Phantom Reunions

 Prologue

Las Vegas, Nevada

     Danielle Walton lay in bed watching TV, sprawled next to the guy she had encountered in the casino a mere four hours ago. Passed out, and not as fun to sleep with as he was at having a lighthearted conversation, Lindy Parker from Indianapolis was snoring loud enough to shake walls. Danielle wondered if the people next door could hear Lindy’s nasal cacophony – and if they wanted to strangle him.

     Awareness first came at a blackjack table, just as Danielle was tipping a waitress for her Crown Royal and Coke drink. She’d sat at the table with one other listless occupant, an elderly white-haired man who said very little, on what was a sparse Monday night in the massive casino. Danielle had stolen a brief look at Lindy’s face and noticed he was glowing with emotion, though the specific visage being revealed was at first hard to gauge.

     “How ya playin’?” Lindy asked her, as if they were separated chums within the unending casino, like magic reunited for a serious gambling spree.

     “Oh, pretty well,” Danielle responded, contemplating her cards before looking him over again, this time with more intrigue. Absorbing her current hand and Lindy at the same time, she was drawn to his sandy-blond hair parted to the side, not too wispy, not too full. His soft-looking face had a semi-girlish air, while his fun-loving, frat-boy aura contained just enough charisma to seize her curiosity.

     Lindy, two years older than twenty-two-year-old Danielle, sat down at the seat next to her, uninvited, and Danielle, her radar in sudden overdrive, could now scope out his intentions from a mile away. He was in town on business, alone, and loquacious from the get-go, oblivious to the stakes and whatever intensity was involved at the table, but far from unmindful to Danielle’s red lips, smooth, flawless skin, deep brown eyes, and lush brown hair; silkiness that radiated soft, loving enticement, and overflowed like heaven on her shoulders. To Lindy, who with great agitation had sized her up from afar and decided to take his chances, Danielle Walton, wearing jeans and a tight pink shirt, was sublime.

     “Refresh me on this game,” he slurred to her when the hand ended, right away annoying the dealer in front of him and the old man to his side. “I don’t know if I’ve ever played or not.”

     Rolling her eyes at the staid dealer but privately feeling rejuvenated with younger company present, Danielle, along with the patient men, explained blackjack to Lindy, who was not what anyone would call a natural at cards. After playing three confused hands, it was as if he hadn’t heard a single direction from anybody.

     Conversation was vivacious, though, and after several more encouraging hands by Lindy, they decided to abandon blackjack and roam the casino’s vastness. Trivial talk gushed forth, witty and playful. Later, Lindy poured his heart out. Alcoholic drinks were abundant, wasted coins got slid into non-winning slot machines in a nonchalant frame of mind as they strolled, and a one-night friendship sprung forth. Danielle and Lindy eventually parked at a large, open-air bar, where they commented on and enjoyed the wide-open view of the casino.

     Clicking so fast with Lindy was uncanny, like familiar worlds crashed together after an extended break. Yet she suspected he specialized in such encounters. Fun but slick, Lindy’s overconfidence rubbed the fringes of her keen male sensory devices in a disconcerting way.