible act was as bad as doing/committing the terrible act yourself. But they couldn't interfere because the official laws of grim reaping forbade them to. It was fate... it was destiny... it was God's hand... Whatever it happened to be, George thought it was a bunch of bull all the same.

It was difficult watching a murder though. Accidents were easy because they were so quick and unexpected. But this, this was dragging out and lagging on, and it felt like it was them getting prepared to be slain instead of this innocent woman.

Their guess was that he probably planned to rape her, take her life (hopefully in that order,) and then confiscate all the worldly possessions she had on her. And they were right.

Soon, neither the music nor the fabric of the bandana could muffle the blood-curdling screams and the noise coming from inside the back bedroom. Many gasped and cried out in alarm, while others ran forward to find out what was happening. The door was locked, but many tried to pry it open with all their might. In the meantime, the hostess desperately tried to calm everyone down. Some socialites there were too drunk off there ass to notice anything even remotely awry. It didn't matter though. They were all too late...

The masked cowboy haphazardly dashed out of the bedroom, eyes wild and traces of blood on his clothes even though it was hard to tell since they were black. Those standing directly in front of the door were thrown back as it opened. The murderer left the door ajar for those to catch a glimpse of the mangled body. Yep, multiple stab wounds. He was carrying in his hands her shoulder bag by the strap and a pillowcase (most likely filled with all the jewels she was wearing.) The other hand reached for a revolver from his gun belt. Too bad everyone had thought it was fake earlier and just another harmless accessory to his costume...

He wagged it around like he meant business. Mess with him, and your head was going to get blown off! All of sudden there was a frantic stampede towards the front door and Mason and George were caught right in the middle of it.

"C'mon George, it's time to go," he said, grabbing her hand.

Even though it didn't matter whether or not they got shot, (well it would if they were blasted multiple times and then somehow got miraculously healed) Mason still felt the need to guide George to safety. Since she was in his company, it was his duty, or rather it was the bit of British gentleman in him coming out.

As they exited with haste, George saw the bouncer bound towards the shooter to tackle him. (He must have signed up to be official bodyguard for the night as well.) Reaching out a hand, she touched his shoulder, and took his soul. As Mason and George bolted out, shots rang out behind them and their buddy manning the front door most of the night was nailed in the chest and his lifeless body plummeted to the white carpet, drenching it in blood.

It wasn't until they both reached the outside street that she finally calmed down. Taking a breath—her first deep one all night, George spoke out to her fellow rebel grim reaper.

"You know what Mason?"

"What?"

"I don't think I like Halloween that much anymore," revealed George, looking up at big yellow moon shining amongst the stars."

"What about the day after, eh?" he prodded.

She didn't even have to think long on that one.

"Nah," she replied, shaking her head.

And with that, they walked on down the sidewalk, George's head leaning against Mason's shoulder comfortably.

A/N: Much thanks to those who have reviewed so far! I really appreciate it. : )