Everyone

Chloe set her empty glass down and looked around the kitchen.

“Poker sounds perfect,” she said. “I’m in.”

A quick chorus of agreement followed from Brian’s friends. Mark clapped you lightly on the shoulder.

“You heard your wife. Table’s at your place. Let’s go get it set up while they finish getting dressed.”

You opened your mouth to protest again, but the group was already moving. Hands on your back and shoulders guided you firmly toward the front door. Someone grabbed the remaining beers. Chloe picked up her bag. The circle that had trapped you in the kitchen simply became a loose escort ushering you out of the house.

“Katie—” you called over your shoulder as they steered you into the hallway.

From the living room her voice came back, breathless and high.

“Go ahead—ah—we’ll catch up. Brian’s almost… finished helping me. Just a few more minutes. Get the table ready. We’ll be right behind you—”

The last word broke into a sharp, open moan that followed you all the way to the front door.

Brian’s friends kept you moving. Chloe walked on your other side, chatting lightly about poker hands and house rules as if nothing unusual were happening. The cool night air hit your face as they guided you down the steps and onto the sidewalk. Behind you the front door of Brian’s house swung shut.

You looked back once.

The living-room windows still glowed. From inside, faint but unmistakable, came the continued sound of movement and Katie’s voice—soft, broken, and still insisting she was only getting dressed.

Then the group turned you toward your own house a few doors down, already discussing who would deal first, leaving Brian and Katie alone behind the closed door.

Your house felt wrong with so many of Brian’s friends inside it.

Someone had already found the extra chairs. The poker table—usually reserved for the occasional quiet night with a couple of actual friends—was unfolded in the middle of the living room and surrounded. Chloe was shuffling a deck with practised ease. Cans of the beer you had bought earlier sat open on the side tables. The atmosphere was light, almost casual, as if this were any other late-night game.

You kept glancing toward the front door.

No Katie.

No Brian.

Chloe dealt the first hand without comment. Cards slid across the felt. People anted up with spare change and leftover bills. Someone made a joke about house rules. Someone else asked if you had any proper chips. You answered on autopilot, eyes still drifting to the door every few seconds.

The first hand played out. Then the second. You folded early both times, barely looking at your cards. The conversation around the table stayed easy—work stories, old high-school names, mild complaints about the neighbourhood. No one mentioned the couple still missing from the party.

After the third hand Chloe glanced at the clock on the wall and then at you.

“They’ll be along any minute,” she said lightly. “Katie said they were right behind us. Brian’s probably just helping her find her shoes or something.”

A couple of people chuckled. Mark raised his can in a small toast to the empty doorway. The next hand was dealt.

You sat in your own living room, surrounded by Brian’s friends, playing poker at the table you and Katie usually kept folded away, while the minutes stretched and the front door stayed closed. Every sound from the street made your head turn. Every new round of cards made the absence feel heavier.

Still no Katie.

Still no Brian.

The game continued without them.