Pretty Baby

by Pretty Baby (NCP) (lit)

  “But she looks like something out of the middle ages. There are doctors … procedures....”

  The woman smiled indulgently, but only with her eyes. “Please, sir, may I give you a room?”

  His eyes darted around curiously, searching the shadows for the elusive creature, but saw nothing but an empty hallway. Turning back, he mumbled, “Yes, of course.” When he finally faced her, he saw her closely for the first time. The woman’s face was distressingly thin. Her lips were pinched and she had black eyes that were flat, hard and passionless. As if everything inside were dead. He didn’t want to just stand there and stare, so he began to speak. “It’s so late in the year I figured you wouldn’t have many guests, yet the parking area seems to be full. I haven’t come too late, have I?”

  “No, we have a couple of vacancies left.”

  He furtively watched as the woman attended to her duties with a cold, mechanical rhythm.

  “Not everyone wants to swim in the ocean, you see.” Her lips turned upward in a smile, yet her eyes and voice were cold. “Many people come here simply to be near the ocean. To walk, smell the ocean breeze, see the sunrise. Many things.”

  “Yes, I suppose,” Shadoe muttered, his curious eyes still on her. She spoke without feeling … as if everything she said had been said a million times before. He couldn’t help wondering if the woman ever had an emotion that showed through those blank eyes. Her dark hair was pulled back in a neat chignon, and her dress was dark. It reminded Shadoe of a uniform with white cuffs and a collar that fit snug around her neck. Her face was so chiseled, it seemed a real smile would crack it. With an efficient air, she turned the register around to him and handed him a pen with a white plume. Her teeth seemed too big for her face and reminded him of dirty, chipped piano keys.

  Ignoring the pen, he asked, “Are you the owner of the inn?”

  “I … well....” she began, rather surprised by the question, then continued. “It was owned by my father, Garret Van Dare, but he’s … well, he’s … dead, so I run things. My name is Lucretia Van Dare. If there’s anything you’d like....”

  Shadoe frowned, noticing the hesitancy in her words. Maybe his death was recent, he thought, then asked, “Has it been long? Since the death of your father, I mean.”

  “About--” her strong, smooth voice seemed to waver, and one nervous hand fluttered upward and smoothed her chignon, “--I think … fifteen years now.”

  “You must have been close.”

  “Yes,” she said, trying to stay tolerant of the stranger’s persistence. Then taking a deep breath, she said, “I’m sorry, but....”

  “Please forgive me, I didn’t mean to pry,” Shadoe said, looking at her suspiciously. Then he lifted his eyes and looked around. “Actually I’ve been by this old place many times, always meaning to stop in. I’m a photographer for a web-based operation, and would like to take some pictures if that’s okay.” Now, why in hell did I say that? he thought, then noticed her surprise. “You mentioned the woods earlier. I’m looking for streams, rocks, waterfalls. And just about now the leaves will be starting to turn.”

  Lucretia’s impatience was growing, her smile becoming strained. “Of course. Just don’t do anything illegal.” She tried to smile, lifting the pen a little higher into his face.

  “No, of course not.” Taking the ancient-looking writing instrument in his hands, he examined it curiously. He finally touched the sharply pointed quill to the surface, and nothing, not even the ticking of a tall grandfather’s clock, sounded over the eerie scratching of his signature on the paper. He looked down at the deep crimson ink and knew it must be in keeping with the name of the inn, but had the eerie feeling he was signing his name in someone’s blood.

  She replaced the pen in an inkstand and smoothly turned the book around to read the name. “How long will you be with us Mr. Madison?”

  “I’m not sure yet. I travel a lot, and the firm is paying for my trip, so I’m not in a hurry.”

  She turned, reached for a key, and extended it to him. “I hope room twenty-four will be suitable. Second floor, toward the back.” She paused, her dead eyes raking across his handsome face. “Lots of trees, brooks, and rocks on that side of the inn … but not one waterfall. Sorry.”

  “No problem. Right now I’m a little more interested in the inn itself. What...?”

  Anticipating his questions, she said, “The dining room is open for breakfast, lunch, and dinner… eight, twelve, and six… but you are free to order room service any time. All this is written on the menu in your room, and you have cable, maid service. We also have a Hall of History, gift shop....”

  “Yes,” he said quickly, interrupting her flow of words, “the history of this place would be interesting. It looks as if it was one of those … you know … plantations at one time. Was it....”

  “The Hall of History is that way,” she said, pointing down a nearby corridor. “It is....”

  “Filled with pictures of dried-up old ancestors, I’ll bet,” he finished while smiling and leaning on the counter as if he were an old friend. “Is it haunted?” he continued, his voice calm, his gaze steady.

  “The inn?” she said, his words coming as a shock.

  “It’s just that I’ve heard some of these old mansions are haunted.” He shrugged. “You know, with someone’s grandmother, a Civil War hero, maybe a guest who refuses to leave … that kind of thing.”

  “It is not haunted,” she said, uttering each word carefully while clenching her teeth.

  “Yeah? So how about the girl? Is she here to give the place color? The story you tell of an animal in her cradle … oh man, whoever thought that one up is real sharp. And dressing her up in that mask and letting her dart in and out.” His laugh was forced, taunting. “What an idea. How much do you pay her to put on her little act?”

  “Julita is my sister,” the woman said, barely able to contain her anger. “She is not here to lend color, this is her home. She spends her days entertaining herself as best she can. You have no reason to wonder about her, she’s nothing … nobody….”

  “Julita, huh? Interesting name for a scarred-up little nobody. Is she violent? Insane, maybe?”

  “What are you insinuating, sir? That she’s dangerous? Nothing could be further from the truth. She’s shy, curls up in the rafters to sleep, and because of her disfigurement keeps herself hidden. Once in a while she helps out when we’re short-handed, but as a rule I don’t let her come in contact with the guests.”

  “Only when it pays, right?”

  She gasped at his boldness.

  Shadoe knew he had made her angry and backed off. “Sorry,” he said, grabbing up his key. “They say that curiosity killed the....”

  With a tilt of her lips and a narrowing of her eyes, Lucretia gave him a cold smile as she replied, “Yes, they do … don’t they?”

  Feeling a chill creep down his spine, he flippantly threw the key in the air, then caught it in a tight clasp. “Thanks,” he said, turning and grabbing his luggage, then hurrying up the steps. Halfway up he looked back and saw her looking at him with those dead eyes. He could have sworn he saw something there … something alive … something evil. Maybe that was why he’d done it. Maybe that was why he’d fired question after question at her until she cracked. To shake her. Maybe the captain was right, maybe he was cracking up. It was clear he’d been in too many interrogation rooms with too many killers with eyes just like hers. Well, he’d have to soft-pedal it from here on. He certainly didn’t want to be thought of as a nuisance and have the witch ordering him off the place.

  Not now. Not when he wanted to know more about the Van Dare family … and this picturesque old inn that was surrounded once a day by blood and bones.

  CHAPTER THREE

  With an angry look on her face, Lucretia rushed from behind the counter and strode to the foot of the stairs. She grasped one of the white posts that supported a globe and scowled up into the dim hallway the stranger had disappeared through. Something mov
ed, and she swung her head around and saw Julita’s coarse mask, her violet eyes peering through its crude holes. The eyes of the two sisters met and locked.

  “What are you doing out of the attic?”

  “It’s my birthday, I … Lucretia, why can’t I have … I mean … a birthday cake….”

  “Why would we celebrate your birthday? Look at you,” she scoffed. “You in your dingy little hood. Ugly, that’s what you are with your hideous scars. I’m the beautiful one, do you understand? My face is smooth. Yours is ugly, mangled.”

  “I only wanted....”

  “I don’t care what you wanted. Get out of sight. Go to the kitchen and help out, the guests are beginning to stir. I can’t have the sight of you ruining their breakfast.” She turned abruptly and strode back to the counter.

  Something intense and hot swirled inside Julita. She didn’t know where these new feelings were coming from, but they felt like hot barbs pressing against her. She was tired of being pushed around by this tyrant, told what to do, where to go, as if she were still a child. She knew she should let it pass, but the feeling was too big, too powerful, and the words on the edge of her lips caused them to tremble. Her teeth snagged her bottom lip, trying to keep the words inside her, but the pressure continued to build, and before she knew what was happening her small quivering voice spoke, her anger fanning the flames in her eyes. “You can’t tell me what to do… not anymore,” Julita dared to say to Lucretia. “As … as of today I … I’m a woman … I’m grown. I can do....”

  Lucretia whirled around, her narrowed eyes finding Julita, and stabbing her with them. “You little piece of trash!” Lucretia hissed. “Don’t you dare talk to me that way. Do as I say, or I’ll turn the whip on you. Do you understand?”

  Julita hesitated, wanting to say more, but she knew that Lucretia wouldn’t hesitate to beat her within an inch of her life if she continued. It wasn’t fair, she thought as she pressed her full lips together, then bit them when she felt another retort rolling forward. She swallowed the words and forced herself to quell the sullen anger that spread through her. Watching the witch at the desk, she slowly crept from behind an ornate statue that stood at the entrance to the library and ran toward the kitchen, out of Lucretia’s hellish sight.

  Lucretia’s cold eyes followed the girl as she ran. Julita was just eighteen today, and she could see her body still developing at a rapid pace. She remembered the night she’d found Julita in bed doubled over with stomach cramps. It was only three months before her thirteenth birthday, and the sheet she lay on was covered with blood. She knew immediately what it was.

  She’d fought to prevent it, wracking her brain to try and remember the old wives’ tales she’d heard all her life. She gave her cold baths, then hot ones to stop the flow. Sometimes it worked, but only for a while. Taking her to a doctor was out of the question. She knew that he would say it was a natural occurrence, and tell her not to worry. Stupid doctor. He wouldn’t understand, no one would. She wanted Julita to stay a child. She didn’t want to have to deal with menstrual flow, bulging breasts and a body that came alive with young womanhood. Besides, with Julita’s mask, she’d have to deal with questions, whispers, and disbelieving stares. She just couldn’t handle it.

  After that, every day was a new discovery. Swaying hips, curves, long legs. And overnight, it seemed, Julita’s breasts developed to such a proportion that they had begun straining against the shapeless, tattered old dresses Lucretia made her wear. She had no choice but to bind Julita up as tight as she dared.

  Day after day, she kept up the constant struggle to keep Julita’s feminine charms hidden. Even though her stature was petite, her legs had grown long and extremely shapely, and even her hair had a glossy shine that glinted in the sun. It fell down her back, all the way to her rounded hips that swayed when she walked. Despite all her efforts to make her look plain, nature seemed determined to thwart her efforts by giving her a sensuous appeal that, if left unchecked, would draw the attention of every male in the place.

  So far she’d managed to keep the girl in her control, but because of scenes just like the one only a moment ago, she lived in fear that one day Julita would rise up and rebel. She’d started Julita young, and along with learning what drugs to use on her, Lucretia had become an expert at mind play. Over the years she’d been able to bend Julita’s will to her own, making her believe what she wanted her to believe. But this rebellion was something new, and Lucretia wasn’t sure how to deal with it. So far she’d managed to keep her suppressed, but Lucretia knew that somewhere behind the mesmerized state Julita lived in, she was bright, and showed signs of being strong … strong enough to one day escape Lucretia’s control. If that day ever came, Lucretia would be forced to … no. She wouldn’t say it, she wouldn’t even think it. It won’t happen. It couldn’t possibly happen! But if it did … if the time ever came, could she do it? Could she ever kill her beloved Julita?

  * * * *

  The kitchen was overly warm and smelled of biscuits baking, bread toasting, coffee perking, omelets cooking in butter, and bacon sizzling on the grill. Efficient hands moved swiftly, the chef barked out orders while steam gathered, and hot grease spattered wildly. A buzzing sound joined the other noises, and one of the white-clad workers turned to the phone board. He quickly punched the blinking button that had the room number inscribed on it, then grabbed the receiver off the hanger. “Room Service,” he barked into the mouthpiece, then nodded his head. “Right away, sir.” After hanging up, he turned and reached for a clean pot and began filling it with coffee. When he had everything positioned on the tray just right, he called Julita over. “Number twenty-four,” he ordered, “on the double.”

  “Me?” she said, her eyes wide. “Where is Myra?”

  “She’s comin’ in late today. You’ll have to do a few deliveries until she gets here.”

  She lifted her violet eyes and gave him a pleading look. “I shouldn’t do this,” she whispered timidly, cowering slightly at the thought of her older sister. “Lucretia wouldn’t like it.”

  “What the old bat don’t know won’t hurt her, right? Just knock and leave it outside his door. No big deal. Knock and run. What could be easier?”

  “But I can’t,” she rasped, fear causing her to breathe harder, “she’s at the front desk, she’ll see me.”

  “Look over there,” he said, indicating toward the rear of the kitchen. “See those back steps there? They lead up to the second floor. You don’t even have to go through the foyer. Hell, that’s what they’re there for. Otherwise we’d be parading through the foyer day and night.” He paused, casting her an irritated glance. “Get a move on, huh?”

  She wrung her hands while her eyes darted around the room. She was hesitant, trying to make up her mind, but remembered that she did have explicit orders from Lucretia to help in the kitchen. It was still early, she reasoned, a lot of the guests wouldn’t even be up yet. She didn’t see how it would hurt to just take the tray up the back stairs, place it outside the door and leave. She wouldn’t see anyone, so Lucretia would never know. “Well… okay,” she finally said, her hands trembling as she took the clinking tray in her hands. She decided that she would just have to be extra careful, knowing how her sister felt about her coming in direct contact with the guests.

  After climbing the narrow stairway, she turned down the corridor that would take her to room twenty-four. She was rushing along when she saw a couple at the end of the hall coming toward her. “Oh, no!” she breathed, then frantically turned her head, looking for a place to hide. She saw a room she knew was vacant and quickly set the tray down on a nearby table. Turning quickly she darted across the wide hallway, resembling a floating spirit.

  “Willard, look! Did you see that? A ghost! My God, it was a ghost!”

  “Kathryn, please, don’t start.”

  “I know what I saw! A ghost just flitted across the corridor and disappeared into that room.” She rushed ahead of him and was about to grab the doorknob w
hen the man caught her.

  “Don’t go in there! Whatever it was, it’s gone now, and I’m starving for God’s sake. Let’s just hurry and get down to the dining room and eat our breakfast.”

  “It went in there,” she whispered, pointing at the closed door. “Do you suppose....”

  “Kathryn, please! You can’t go around chasing ghosts.”

  “Willard,” she criticized, jerking out of his grasp. “You’re always trying to spoil my fun.”

  “Honey, it’d be like trying to corner a puff of smoke. It’s impossible. Now, please, we’re late as it is.”

  “All right,” she relented, then turned and looked up and down the corridor, “but isn’t this place delicious? I tell you, Willard, I really love it. You never know....”

  Julita listened at the door, waiting for them to pass. Hearing their voices become garbled and far away, she knew they were finally gone and was about to open the door. She gave a start when she heard a voice behind her.

  “Well, hello.”

  She whirled around, seeing a man leaning leisurely against the bathroom door frame with his arms folded across his chest.

  When he saw her mask, he pushed himself forward, a surprised look on his face. “You’re the little ragamuffin!”

  She gasped, looking down at his disturbingly well proportioned legs that were exposed from beneath the brief blue silk robe. “I … I … uh … di--I mean … I…"

  He could see her visibly trembling, and spoke softly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Seeing an anxious look in her eyes, he moved slowly, and with an outstretched arm indicated toward the center of his room. “Come in if you like, I’ll....” He didn’t know how to finish the sentence, so he just stood there gaping at her, as surprised to see her as she was to see him.

  She’d never been this close to a man before, at least not one this handsome. He was awesome with his long dark hair, white teeth, and something green that glittered near his left eye. She could smell him … even from here. It was a clean smell … soap.