The Nightmare Game (22 page)

“This isn’t right,” I said in disbelief. “I just
met her today. I just talked to her before I left the apartment. She’s not dead.

“She’s not dead yet, you mean. Look at the date,
darlin’.”

“It can’t be. This is next Tuesday’s paper. That’s
three days from now.”

“Less than,” he said dryly. “This murder’s gonna
happen in the wee hours of Tuesday mornin’ if you don’t keep playing the game.
She knows you liked Brenda. This is her punishment for it.”

“It can’t be. I thought that she always makes the
deaths look like natural causes.”

“She does. Normally. This ain’t her handiwork,
though, it belongs to one of her goons. I was only able to get my hands on this
because she wants you to see it. She wanted the murder to be dramatic enough to
catch your attention and she wanted it ordinary enough so it’d feel real to
you. She ain’t ordered the hit yet, though. She won’t, either, as long as you
keep playin’ her game.”

“But if I hadn’t stopped to talk to you, I
wouldn’t even have seen this.”

“No, you wouldn’t have. She still woulda killed
her anyway, only then it wouldn’t have looked like murder. See, luv, everything
here’s not about you. Brenda pissed her off cause that soulless witch was
counting on killing you today and dissolving your body afterwards. Brenda
showed up for her shift way too early, a whole lot earlier than she was
supposed to. There was a chance that Brenda might have found a lot of blood or
whatever was left of your body. Then the witch woulda had to get rid of Brenda,
which woulda cost her a real good cleaning lady. That possibility really pissed
her off.”

“But it didn’t happen. I was fine by the time
Brenda got to the apartment. Why would she still kill her? It seems so
counterproductive. It just doesn’t make any sense.”

“Besides bein’ evil, did I forget to tell you that
the vicious bitch is also insane?”

“Our gentleman friend informed me of that little
tidbit.”

“Good. I can not emphasize enough just how crazy
she is. Certifiable. It’s one of her failin’s. Double-edged sword, though.
Makes her potentially defeatable, but also makes her more unpredictable, more
dangerous.

“But showin’ up too early ain’t the only thing
that Brenda did wrong. She told you too much.”

“How’d she find out? I thought she couldn’t use surveillance
to bug the apartment.”

“She didn’t need to. Brenda took too long in
talkin’ to you, so the witch got into her head and found out the details of
that conversation. Our enemy didn’t like that, so she left this newspaper at
the apartment for Virginia and me to see. She knew we liked the girl. Brenda
couldn’t see us cause nobody sees us except those in the game, but we could see
her and we liked her all the same. If you keep playing the game, if you keep
the witch occupied, if you win, this will never happen. Brenda’ll live and so
will a lot of other people.”

“I can’t believe it,” I said, badly shaken.

“Yeah, it’s different when it’s somebody you know
out here in the real world, ain’t it? It’s different when it gets this real.”

“Okay, okay, I get it. I’ll go,” I said
reluctantly. “I’ll go back to The Crypt. I’ll finish the game.”

“Good girl. And I’ll remind you yet once again,
don’t ever drink anything that she or her cohorts give you. Ever. It lets her
get under your skin and gives her access to you.”

“I won’t. Trust me, I’ve learned that lesson. He
told me, you told me, I’ve got it now. I won’t forget.”

“Brilliant. Keep it that way,” he replied.

“Can I ask you one more thing?” I said. “Just
something I’m curious about.”

“Ask away. I can’t say I’ll answer, though.

“It’s about the apartment.”

“What about it?”

“It looked so different today when I saw it with
Brenda today than it did yesterday. Why? Who caused the illusion? Was it the
witch or was it the man in the painting?”

“Both. It’s the only time they’re ever on the same
side. He wanted you here to fight for him. She wanted you here to kill you.”
Upon saying that, he disappeared right in front of my face. None of the many
people passing around us noticed.

Reluctantly, I turned around and set my sight once
more upon The Crypt. Again, when I reached the corner at Ursuline, I felt evil
energy come in waves at me and I felt my alarm increase. I told myself it was
just my own fear, that Rochere was simply exerting a force that was amplifying
my own dread. The less I was afraid, the less that there would be for her to
amplify. It actually helped. I was glad I’d arrived early, for it was still
daylight and would be for awhile; I now appreciated daylight savings time in a
way I never had before. Daylight kept the monsters lurking in my mind from
overwhelming me. I would just keep plodding along and I would get through this,
I told myself. As I walked down Ursuline, I stared down feet, mechanically
putting one foot in front of the other. I tried to remember every single
technique I’d ever learned to chase away fear, everything from silently
reciting the few Bible stories I’d learned as a child on my rare excursions to
Sunday School to whistling and singing aloud. I worked at recollecting every
technique that was ever successful in killing movie monsters. I didn’t know
what Rochere was, except that she was evil, and I knew it wouldn’t work, but
right now I dearly desired to possess a full arsenal of wooden stakes, holy
water, silver bullets and anything else that had ever worked in any Saturday
matinee creature feature ever made.

When I stopped walking, I looked up and found
myself on the block of my destination, across the street from The Crypt; I’d
taken the exact same route as I had last night. An abrupt chill overtook me and
I began to shiver from it. I stared at the repulsive black door splattered with
red, unable to tear my eyes from it, my gaze fixed hypnotically upon the entrance
to that club. I suddenly regretted all the times that I’d asked the Universe to
unveil the destiny it had in store for me. Fixed in that spot, paralyzed by
fear, I stared at the heinous entrance to that monstrous club, realizing for
the first time just how well off I really had been in my life. Destiny was
highly overrated, I now realized. Lying on a comfortable sofa with a good book,
a cat on my lap and a nice cup of hot chocolate and a cozy life without purpose
might have seemed empty to me only a few short days ago; but it looked awfully
damn good to me from where I was standing now. I didn’t want to go into that
bar but I had to. I had to continue, to do my very best and pray that it would
be good enough for me to be able to win, for me to be able to live. I was most
likely committing suicide going in there and I wasn’t in a particularly
suicidal mood today. As I continued to stare at the black door, late afternoon
turned to dusk. I don’t know how long I stood there, transfixed by reluctance,
but my trance was suddenly broken when that entrance opened. The bartender,
holding onto the doorknob, walked out into the doorway.

“You gonna stand there all night?” he said,
obviously getting a kick out of my timid hesitation. I tried to speak, but
nothing came out of my mouth. “C’mon in, doll,” he said in a softer tone. “I’m
just opening up.”

My heart pounded loudly in my head as the
paralysis gluing me to that spot on the concrete gave way. I crossed the
street, trudging slowly forward, realizing that my feelings for Edmond, coupled
with the knowledge that I had no choice, gave me the only sad excuse for
courage that I had to work with. I wished I still had the conviction and
courage that were with me when I left the coffee shop. I walked as slowly as I
could, putting off entering as long as possible, but no matter how slowly I
walked, my steps still led me to the gateway of what would surely be my doom.

I walked into the club, past the bartender, who
closed the door behind me. I went up to the bar and sat at the same, lonely
barstool where I had sat last night. He came up behind me, taking his place
behind the bar. He didn’t look quite as repulsive to me as he had last night.
He was still no beauty by any stretch of anyone’s imagination, but the extreme
unnaturalness of his appearance seemed significantly less profound. At first I
thought I that maybe I was just getting used to looking at him, but there was
something different in his manner, in the way he carried himself. Not only was
he a little bit better-looking, but he exhibited a cocky flirtiness that hadn’t
been there last night.

“Where are all the supermodels?” I asked, making
conversation to cover my extreme discomfort at having to be back in this place.
“Too early for them?”

“They’re not coming in tonight.”

“How can you be sure?”

“They gotta be somewhere else.”

“Another party?”

“Not really. You might say it’s a command
performance,” he said, the cockiness also showing in his voice.

He took an empty glass out from under the bar and
put it in front of me.

“I never thought I’d see you in here again,” he
said.

“Yeah? And why’s that?”

“Because before they can come back, most people
just,” his voice trailed off.

“Die?” I finished.

He looked embarrassed. “Hey, how would I know? I
just work here.”

“Right,” I said, unconvinced.

He poured a drink of fluorescent liquid into the
glass. It was purple this time. “Here,” he said, pushing the glass over to me.
“No hard feelin’s doll. Have a drink on me.”

“I don’t think so,” I said, pushing the drink back
at him.

“Suit yourself,” he said, picking it up and
drinking it himself. “Personally, I happen to like them. They’re real
ass-kickers. They help make life bearable, if you catch my drift.”

“I’m sure I don’t.”

“C’mon, kitten, don’t tell me that you wouldn’t
like to get shit-faced drunk right now. Helps keep the frights away, don’t it.
I mean, the things that go bump in the night. Oh, they’re still there, it’s
just that with enough of these,” he motioned to the now half-empty glass, “you
don’t notice ‘em as much.”

My face must have belied that he had struck a
nerve with me.

“Bet ya’d like to leave about right now, huh? Bet
ya’d like to walk right back outta the door that ya just walked through right
now.”

I continued my silence. The bartender became
bolder. “But you can’t, can you?”

“I wasn’t going to. It isn’t an option.”

He grinned, then uttered a cynical laugh.

“You don’t get it, you can’t leave. Not even if
you wanted. You can’t go out that door.”

“Why, did you lock it?”

“Lock it? I never said I locked it.” He was growing
more and more amused at my discomfort.

“Then why can’t I go out that way?”

“Go check.”

I looked over to the door to see what he was
prattling about. There was no front door. It had disappeared. Perplexed, I rose
from the barstool, headed toward the entrance that was only a few feet away. I
felt along the wall, thinking that it was an illusion and merely camouflage,
but there was nothing to feel. The front door I had just passed through moments
ago was gone, a solid wall now stood in its place.

“What happened to it? It was here a minute ago.
What is this, some kind of a trick?”

“No trick.”

“What happened to it then?”

“Nothing. It’s just that it happens to be an
entrance, not an exit. At least not for you.”

“That doesn’t make sense. Tell me what happened to
it. Doors don’t just disappear.”

“I guess you got pretty used to that in your
world, huh? Doors leadin’ both in and out.”

“What do you mean?”

“Hey, you wanted direction, didn’t you. Consider
yourself directed.”

I was stunned. Was he being a total jerk or had he
read my thoughts a few minutes ago? How could he possibly have known about my
struggles with trying to find direction, either before or after I’d arrived in
New Orleans? He was nothing but a stranger to me and an unwelcome one at that.

“This ain’t like no other place you ever been
before, baby,” he whispered his answer hoarsely. I could feel the hair on the
back of my head standing on end. I was repulsed and frightened. “You wanted a
clue? Well, you got one now. You can only go in one direction here, sweetie.
You got your entrances and you got your exits and they are two very, very
different things. We are on a one-way system here.
Capiche
?”

I was shaken, but I glared at him as defiantly as
my waning bravado would allow me. Within his face that still looked unnatural
somehow despite its improvement, I saw something completely unexpected,
something almost resembling kindness. It was as if, despite his gruff manner,
he was on the brink of trying to help me.

“Okay, then,” I answered back, “how do I get out
of here?”

He pointed toward the black wrought iron that had
led to tiny room containing the three doors. “Same as last night.”

“So which door should I pick today?” I asked.

“The only one you can,” he answered.

I stared at the wrought iron door leading to the
little black room.

“Okay, then. Let me get this over with,” I said,
putting on a brave front, clinging to it so that my increasing fear wouldn’t
overpower me. “I guess I’ll talk to you next time.”

“If you’re lucky you will.”

He wasn’t being egoistical. There was no longer
cockiness in his tone. He was just stating a fact. With greatest reluctance, I
walked to the back, past the swinging wrought iron doors and into the tiny
black room that had, last night, housed the three red doors with their black
doorknobs.

But tonight there weren’t three doors, there were
only two. I guessed that the third had gone the way of the club’s entrance. I
stared at these two doors for a long time, not knowing which one to chose,
knowing that I did not want to go through either of them, feeling that
whichever one I chose would be the wrong one. Then I realized that it was all a
moot point; there was no right choice. I would wind up wherever Rochere wanted
me to be. I wished more than ever that I had passed up this entire trip and
just stayed home.