Maxim Jakubowski - The Mammoth Book of Best British Mysteries 6

“You’re right, we don’t belong here any more than you do,” he said, distracted now by something or someone moving past my left shoulder. “There’s no difference between us, brother. The rest of them are just little pigs.” He exchanged glances with the others, and the two girls turned to go, slipping out through the crowd. He pushed back to take his leave with them.

“Wait,” I called after him, anxious to keep him there. “How did you get in through security?”

Bobby looked over his shoulder, quiet and serious. “We have friends in all the places we’re not invited.”

“Nothing’s going to happen tonight, right? You’ve got to promise me that.”

“Nothing will happen tonight, Julius. We’re leaving.”

“I don’t get it.” I was calling so loud that people were turning to stare at me. “Why not tonight? You made this stuff happen before, why not now, right in front of me? Let me see, Bobby, I want to understand. You think you can summon up the devil?”

His eyes were still focused over my left shoulder. “The devil is already here, my friend.”

I twisted around to see who he was looking at, but when I looked back he had gone. They had all gone. And the tumble of the party rushed into my ears once more. I heard the blonde girl laughing as the man fumbled his knife trick, and the point of the blade fell harmlessly to the floor, where it stuck in the wood.

When the girl turned around, I saw that she was heavily pregnant, and heard someone say, “Come on Sharon, I’m going to drive you home, it’s late. What if Roman calls tonight?”

She lived on 10050 Cielo Drive, I heard her say. And she had to get back, because the next night she was expecting her friends Abby and Jay, and they’d probably want to stay late drinking wine. She wasn’t drinking because of the baby. She didn’t want anything to happen to the baby.

The next day was August 9th, 1969.

It was the day our bright world began its long eclipse.

They caught up with Charlie and his gang at the Spahn ranch, out near Chatsworth, but by then it was too late to stop the closing light. There were others, rootless and elusive, who would never be caught.

I remembered those parties in the Hollywood hills, and realized I had always known about the rise of the Uninvited. Much later, I read about Manson’s children writing Helter Skelter on their victims’ refrigerator door, only they had misspelled the first word, writing it as Healther.

I saw how close I had come to touching evil.

The world is different now. It’s sectioned off by high walls, no-go zones, clearance status, security fences, X-ray machines. The gates remain shut to outsiders unless you have a pass to enter. The important parties and the good living can only continue behind sealed doors. At least, that’s what those who throw them desperately need to believe. That’s what I need to believe.

I married Cheyenne. We have two daughters and a son. Against all reason, we stayed on in California.

And we no longer know how to protect ourselves from those who are already inside the gates. I guess we lost that right when we first built walls around our enclaves, and printed out our invitations.