The Black Train

by Edward Lee

  “Hi, Mr. Collier!” the St. Pauli Girl barmaid greeted. “How’s your stay so far?”

  “Fine, but it looks like I’ll be going home tomorrow.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad.” She put a pint of lager before him. “That’s on the house. And congratulations!”

  “Congratulations for what?”

  “Come on, don’t be so modest.” She winked, then hustled to some other customers.

  What the HELL is going on now? Within seconds three housewife tourists appeared and apologetically pleaded for autographs. One put a hand on his thigh and whispered, “You really ARE the sexiest man on the Food Network…” and another whispered, “If my husband wasn’t here, I’d wear you out.”

  Then Collier got it. Shay wasn’t jiving me. Obviously the news was out about the viewer survey. His eyes followed the housewives—all attractive and well built—but turned away when he saw several husbands scowling back.

  Collier didn’t care. He had to decide what he was going to do.

  “Is Dominique in yet?” he asked the barmaid.

  “She’s running late, said she had a problem at her condo.”

  A problem at Dominique’s condo?

  He sipped his beer and tried to relax. How late is she going to be? When he looked up at the television in the corner, he saw Savannah Sammy basting a brisket. How’s it feel to be number four, you two-faced Jersey slickster?

  Collier’s belly growled for food but every time he thought of asking for a menu, his mind recalled the nightmare: his bedroom door kicked in, the dog running out, and…the stench. He was glad the dream hadn’t shown him the details Sute had only verbalized. He tried to divert himself; without thinking he’d taken the old railroad checks out of his pocket and began looking at them. Some guy named Fecory filled these out almost 150 years ago. The paper felt so fine, so thin.

  Sute thinks these things are contracts with the devil…

  He got a chill and put them away. He didn’t notice that the check on the bottom had been signed by Fecory but otherwise remained blank.

  Am I going to sit here all day? Whenever he looked to the TV, he winced. When the barmaid walked by, he flagged her. “Miss? You said Dominique had a problem at her condo? What’s the problem?”

  She leaned forward on her elbows, highlighting the bosom. “Contractors or something. She forgot about them when she took the food to the shelter in Chattanooga.”

  “Did she say when she’s coming in?”

  “Soon, she said, didn’t give a time.”

  “Oh.” He sighed. “With my luck it won’t be for hours.” As soon as he’d said it, he was spun around and kissed on the lips.

  “Hi, sorry I’m late,” Dominique told him. “I didn’t have your cell number so I couldn’t call you.”

  “I heard something happened at your condo.”

  “The association tents the building every couple years—fumigators—and I forgot they were doing it today. So I had to rush back, seal all my cabinets, and get out. Can’t go back for twenty-four hours.”

  Collier realized only then that he was clinging to her, arms around her waist.

  “I really like it when you hug me,” she giggled, “but if you don’t let go, I can’t do my work.”

  “Oh, right—”

  “And congratulations: sexiest man on television.”

  “Just on the Food Network.”

  “I don’t know about that.” She kissed him again and slipped away.

  Collier felt forlorn watching after her. Yeah, I’ve got it bad…But her condo closed till tomorrow nixed the possibility of him staying the night with her. I am NOT spending another night by myself in room three, he knew. He also knew that what he felt for Dominique, he’d never felt for any other woman in his life. A revelation socked home: Dominique had a lot of virtue, while he…didn’t. She makes me see my real self. But I don’t like what I see and I want to be different. Dominique makes me want to be a better person…

  Was is that simple? Collier felt confident.

  A better revelation: I could’ve gotten it on with Lottie last night but I didn’t because I wanted to be faithful to a girl who’ll NEVER sleep with me. His finger tapped the bar. That’s GOT to mean something.

  Dominique returned. “You should try tonight’s special. It kicks butt.”

  “What is it?”

  “Country-fried squid steak with curry tartar.”

  “Maybe, uh, next time.” He reached across and grabbed her hand, instantly realizing a solution. “Since you can’t get into your condo tonight, you should stay with me at the inn.”

  She looked relieved. “I was hoping you’d ask.”

  Collier stalled. “So that means…yes?”

  “Of course—” Her eyes shot to the door. “Oh, I have to go seat this four-top.”

  She pulled away but Collier didn’t let go. “So that means you trust me now?”

  She laughed. “If I didn’t trust you, I wouldn’t be staying with you tonight. You know what won’t be happening, so it must not bother you—”

  “It doesn’t,” he said before he could think.

  “Look, I have to go seat these people! I’m the boss, remember?” She whisked away.

  Her body’s outline in the apron was killing him, and whenever she appeared behind the bar to get something, her cross glittered on her bosom. Collier felt so skewed. I have to go back to L.A. tomorrow, but I’m sitting here fantasizing about having a relationship with a Christian celibate…

  At least the beer calmed his nerves. And now he wouldn’t have to spend the night by himself in the room. She’d be with him the whole time…

  He’d kept the cell phone open on the bar, hoping it would dry. NO SIGNAL it still read.

  “Try these,” Dominique said. She’d reappeared with a plate. “It’s a misorder.”

  It was a knockwurst with mustard dip, which seemed bland enough. “Thanks.”

  “How was your day?”

  A mess…and terrific. “Fine.” He didn’t bother telling her the show had been renewed, because he’d never told her it had been canceled. “Didn’t really do much, actually. Went for a drive is all.” He skipped the other details.

  “Have you been drinking coffee?” she asked. “I smell coffee.”

  Collier hesitated, then pointed to his cell phone. “Oh, it’s the phone.”

  Her brow scrunched. “Your phone smells like coffee?”

  “Uh, don’t ask.”

  “How’s the book coming? Finished yet?”

  Had he even written a single word? “Almost there. I have to fine-tune the last entry, Cusher’s Civil War Lager.”

  “People will think it’s favoritism.” She tossed her head and laughed. “But the joke’s on them.”

  “Huh?”

  Her cross dangled when she leaned and whispered, “They’ll think you’re screwing the brewer, but they don’t know that the brewer is celibate.”

  Again, Collier spoke before thinking. “The brewer is beautiful. I’m falling for the brewer, celibate and all.” He reached to grab her hand again but one of the cooks called her away.

  What a corny-ass thing to say, he thought after the fact.

  Collier ate the bland sausage and found he felt better; his stomach felt less queasy from Sute’s horror story.

  A shapely shadow hovered—the barmaid. She got him another beer, then noticed his plate. “How did you like the Roadkill Sausage?”

  “The what?”

  “It’s smoked possum and muskrat—a Southern delicacy.”

  Collier stared. “You’ve got to be kidding me! I just ate—”

  “Relax!” she said. “They’re farm-raised and corn-fed. You’ve never been to the South before, have you? An even better Southern delicacy are the Smoky Mountain Oysters. Want to try them?”

  Mortified, Collier shook his head.

  “Hey, everybody! Look!” someone called out. Everyone was looking up at the TV.

  “The results are in!” a voice-ove
r announced. Multiple clips of Collier’s show flashed on the screen. “There’s a new hunk in town! Justin Collier, the Prince of Beer, has just been voted the sexiest man on the Food Network! Look for his brand-new episodes coming soon right here!”

  Damn…

  Applause rose like the roar of a waterfall. Collier blushed. A bunch of women were whistling. When he jerked around, he found Dominique standing right next to him, clapping as well.

  “I’m falling for you, too,” she whispered and walked back to her work.

  Collier signed autographs for the next several hours, and he didn’t even mind. When you’re a star, it comes with the territory. A number of women made some rather brazen suggestions, but Collier turned them all down without regret. All the while, he kept watching Dominique as she busied through her duties, and he realized just how hopelessly in love he’d become.

  Many beers were bought for him, perhaps a few too many, but one thought kept his head clear. During his autograph foray, he’d made a decision…

  The dinner rush was over. It was going on ten o’clock when Dominique said, “I’m almost done. Just give me a few minutes.”

  “I’ll wait for you outside,” Collier said.

  His phone had finally dried out; the screen read READY.

  While Collier waited for Dominique outside the restaurant, he called Shay’s number. When the answering machine came on, Collier left a message that he wouldn’t be returning to the show.

  II

  Collier suggested they walk back to the inn rather than take her car. “I like that,” she said, looking up. “Another full moon. It’s romantic.”

  “Of course it is,” he said, but the main reason he wanted to walk was to clear his head some more with the fresh air. And—

  He was in no rush to get back to room three.

  But at least she’s with me… Was he really that scared now?

  “The place really does look spooky at night, doesn’t it?” she said.

  They could see the inn atop the hill, darkened to a silhouette by the moon.

  “You would say that.”

  “Huh?”

  Collier laughed at himself. “I’ll be honest with you. Mrs. Butler’s quaint little bed-and-breakfast is really beginning to get to me.”

  She squeezed his hand. “You’ve been listening to way too much J.G. Sute.”

  “Oh, I know that, and it’s my fault. I’ve reached the saturation point for ghost stories.”

  He didn’t tell her of Sute’s final revelations: that of all the atrocities that had taken place there, the very worst had happened in the room he’d just invited her to share. Nor did he tell her of his decision to quit the show.

  A wind whipped up, and behind the house the clouds turned bruised. Before they even got to the parking lot, the sky released several loud rumbles.

  They both laughed at the coincidence. “Isn’t that fitting?” Dominique said.

  “Just what I need. A dark and stormy night.”

  “I swear the weathermen flip coins for their forecasts. They said sunny and clear all week.”

  Another louder rumble seemed closer. Seconds later, the clouds blacked out the moon entirely.

  Collier didn’t like it.

  When more wind rustled through the trees, he felt certain he heard a voice call out—“Over here!” or something like that. It sounded like a young girl’s voice.

  Dominique slowed and looked down into the woods.

  “You heard that voice, didn’t you?”

  “What voice?” She seemed to be peering down. “I didn’t hear a voice but…there is a sound coming from down there, don’t you think?”

  “There’s a brook that runs along the wood line…”

  “Let’s go look at it.”

  Collier tensed. “No, that’s crazy. It’s pitch-dark down there now, and it’ll be storming any minute.”

  When more wind blew up the hill, Collier thought he heard a dog barking…

  Dominique stopped. “What was that?”

  “Leaves rustling…”

  “Sounded like a dog.”

  Collier pulled her by the hand. “Let’s just get inside.”

  A belch of thunder cracked, and then the sky ripped. A torrent of rain fell just as they were jogging up the inn’s front steps. Collier felt chilled and sweating at the same time. “Just made it.” He reached for the door.

  Dominique tugged his hand. “Hey. Are you all right?”

  “Well, yeah, sure—”

  “Justin, you’re shaking.”

  Was he? “I’ve got…got a chill, that’s all. From the rain.”

  She looked convinced when he held the door for her. The last thing he noticed before entering was the great craggy oak tree out front. A whiptail of lightning flashed, tingeing the tree’s dead branches bone white, like malformed skeletal appendages.

  Collier pulled the door closed.

  The atrium shined bright from all the lights, but that didn’t feel right in the vast room’s emptiness. “It’s not that late,” Dominique observed. “Where are all the guests?”

  Collier kept his eyes averted from the large portrait of Hardwood Gast, but it occurred to him then that Gast’s eyes in the painting were looking out directly at the tree from which he’d hanged himself.

  A clatter startled them.

  Lottie stood in the corner, fiddling with something.

  “Hi, Lottie,” Collier greeted.

  She looked over, smiled briefly, and waved.

  They walked over to find her changing the bag in a vacuum cleaner.

  “Are all the guests in bed this early?” Dominique asked.

  She shook her head and pointed toward town.

  The moment was awkward. Lottie seemed diffuse, not the high-energy nut she usually was.

  “Good night, Lottie,” Collier bid.

  She waved without looking at them.

  “Weird,” Dominique whispered when they moved away.

  “Doesn’t seem herself tonight. Usually she’s bouncing

  off the walls…”

  Dominique stopped again, tugged on Collier’s hand.

  She was looking at the old writing table.

  Remembering what she saw there during the reception, Collier assumed. A man uneasily similar to Windom Fecory. The added coincidence gave Collier a shiver.

  He’d found the old checks in the same desk.

  All signed by Fecory on the day Gast hanged himself in 1862.

  Next her eyes crawled up the cubby’s wall, to the tiny portrait of Penelope.

  “There she is,” Dominique mumbled.

  The old oil painting seemed crisper than Collier remembered, eerily more detailed than it should be. More bothersome was that the details of the woman’s soft yet seductive face were identical to the old daguerreotypes he’d already been shown.

  Lightning flashed in the high windows, and more thunder rippled.

  “This is ridiculous,” Dominique griped.

  “What?”

  “Now I’m getting spooked.”

  Collier pulled on her. “Come on, let’s go…”

  As they wound up the curved stairs, Collier took a glance over his shoulder.

  Lottie was now standing at the writing table, as if in a trance.

  She seemed to be staring at Penelope’s portrait.

  Eyes dull. Mouth open.

  When more thunder cracked, Dominique chuckled. “Now all we need is for the lights to go out.”

  “Don’t even say that!”

  She touched her cross. “Don’t worry, my cross will protect us from the bogeyman…”

  When Collier looked again, Lottie was gone.

  Bogeyman, he thought. Or Bogeywoman…

  III

  Sute sat in his upstairs room, in tears. He sat before the bow window, letting each crackle of lightning turn his face stark. He felt tinged in ruin…

  He’d called Jiff earlier, pleading for another illicit rendezvous tomorrow but had had to leave a mes
sage. When Sute returned from dinner, this reply awaited on his machine:

  “J.G., I’se sure ya recognize my voice. Sorry to have to tell ya this but…I just cain’t do it no more. What I mean’s I ain’t gonna do no more business with ya. It’s too much fer me, ya know? I make easier money other places. Sorry, but that’s it.”

  That’s it, Sute had been repeating in his mind for hours now.

  “That’s it for my life…”

  His town house shook with the next eruption of thunder.

  He sobbed to himself. “This is what…all love comes to.”

  The room’s darkness made him feel even more worthless. Everything was for nothing. The lightning turned his tears into a sad liquid glimmer.

  Sute knew he was not a strong man. He wondered how long he’d last, sitting here like this, before he killed himself.

  IV

  “You dirty dog! Dirty, dirty dog!” A pair of wee voices impossibly disappeared around the corner. Just voices, with no children to go with them.

  Giggles faded to nothingness, along with a single feisty yap, like the bark of a dog.

  Mercy. It’s bad tonight.

  Mrs. Butler walked slowly along the main stair hall, then went down to make a last-minute check of the kitchen. She’d always known it was the house, and she was sure her son and daughter knew, too. The acknowledgment always passed across their eyes with nary a word. The only thing she’d ever said about it to Lottie and Jiff was: “It’s just the past kind’a seepin’ through. Don’t happen much, just ever now’n then. Just you two always remember…what ya cain’t see cain’t hurt ya…”

  The inn was full up; tourist season here ran nine or ten months sometimes. It was a good life. And folks rarely stayed long enough to ever notice anything funny. A couple now and then, sure—some people got it worse than others (and Mrs. Butler could never imagine why) but generally things ran well.

  Mr. Collier, of course, had it bad. She could tell by his eyes. He’d heard the dog, and the girls. Perhaps she should’ve been more convincing when answering his queries about the building’s past. If I weren’t so all-fired hot for the man, maybe I’d be a better host! She often believed that something in the house made her so pent up for men, even at her age.

  The kitchen was fine, everything prepped for the morning’s light breakfast. The overhead lights wavered through the next peal of thunder. Danged storm! They rarely lost power here, but when they did, her guests were none too happy. Please stay on, dang ya!