Midnight Alley (The Morganville Vampires #3) - Page 10

The dead girl that Shane had taken to the church was Jeanne Jackson, a sophomore who'd gone missing from a sorority party two nights before. The papers said that she'd been raped and strangled, but nothing about suspects, and no cops showed up to interrogate Shane, much to Claire's relief. He'd done a dumbass thing, but she could understand his paranoia. In Morganville, he was one suspicion away from taking up residence in Jason's old cell, whether he'd actually done anything or not.

That was, if the vampires didn't decide to hold their own brand of frontier justice.

Captain Obvious's Fang Report had a much more detailed article on the killings, linking the other two that Claire knew about with this one, and speculating that instead of a vampire menace, they might be dealing with a human one this time. He didn't seem as enthusiastic about forming up vigilante parties for someone with a pulse, Claire noticed. Not that it mattered to the dead girls which type of monster had killed them.

She got a note from Amelie giving her time off from working with Myrnin for the rest of the week, so she devoted herself to keeping up with classes. They were tougher than she was used to, which was kind of a relief. She loved a good challenge, and the professors seemed to actually care whether or not their students had a clue. Myth and Legend wasn't what she'd expected, not at all; it wasn't Greek gods, or even Native American Trickster stories. No, it was about … vampires. Comparative vampires, actually, examining the literature and folklore from earliest recorded history to the latest vampire-as-hero in pop culture. (Which, now that Claire thought about it, kind of was the modern-day version of myth and legend.) Oddly, for Morganville, the professor wasn't skipping the parts about vampire-killing methods, but Claire guessed that she was one of the few in the class who'd ever know the score about the town, anyway. The rest would bumble cluelessly through their one or two years, transfer out to bigger schools, and never know they'd rubbed elbows at parties with real monsters.

She kept her mouth shut about anything that might get her in trouble, because the professor had a bracelet, too. She was trying to match up glyphs with vampires, and she thought he probably belonged to a female vamp named Susan, who seemed to be into finance. Susan owned a lot of property, anyway, and was some kind of bigwig at the Morganville Bank and Trust.

Claire began keeping notes in a special book about glyphs, vampires, who owned what. Not because she had any agenda, but just because it was interesting, and could be useful someday. She supposed if she'd asked Amelie would have told her all about it, but it was more challenging to figure it out herself — and this way, Amelie couldn't be really sure how much Claire knew, which couldn't be a bad thing. She's nice when it suits her. That doesn't mean she's nice.

And on Friday, Eve left a note stuck to the bathroom mirror for Claire to find when she got up.

C.B. – Don't forget tonight is the party. Objective: look hotter than Monica and make everybody totally forget who threw the party in the first place. Outfit on back of door. Pay me back. — E.

The outfit was nothing Claire would ever, ever, ever have bought for herself. For one thing, the black leather skirt was … short. Like, really short. There were some kind of patterned pantyhose, and a red sheer shirt with big red roses woven into the fabric in flocked material. And a black cami to go under it.

There was another sticky note attached to the skirt. Shoes under the cabinet. Claire looked. They were thick clunky platforms, in her size, in shiny patent leather.

She took it all back into her bedroom and put it down, backed off, and stared at it for a few seconds. I can't wear that. It's not me.

Eve would totally mock her if she wore her blue jeans to the party. And she'd gone to a lot of trouble, because all of this stuff was Claire's size, not Eve's. Even the shoes.

And … it really would burn Monica if Claire looked hot. (She'd never be hotter than Monica, that was a fantasy, but still.) Imagining the expression on Monica's face, Claire slowly stroked her fingers down the soft leather of the skirt. No. I can't.

And then she imagined Shane's face when he saw her.

Well. Maybe she could, after all.

She hadn't gotten his expression quite right in her imagination, because the stunned, vacant expression on Shane's face when she started down the stairs was even better than fantasy. His mouth actually dropped open. Next to him, Michael turned around, and although she hadn't counted on it, there was a warm fuzzy to making a hot golden-angel vampire blink and give her a quick, involuntary once-over.

Claire stopped on the steps above them and did a tentative hip-shimmy. "Okay?" she asked. Shane's mouth shut with a snap, and Michael actually cleared his throat.

"Fine," Michael said.

"Fine?" That was Eve, coming down the stairs behind Claire. She moved around the roadblock and punched Michael in the arm. "She looks amazing. I'm not half gay and I think she's hot."

Shane wasn't saying anything. Claire felt warm and a little dizzy, the way he was looking at her. She resisted the urge to check to see if her skirt was straight — she'd done it a dozen times already –and forced herself to meet his gaze and smile.

"You sure this is smart?" Shane asked, which was not what she'd expected, not at all. "You look fantastic."

"Thanks — "

He interrupted her. "Fantastic in this town pops you to the top of the take-out menu."

She held up her left hand and pointed to her wrist. The gold bracelet was clearly visible. "I'll be okay," she said. "The vamps won't bother me."

"Not even talking about the vamps. You're going to be drawing every guy there who's looking to get off."

Eve rolled her eyes. "Oh, God, Shane, buzzkill? She looks great, and you don't have to get all jealous and overprotective about it! She'll be with us, we'll all look out for her. And you've got to admit, girlfriend looks good all cleaned up. I did her hair, too. Smokin', right?" The hair, Claire felt, was just almost over the top. It was mostly gel and sprays and stuff, but it did have that carefully tousled look that models always seemed to wear.

Eve wasn't exactly wallflower quality tonight, either; she was wearing a dramatic black floor-sweeping dress that left her pale arms bare, plunged a neckline halfway to China, and had a slit in the side that went all the way to her hip. Fishnet hose, even. It was outrageously sexy, and if Michael had noticed Claire's transformation, he was completely focused on Eve now.

Eve winked at him and spun around to show him the back. Of which there wasn't any. It was just her skin, and a crimson rose tattoo at the small of her back.

"Man," Shane said. "That's just — yeah."

It wasn't until she'd gotten past their reactions — which were pretty fun — that Claire realized that Eve must have done a number on the boys, too … because they looked amazingly fine. Michael was wearing black pants and a black leather coat, and a dark blue silk shirt. It made him just … blaze, like white gold against velvet.

Shane looked good enough to drag back to her room. Eve must have forced him to get the worst of his shag evened up, which brought out his strong cheekbones and chin. He was wearing black, too, with a cream-pale knit shirt. Claire had never seen him in a jacket. She decided he needed to never take it off. Not ever.

Michael shook his head and offered Eve his arm. She took it, smiling with her red, red lips, and winked at Claire. Claire winked back, suddenly feeling very wicked, and slid her arm through Shane's.

"I can't believe we're doing this," Shane said.

This was going to be fun.

Claire hadn't forgotten the address, even though she'd given away the invitation, and Michael knew Morganville like the back of — Eve's back, the way he kept looking at her exposed skin, especially the tattoo. And besides, if you were within a couple of blocks of the party, you couldn't possibly miss it. Between the glow of the lights and the low-pitched rumble of the music, there was no sleeping through it if you lived nearby.

Michael cruised around the block, looking for parking, and finally located a narrow few feet of curb. As he pulled in, he said, "Ground rules. We don't split up. Eve and Claire, you two especially. It's not just because of the vampires, it's because of Jason. Got it?"

They nodded.

"Besides," Shane said, and playfully tugged at Claire's overgelled hair, "I want to see Monica's face when she catches sight of the two of you. Kodak moment."

Eve fumbled in her tiny little coffin-shaped purse and held up a brand new cell phone, with camera. "I'm ready."

"Me too," Claire said, and pulled out the fancy phone that Amelie had given her. She felt a blast of shame as Shane glanced at it, but controlled it. She couldn't be ashamed all the time, and besides, it wasn't so bad, right? What she was doing? It wasn't any worse than having a day job. Just … different.

"Be careful what you eat and drink," Michael continued. "Monica's party is probably roofie heaven. I can smell what they put in the drinks, you guys can't. And if you get into any trouble, step back, let me handle it. If you're going to have a freak vamp friend, you might as well get your money's worth out of it."

Shane didn't answer, but Claire could see there was some smart-ass remark burning a hole in his tongue. She was glad he didn't let it loose. It was nice to feel like four friends again, instead of four people all about to spin apart in different directions.

"Anything else, Dad?" Eve asked. Michael kissed her, very lightly, sparing her lipstick.

"Yeah," he said. "You look good enough to eat. Promise me you'll remember that."

Claire was caught between a smile and a shiver, and saw that Eve was, too.

The Morrell home looked like Tara from Gone With The Wind, post Sherman's march. Claire watched, blinking, as a mob of drunken frat boys stumbled down the walk, roaring something she couldn't make out, carrying a couch.

Which they deposited in the giant European-style fountain in front of the house. Apparently they were relocating most of the living room out there. Some partiers were already sitting in chairs, soaking in the fountain's spray, and now three or four of them piled giggling onto the wet couch.

"Now this," Shane said with respect, "is out of bounds. I like it."

It was totally out of control. The four of them stood together by Michael's shiny vampire-tinted car, watching in admiration. The house was blazing with lights, there were lit tiki torches tilting drunkenly all over the lawn, and partiers were everywhere. Making out under the trees, in full glare of the security lights. Doing shots on the big, white-columned front steps. A girl ran by dressed in half a bikini. The top half.

"Damn," Michael said. "Monica does know how to throw it."

No kidding. Claire watched as a big bobtail truck inched its way through a knot of people toward the back of the house. It had the logo of BOB'S FINE LIQUORS. Apparently, Monica had called in liquid reinforcements already, and the night was young.

"Well?" Eve said. "Are we standing out here all night? Because I'm ready to knock somebody dead."

The four of them strolled up the walkway, keeping an eye out for frat boys and wandering furniture. They went as a group up the front steps, where about ten people were playing some complicated game that involved drinking shots, spray cans of fluorescent paint, and giggling hysterically. Even the drunkest turned to look at the four of them and whistle.

The frat boys, the drunks in the fountain and the even drunkers on the porch were all wearing standard college casual dress, mostly shorts and t-shirts. "Um," Claire said, "Maybe we should have come a little less formal."

"No way," Eve replied. "If you're going, go big."

"Remind me to play poker with you later," Michael said. "I love a girl who'll go all in."

She hip-bumped him. "That's what you want to do with me later? Dude. Respect the dress, at least."

Michael trailed his pale fingers down her back, following the line of her spine, all the way to the red rose. Eve shivered, and her eyes went half-closed. Whatever Michael whispered in her ear, Claire thought it was probably way too personal to hear.

Not that she could have, because right then the front door banged open and the noise flowed out in a syrup-thick wave. Pounding techno and yelled conversations. Two people stumbled out of the door, arms around each other. Claire blinked and recognized two of the gamers that she'd given Monica's invitation to that afternoon on campus.

"Frakkin' awesome party!" one of them screamed, and fell flat on his face.

"Apparently." Eve stepped over him and swept into the party, with Michael right behind her. Claire started to follow, but Shane's grip on her arm had tightened, and he was holding her back.

"What?" she asked, and turned to face him. God, he looked amazing. He needed to let Eve dress him all the time.

"Before we go in," he said, and bent and kissed her. Claire distantly heard the whistles and catcalls of the shot drinkers — distantly, because the kiss was sweet and hot and wild, and there was something crazy in it that made her just quiver inside.

He pulled away way too soon. "Stay with me," he said, with his lips near her ear, and she nodded. Like I'd let you out of my sight.

And then they followed Michael and Eve into the party of the century.

It was the second big party of Claire's life — not counting birthday parties and things where there were as many chaperones as kids. The first one, the Dead Girls' Dance thrown by the EEK fraternity, hadn't exactly come out well, what with Shane's dad going on a rampage through the place looking for vampires to stake. This one looked, if possible, even crazier.

She was grateful to be with her friends. If she'd stepped into this by herself, she couldn't imagine how scary it would be. The main hall was wide and tall, but it was jam packed with people talking, dancing, kissing, groping — it was like the hottest dance club with all the lights up full. Claire brushed up against a couple who were — what were they doing? She looked away before she could be sure, but the guy's hand was in places that she couldn't imagine a porn actress allowing in public.

Michael and Eve pushed through the crowd into the next room, and Claire and Shane followed, staying close. There were a few people in the big living area who were dressed fancy, but most had on standard-issue college wear, and somehow, Claire had the distinct impression the casual-dress crowd had not come invited.

Monica was standing at the top of the stairs, arms folded, looking right at them.

"Oooh, that is a Kodak moment," Eve said, and held up her cell phone to snap a photo of Monica's scowl. "Yep. We're good."

She high-fived Shane, who seemed to be expecting it. Monica cleared the annoyance out of her expression with an effort, and started down the steps. She was dressed in a pink, clinging sheath dress with huge lime-outlined flowers climbing the fabric, and her shoes were prissy-perfect in matching pink. Very fancy.

"Claire, you brought strays," Monica said. "How nice." And then she looked strangely sorry. "Michael, I didn't mean you. You're always welcome."

He raised his pale eyebrows. "I am?"

"Of course."

Claire elbowed him. "Because you're a VIP. Vampire Important Person."

Two more of the gamers Claire had gifted with the invitation stumbled by; one grabbed Claire's arm and planted a sloppy wet kiss on her cheek. "We passed out copies," he said, and giggled. "Hope that was okay. Great party!"

Shane sighed and moved him off with one hand on his shoulder. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Naked Vulcan chick in the next room. Better hurry."

The gamers sobered up fast, and moved on. Monica's glossy, perfect lips were open, her eyes wide.

"You?" she said. "You did this? These idiots made flyers! They put them all over campus! This was supposed to be the best people!"

"Don't worry," Eve said sweetly. "We're here." She smiled, which in that lipstick was Wicked-Witch-of-the-West evil. "Air kiss!" She mwahed the air somewhere near Monica's cheek. "Lovely party. Shame about the furniture. Ta!" She sashayed on, Michael on her arm, as if she was the Queen of Everything, never mind Morganville. Claire got out her camera and got a picture of the murderous fury on Monica's face as she watched her go.

"You treacherous little bitch!" Monica snarled.

Claire lowered the phone and met her eyes for a long second. She wasn't scared, not anymore. "You got your friends to roofie me and told them I wanted it rough. All I did was recycle your invitation. Let's call it even."

"Let's call it not!"

Shane leaned forward, dropped his voice so that Monica had to work to hear it, and said, "Calm down. You get blotchy when you're angry. And if you call my girlfriend a bitch one more time, I won't be so nice about it."

Monica's eyes were fierce and fiery, but she didn't move, and after a second she turned and ran up the steps to the second floor, where her formal-dressed friends were huddled together like the cast of Survivor: Abercrombie Island.

"Score one for the little guys," Shane said. He stared at a bunch of guys wearing football shirts rumbled past, carrying a bed. Claire blinked. Yes, that was a bed. "Okay, I don't really think I want to know. So. Drinks?"

In the kitchen, a group was making punch in a trash can. Claire hoped it was a new trash can, but as blitzed as the guys were who were pouring stuff in, she really couldn't be sure of that.

"I'd avoid that," Shane said, mouth close to her ear. "See anybody you know?"

She wasn't sure. There was barely room to move in here, with people crowding up to the counters, and streaming in and out with red plastic cups in their hands …

A shock zipped down her spine. "Yeah," she said. "I see somebody."

How the hell had Eve's brother gotten into the party? He was standing in a corner, slouching and sneering. Lank hair dripped toward his shoulders, and he wore the same filthy dangerous-boy clothes that he'd had on when he'd threatened Claire at the U.C. He had a drink, but he wasn't drunk; there was too much hot contempt in his eyes as he surveyed the crowd. Crazy eyes. Oh God, that's how they look, those guys who shoot up rooms full of people.

His eyes locked with Claire's, and he gave her a bent smile. Claire anxiously looked at Eve, but her back was to her brother and she was talking to Michael, she clearly hadn't seen the potential trouble at all.

"What?" Shane asked.

Claire turned back and pointed.

Jason was gone.

Shane shook his head when she told him, and moved away to talk to Michael. Michael nodded, then handed Eve off to Shane. Claire saw his lips move. Watch her.

And then Michael angled off through the crowd.

So much for staying together.

Shane draped his arms over both of their shoulders and said, "Now this is the life. Want to get a room, girls?"

Eve rolled her thickly mascaraed eyes. "Like you'd know what to do with one of us, never mind two. Where's he going?"

"Bathroom," Shane said blandly. "Even vamps gotta pee."

Which, for all Claire knew, might be true, but she was sure that wasn't why Michael had cut out on them. Shane steered them up to the counter and snagged a sealed bottled water for Claire and two sealed beers, which he opened himself. Not taking any chances, Claire thought, and cracked the top on the bottle to take several gulps of the cool, sweet water. She hadn't realized how hot it was until then, but she could feel sweat sticking her flocked mesh shirt to her exposed skin.

Somebody grabbed her ass. Claire yelped and jumped, turned and saw a drunk-off-his-butt frat boy leaning in next to her. "Oh baby, me like!" he yelled in her ear. "You, me, outside, okay?" He did a drunken pantomime of what he was thinking of doing outside, and she felt a hot roll of embarrassed shame.

"Get lost," she said, and shoved him off. His buddies tossed him back toward her, and this time, he crashed into her off balance and pushed her up against the bar. He took advantage of it, too, hands all over her, hips grinding her right into the counter.

Shane grabbed him by the collar of his TPU golf shirt, spun him around, and punched him right in the face.

Great, Claire thought in shaken disgust. That's always the answer around here. Punch somebody. Then again, she didn't think reasoned discourse was going to be big tonight.

And of course, the guy's friends piled on. Eve grabbed Claire's hand and pulled her out of the way; a tight circle formed around the combat, with people whooping and clapping. "We have to stop him!" Claire yelled. Eve patted her on the shoulder.

"This is Shane's idea of a good time," she said. "Trust me. You do not want to try to stop him right now. Let him do his thing. He'll be fine."

Claire hated it. She hated seeing Shane get hit, and she didn't much like the way his eyes lit up when he was knee-deep in conflict, either. Stupid to be upset by it, she guessed, considering this was part of why she was so attracted to Shane in the first place — the way he would unhesitatingly throw himself into things, especially when it came to protecting others.

Eve was practically reading her mind. "Let him be who he is," she said. "I know it's hard, because in general, guys are clueless and you just want to fix it, but just — let him be. You don't want him trying to change you, right?"

Right. She didn't, although he was changing her, whether he knew it or not. Not in bad ways, she thought. Just … change. A year ago she'd have been paralyzed with terror at the idea of coming to a party like this, and even more terrified to imagine being groped by a stranger like that.

Now, she was mostly just annoyed, and felt like she needed a shower.

Eve whirled. "Hey! I know my ass is fine, but look, don't touch!" An eruption of drunken laughter. She took Claire's hand. "We need a wall behind us. Less chance of getting the stealth feel-up."

"But — " She gave up as somebody else patted her rear. "Yeah. Okay."

That put them half a room away from Shane, who was now somehow at the center of a knot of maybe ten guys, all whaling away at each other (mostly without connecting, they were all too drunk to really do damage). Claire leaned gratefully against the wall and sipped water. Somehow, she'd ended up holding Shane's beer, and with a quick sideways glance at Eve, she took a sip of that, too. Ugh. Nasty.

"Acquired taste," Eve said, laughing at her expression. "Shane buys like a college boy. If it's cheap and the ad has a girl in a bikini, it must be great."

"That's disgusting," Claire said, and took another long drink of water to wash her tongue clean. Even the water tasted bitter, after that.

"Well, in fairness, beer is mostly about the buzz, not the taste," Eve said. "You want taste and buzz, you get something like rum and coke, or White Russians." She seemed to remember, suddenly, how old Claire was. "Not that I'm going to let you have any of that, by the way. We promised your parents." She managed to look almost righteous when she said it, and she took Shane's beer out of Claire's hand. "I'll keep this." Eve raised her normally soft voice to a parade-ground bellow. "Yo, Shane! Quit screwing around or I'm drinking this!"

A ripple of laughter through the room. The fight was mostly over, anyway, and Shane shoved away the last stumbling frat boy who'd tried to take a swing at him, wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, and left the field of battle. He looked rumpled and flushed and a little bit savage, and Claire felt something in her just growl in response.

She stared at him, wide-eyed. I'm not ready for this.

Parts of her clearly were.

"Have a drink, Galahad," Eve said, and handed him his bottle. They clinked glass. "Our hero. Here. Fix your hair." She picked at it with her black-manicured nails, twitching it this way and that, until it had that glamour-boy carefully careless look again. "God, you're hot. Get felt up yet?"

"Couple of times," he said, and smiled at Claire. "Don't hurt them. They just couldn't help themselves."

Eve snorted and looked around. "Where's Michael?"

"Probably a line at the bathroom," Shane shrugged, which was probably true, but Claire didn't think that was the reason. Shane did that thing where he looked at Eve too long, and didn't blink. She thought she could tell when he was lying, and that definitely was a flashing neon sign. "Ladies? Let's wander."

It wasn't so much wander as wriggle, like salmon heading upstream. What Claire could see of the house was amazing — fine art on the walls, gorgeous old furniture (mostly being splashed with drinks or shoved against the walls to make room for dancing), big, expensive Turkish rugs (Claire hoped they were dry cleanable), and huge plasma TVs that were all playing the same music channel, blasting at ear-piercing volume. Nine Inch Nails' "Closer" was on now, and despite her best intentions Claire found herself moving to the rhythm. Eve was dancing too, and then they were dancing together, which should have seemed weird but didn't, really. Shane formed the third point on their triangle, but Claire could see that he wasn't really giving in to the festive atmosphere; he was scanning the crowd, looking for trouble. Or Michael.

Somebody tried to pass her something — a shot glass with a hit of something clear. She shook her head and passed it right back. Not that she wasn't tempted, but after what had almost happened to her at the last party, she wasn't going to be stupid.

Well, not any stupider than she already was to come here in the first place.

The drinks and drugs kept coming. Liquid E, poppers, shots, even something that she was almost sure was a crack pipe. Morganville liked its drugs, but she guessed that made sense. There was a hell of a lot to escape from around here.

She kept on dancing. Shane and Eve didn't take anything either — not that Claire saw, anyway. Shane was looking less into the party and more worried all the time.

Michael didn't come back. Two songs later — two long songs — Eve finally got Shane to look for him, and the three of them moved out through the bottom floor, checking out the rooms (all packed) and not finding Michael anywhere. In the hall bathroom a line of people was waiting for the toilet, but no sign of a tall, blond vampire.

When they went up the big, sweeping steps toward the second floor, Claire couldn't help but think about Rhett Butler carrying Scarlett. Her mom loved that movie. She'd always thought it was boring, but that scene stayed with her, and she could almost see it in this house. But instead of Scarlett, Monica Morrell was still standing at the top of the steps, surrounded by her protective circle of toadies. Gina and Jennifer were back, each wearing a dress that was plainer than what Monica had on, but in complementary colors. Her very own backup group. There were a couple of other girls in the crowd, but mostly it was guys — good looking, polished types. The entitled of Morganville, and every one of them was wearing a bracelet.

"Well," Monica said. "Look who's coming up in the world." Her crowd laughed. Monica's eyes were vicious. If she'd been sort of human when they'd been alone in the coffee shop, she'd gotten over it. "Scrubs stay downstairs. We're going to have to have the place gutted and rebuilt anyway, after this."

"Yeah, I'll bet Daddy's going to be furious when he gets home," Eve said. "I meant to ask, is that dress vintage? Because I could swear I saw it on my mother once." She swept up, heading straight for one of Monica's big strong linebacker types; he looked confused, and edged out of her way. Shane and Claire followed. Monica was dangerously silent, probably realizing that any comeback she could try would sound cheap.

"We're going to have trouble getting out of here," Shane said. It was quieter upstairs, although the continuing clamor downstairs throbbed through the floor and walls. The hallway was deserted, and all the doors were closed. It was lined with expensive portraits and framed formal photographs of the Morrell family. Not surprisingly, Monica took a lovely picture. Claire had never seen Mrs. Mayor, but there she was in the family photos — a wispy, half-ethereal woman always looking somewhere other than her family. Unhappy, somehow. Richard Morrell seemed grounded and adapted to this town, and of course so did the Mayor; Monica might not be stable, but she was definitely Morganville material.

Her mom, maybe not so much.

"Wonder where her parents are?" Claire said aloud.

"Out of town," Eve said. "So I heard, anyway. Bet they'll just love getting back to find somebody did an Extreme Home Makeover, Crackhead Edition." She tested the doorknob of the first room on the left. Locked. Shane tried the one on the right, opened it, and leaned in. He leaned out again, eyebrows arched.

"Well, that's new," he said. Claire tried to lean past him to look. He put his big hand over her eyes. "Trust me, you're not old enough. I'm not old enough." He carefully shut the door. "Moving on."

Claire opened the next room, and for a second she couldn't figure out what she was seeing. Once she did, she couldn't speak. She backed up and touched Shane wordlessly on the shoulder and pointed.

There were three guys in the room, and a girl on the bed, and she was passed out. They were taking off her