Killer Cocktail by Tracy Kiely

ate cheeseburgers with Emma Stone and Jennifer Lawrence on the terrace overlooking Beverly Hills City Hall. Kevin Hart and Will Ferrell shared the last of their red velvet cupcakes with us. At one point Danielle and Cecelia came by to say their good-byes and James Franco tried to steal Frank’s Oscar from Danielle. He was outmaneuvered by Emma Stone; however, it was promptly returned. Bill Murray then recruited us to help him steal George Clooney’s Oscar, only to have Mandy betray us and give it to Matt Damon. Seth MacFarlane picked us to be on his team for the Chicken Dance Dance-Off. (The competition of which was fierce. The coveted rubb er chicken was finally awarded to Sir Patrick Stewart’s team, but only after a highly controversial ruling by the judges.) We sat in the photo booth and had our pictures taken, and then, at Nigel’s suggestion, attempted to cram as many people as we could into it. The resulting photo looked like an indiscriminate smash up of some of Hollywood’s most famous faces—plus one bare behind courtesy of the epic multi-tasker, James Franco. A little after three, Nigel and I decided to play Never Have I , which led to a mutual decision to leave just a few minutes later.
    But when we pulled into our driveway, I saw that the door to our house was wide open, and I knew it was a game that we weren’t going to finish.

fourteen
    Nigel ran in before me, yelling at me to stay in the car. Of course, I did no such thing. However, once inside the door, I stopped short in confusion. It was as if I’d suddenly stepped into one of those annoying dreams, where everything familiar is unfamiliar. The kind that you later try to describe with the unhelpful opening, “I was in our house, but it wasn’t our house. You know what I mean?” Except, that this time, I did know.
    All around me was utter chaos. Furniture was overturned. Emptied drawers lay in a discarded heap; their contents scattered all about. The bookshelves were bare, their volumes strewn across the floor. Atop all of it was a thick layer of feathers; the cushions they once resided in now deflated and disemboweled.
    â€œDeDee!” Nigel and I screamed at the same time as we sprinted down the hall toward the home office. Like the front door, the office door stood wide open. Like the rest of the house, the office was in shambles. However, unlike the rest of the house, more than just material goods had been attacked. Here, the intruder had attacked the living. Bile rose in my mouth as I looked down at DeDee; her body bloodied and still.

fifteen
    While Nigel dialed 911, I knelt by DeDee’s prone form. Gently pressing two fingers to her neck, I closed my eyes, silently praying that she was alive. A few heart-wrenching seconds later, I felt a pulse. It was faint and thready, but it was there. I glanced up at Nigel. “She’s alive, but barely,” I said. “We need to get her to a hospital now.”
    Nigel nodded and quickly relayed all the necessary information to the operator. I remained on the floor next to DeDee. Blood caked her hair and face. Her right eye had started to swell, the delicate skin around it already turning an ugly shade of purple. Gingerly, I placed her right hand in mine and leaned close to her ear.
    â€œDeDee? Can you hear me,” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm and sure. “Nigel and I are here, and we’ve called for help. An ambulance is on its way. You’re going to be fine, DeDee. Do you understand? You are going to be fine. I just need you to hang on until the paramedics get here. Can you do that for me? You need to be strong, DeDee. I know you can do it. Hang on. Help is almost here.” Her hand remained limp and unmoving.
    Nigel hung up the phone and knelt down beside me. “Jesus,” he whispered, as he looked at DeDee, “who would have done this?”
    â€œI have no idea,” I said, “but whoever it was wanted her