"Fffuggin' people doan even know whas comin'," she slurred to the TV screen. "Doan even know." She tried to take another drink from the bottle, realized it was empty, plopped it to the floor.

"Is all gonna end tonight," she continued. "End, end, end. Me... you," she pointed at herself, at the television, "all gonna die. Stupid computerssss. Is all gonna break down. Break down." She grew quiet, staring at the screen, her head bobbing drunkenly on her neck.

She smiled.

"'Cept for you, Dicky-boy. You'll be okay. Nothin' can stop Dick Clark!"

She started to laugh. Loud. Louder. So loud it hurt.



At 11:59 p.m. and fifty-three seconds, Candy passed out in front of the TV.

"Come and get me," is what she said before she fell over, beating the Time's Square ball to the ground.



At 6:38 a.m., on January 1st, 2000, Candy's phone began to ring. Still half drunk and lying face down on the living room floor, she wasn't quite sure what the sound was at first. Whatever it was, though, it sure as hell was blasting her brains to mush. She squeezed her eyes tightly together, but the sound didn't go away. She tried to move, but her head was thumping way too violently and her mouth was one big shit-flavored cotton ball and the sound that wouldn't quit was... was...

Was the phone!

Candy automatically had her body up and to the phone before the hung over part of her could get there. When it finally caught up with her, it went straight for her head and stomach, spinning both in circles, and she had to take a couple deep, vomit-controlling breaths before she answered. Still feeling sick, but able to talk, Candy picked up the phone.

"Hullo," she said, dry-throated and whispery.

"Candy!"

It was Tina, so loud that Candy had to pull the phone away from her ear. From arm's length she could hear her sister finish her greeting: "Happy New Year!" Candy slowly brought the phone back to her ear.

"Um. thanks, Tina," she responded, feeling confused and out of place. "Same... same to you." She paused. "Hey, what... what time is it?"

"Six forty, sleepy head! I was going to call you later, but couldn't wait. You know me: I love 'I told you so's'."

"Huh?" Candy felt fuzzy-brained. "What do you mea...?"

"Y2K, dummy!" her sister chimed in. "I told you everything would be fine. See! Even your phone still works." She giggled on the other end. "And you thought it was all going to stop working today, and riots and stuff. Honestly, Candy."

Tina giggled some more and the sound of it twisted at Candy's gut as she slowly looked around her apartment. It was true: everything was still working. From where she sat Candy could see the microwave clock displaying a bright green "6:42". The TV was on, some morning show celebrating the millennium. The VCR clock was wrong--blinking 12:00--but that was always the case. There was no doubt the table lamp next to the futon was functioning; her hung over eyes were nearly blinded by its brightness. And, the front door was locked--secure. Nobody had tried to sneak in. To cuddle her. To "love" her. To...

Something was dead wrong about all of it.

"Candy... you still there?" Tina asked. Candy barely heard her now.

"Um... yeah," she said, suddenly feeling very awake... very sober.

Something was wrong.

Tina continued: "Well, I know it's early and I probably woke you up and all, but I just had to let you know that the world was still here. Anyway, call me later when you're feeling more awake. Everyone here says 'Happy New Year'. Dad says to give Stephanie a big kiss from all of us, okay?" She didn't wait for an answer. "Well, gotta run. Talk to you later. Bye!"

"Bye," Candy answered. And then, to herself, as she hung up the phone: "Stephanie!"

She ran to her daughter's room, her eyes wide, her heart pounding. She flung open the door, burst in, moved toward the bed. Stopped.

Froze.

On the bed... sickly pale face. Blue, swollen lips. Staring... staring at the ceiling. The pillow... next to her head. Her baby's head.

Her beautiful baby.

And suddenly, the thing she'd done, the thing she'd forgotten, came slicing back into focus, into memory, as it always did. In her mind she heard her own words... her own protective words the night before as she held the pillow down... tight... tighter:

"Only me, honey. They'll only get me. I'll never let them have you. You'll never know their 'love'. The monsters won't hurt you...

"Only me."



At 7:00 a.m., Candice "Candy" Martin found herself in the kitchen. How she had gotten there, she couldn't recall. 'Course, it was always like that with her: things coming in and out of focus. She leaned on the counter, thinking, when she heard the automatic coffee maker start up. Right on time. As always. Funny thing was, she hadn't loaded its filter with fresh coffee the night before because... because...

Why?

Because you never thought it would work today, a voice in her head reminded her.

That's why.

Candy watched the coffee maker pour steaming, clear water into the coffeepot. It was working like a charm.

She began to scream--a tortured, shrieking scream.

Loud.

Louder.

So loud, it hurt.