The floor underneath me went out from under me one more time, forcing more of the heinous droplets onto my face and into my mouth. This time I found myself outside, lying in an alley, face down on the dirty pavement, the stench from the decay of rotting garbage and other foul odors whose sources I didn’t even want to consider filling my nostrils. With great effort, I lifted my head, straining to focus. I dimly saw the figure of a woman with long, black hair standing under a street light near the alley several yards away, laughing at me, enjoying my dilemma immensely. I tried to sit up, I tried to get myself together, but I couldn’t; I just sank down again. I struggled hard to rise, but the more I fought, the harder it became. What was going on, what had just happened? Who was this woman and why was she taunting me? For a second time, I managed to lift my head off the sidewalk for a moment and take a look at this figure which seemed awfully familiar to me somehow. This time, I recognized her. I didn’t know how it was possible, but there she stood as a young woman, apparently having the time of her life at my expense. It was Rochere.
“Stop laughing, you bitch!” I yelled out. Then I threw up. The last thing I remembered before passing out was her standing at that spot, laughing her guts out at me.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I was engulfed in emptiness, in a state so completely barren that nothing existed, not even existence itself. Even I was nothing, for there was nothing in me, nothing to me, nothing around me. Complete lack of awareness enveloped me, a blankness that could perhaps be likened to the familiar companion of deep, dreamless sleep; but unlike that enticing oblivion, this void had paradoxically made itself somehow known to me. It pressed itself upon me with immense ferocity, mutating abruptly into a now ominous darkness that held only violence, hostility and fear. Its threatening force generated a repulsion in me, a tense, mounting nervousness that swelled rapidly to the threshold of a malignant anxiety. Then, in the distance, came a welcome sound that broke its hold. What kind of sound it was, I could not tell. At first it was little more than a vibration; it then transformed into the low, rhythmic chirping of an errant cricket searching for its mate. Gradually it shifted to become the soft ringing of bells muffled by a fog so dense that I could neither see nor move through it. The bells came slowly closer and closer until at last they were a loud clamoring. I tried to go toward the bells, to run toward them, but while the fog had lifted from my ears, it had not left the rest of my body; neither had the paralysis that had traveled back with me, uninvited, from the emptiness. I tried, with every ounce of my strength, to move; but the harder I tried, the more tightly the fog wrapped itself around me, clinging with the cloying stickiness of spider’s silk. The ringing became louder and louder in my ears until it was thundering in my head. My brain was exploding. Finally I could stand it no longer, the paralysis, the fog, the bells, and I began to scream. It was a cry encased in and muffled by such a thick layer of cotton that it could hardly have been called a scream, although my throat ached from the effort. Slowly, however, the layers of cotton began to peel away, making my shrieks more audible, until with the force of the sound, my voice broke through the cotton and the fog completely and became real. It was only then I realized that I had just roused myself from a hideous, dreamless sleep. The bells, unbelievably loud now that I was awake, would not stop. With intense relief, I recognized the nasty ring as belonging to the ancient telephone on the nightstand. It was ringing relentlessly without end. My brain, no longer unconscious, was splitting apart.
“Oh, shit!” I moaned, grabbing my head with both hands, struggling to sit. “What the hell did I have to drink last night?” The telephone’s ringing refused to cease, becoming ever more irritating by the moment. Apparently it wasn’t going to go away by itself since whoever was calling was not about to give up. The only way to make the excruciating noise stop would be to give the infernal beast what it wanted and answer the accursed thing. As I leaned over to pick up the receiver, the invisible ax buried into my skull shifted, causing my brain to pound even more painfully.
“Hullo…” I mumbled into the receiver. A loud, piercing voice came through the earpiece, apparently convinced that I was, as yet, not nearly in sufficient pain.
“Ashley!” came booming into my ear. I winced and moved the receiver a little further -away.
“Yeah, Carolyne.”
“Ashley, where the hell have you been? What happened to you? Your cell phone was out. Thank God I had this number. Are you all right?”
“Well, sort of, I guess.”
“What do you mean, you guess?”
“I’ve got a doozie of a hangover. Except it feels like I started with one hangover and it had babies in my head.”
“Is that all? Ashley, you were supposed to call me when you got in. I’ve been trying to reach you since last night. You always call when you say you will. Always. Are you sure you’re OK?”
“I guess so.” I sat up a little more in bed and ran my fingers through my hair. It felt grimy and a little sticky. “It’s been a little weird since I got here, but I’m alright.”
“Weird, what’s weird?”
“Oh, you know, Carolyne, regular garden variety weird stuff. I see dead people, I’m on a mission to stop evil, you know, the usual crap.”
Carolyne’s tone changed. “Point made, Ashley. I know I worry too much and I tend to over-react. Sorry, but I care. There’s no need to get sarcastic about it.”
“I wasn’t being sarcastic, Carolyne, really!”
The line was silent.
“Sorry, Carolyne, I didn’t mean to sound like a smart-ass. But really strange things have been happening to me since I came to this city. Freaky stuff.”
“Did you get mugged?”
I moaned. Why did I have to explain myself right now? I had better things to do, such as extracting this invisible butcher’s knife from my horribly aching brain.
“No, nothing like that. Some kind of paranormal thing I got sucked into. I don’t know what it is, really. I think it involves ghosts or something like that.”
“Yeah, right, Ashley. Paranormal my ass. Like what – a UFO abduction, vampires, or just your average werewolf or two? What’ve you been smoking?”
“Carolyne, what have you been smoking? Since when do you go all snooty on me when I’m trying to tell you something? I’m serious Carolyne. I think I’m in real trouble here!”
“You’re serious? Ashley, if you’re not screwing with me, then it really must be pretty darn serious. You sound delusional. I was worried sick about you all night and all day today. I’ve been calling you all morning and you never picked up. What did you do, sleep through the phone the entire time? And now instead of a ‘hi, I’m fine, sorry to make you worry but I just got in because I got laid last night’, you hand me this crap? And you’re serious? Do I need to come to New Orleans and drag you back to Austin to see a shrink? Do you need professional help?”
Her words were sharp and hurtful and the tone in her voice wasn’t right. I knew it was Carolyne on the other end of the line because I recognized her voice; but, in all the years I’d known her, she had never spoken to me in such a curt manner. It frightened me that she was behaving so incredibly out of character, but more importantly, considering the shape I was in right now, it was really pissing me off.
“Carolyne, you’re not listening to me. I’m in real trouble here.”
“What kind of trouble, Ashley. Tell me so I can help. I want to help.”
“I told you already.”
“Oh, yeah. With ghoulies and ghosties and long-legged beasties and things that go bump in the night?”
“Not exactly that, but, well, yeah, I think it’s something very close to that.”
“Really, Ashley, I think you’re hallucinating and you need help.”
“I’m not hallucinating, Carolyne. I’ve seen these people. They’re really dead but they’re not dead at the same time. It’s hard to explain. They’ve talked to me and I’ve seen them just disappear into thin air and there’s this ev
il woman, this, this…” I had no idea what Rochere really was, what exactly I was battling.
“Witch? An evil witch, perhaps?”
“I don’t know what she is, but for lack of a better word, yeah.”
“And does she have a pointy hat and carry a broomstick? And is she trying to prevent you from reaching the Emerald City of Oz?”‘
“Stop it, Carolyne. You’re not helping.”
“Okay, then, let me help you because you obviously need help and lots of it. Seriously, I know a great psychiatrist and he’s a real talent when it comes to diagnosing stuff and prescribing drugs, and if you’re experiencing things that aren’t there, well, hallucinations could be a sign of schizophrenia…”
I’d never imagined that Carolyne would react that way, that she would be so closed minded. She was always the first one on board when it came to the paranormal. That’s why I’d been so open with her. I was beginning to feel verbally sucker-punched.
“If he’s that damn great, go see him yourself, Carolyne,” I cut her off. “Sounds to me like you could use him more than I could. Apparently you’ve just developed a multiple personality.”
“Hey, Ashley, I’m just trying to help and it’s starting to seem like you really need it, too. There’s no need for you to get so bitchy.”
“Me, bitchy? Listen, Lassie, I’ve had about enough of this conversation. I’m on vacation and I’m not about to listen to anymore of your idiotic cock-and-bull shit. Believe me or don’t believe me. Ask me if I give a damn.”
“Ashley, I’m worried about you,” she said in an extremely condescending voice. The Carolyne I knew was never condescending. What gave? “You really need help, you really do. Ashley, if your friends can’t be honest with you, if you’re friends can’t intervene…”
“Fine, Carolyne, fine. I’m intervening now. In this conversation, as in it’s over. Please call again soon, we’re always open. Goodbye!”
“Don’t hang up! Why you little bi…” the word faded away as the receiver moved toward its cradle, ending in a satisfying “click”.
Stupid cow, I thought, quite pleased with myself that I had been the one to hang up on her. Always better to be the dumper rather than the dumpee, wasn’t it? I smiled smugly, congratulated myself, crossed my arms victoriously, laid back against my pillows and took in a long, deep breath.
Suddenly, it was as if a spell had lifted. Oh, my god, that was Carolyne. My very best friend in the whole wide world. I’d known her for two decades and we’d never, ever spoken to each other like that. We’d had our disagreements, true; there was even those awful two weeks when we were thirty that we stopped speaking altogether because a man she was dating didn’t like me, but we’d never, ever had a conversation like the one we just had. Sarcasm, spitefulness, downright trashy pettiness, these were simply not components of our relationship. Carolyne had always been open to the possibilities of supernatural occurrences and would never have been one to shut down like that at its very mention. Again I wanted to leave this city, this situation, very, very badly. I was so scared and so tired of this nastiness that I was being forced into, of this game to which I had been made slave. Somehow I knew that Rochere had gotten to Carolyne, affecting her personality from almost three hundred miles away. Virginia was right when she had warned me that Rochere’s arm did indeed have the long reach. Running away was truly futile, wasn’t it? The burden that had been placed on my shoulders now seemed far heavier than it did yesterday and my hangover made it feel that much worse.
I looked around in the bedroom, blinking, rubbing my head, trying to wake up. The pounding in my brain was still there and seemed to be getting worse. I was still wearing the clothes I had on from last night. They were a lot dirtier than they should have been and they smelled bad, as if I’d been rolling around in an alley or something last night. How did I get here? The last thing I remembered was making it to The Crypt. Wow, that was something, wasn’t it? I’d never been inside a tomb before but I felt like I had been now. It was done up well, though, I remembered. I might have even enjoyed it more if I hadn’t felt so damn trollish being surrounded by that group of such horribly gorgeous young people. I would have felt selfconscious around them as it was, due to my own complete lack of gorgeousness, but what made me feel the most uncomfortable around them was the way that several of them were eyeing me, smirking and pointing as if I were some kind of sideshow freak. Most of them seemed nice, though, didn’t they, I seemed to recall. Just when did I leave there, anyway? I didn’t actually remember leaving the club. I fought hard to retrieve that memory, but the little maniac who was trying to rip out my brain from the inside out would not stop. Speaking of which, just how much, exactly, did I have to drink last night? Let’s see, I had a hurricane on the street and then I had, what was the name of that other drink? A gator something. Gator Madness, that was it. Two drinks over the course of a whole night should never have left me feeling this hung over. Then I remembered, there was a third drink I ordered, or I thought I’d ordered, at The Crypt. That’s right, I didn’t want to but that ugly guy said I’d have to leave if I didn’t. Some blue fluorescent thing, wasn’t it? But that didn’t count, because I hadn’t touched a drop of it.
Time to stop, the little man with the pick axe in my brain told me. The simple act of thinking caused him to drive his weapon into it even further. Besides, a ravenous hunger was now consuming my stomach, making me feel as if my own body would soon begin to devour itself if I didn’t eat something substantial very soon. After all, other than a handful of peanuts on the plane, I hadn’t eaten much yesterday except for a few cold beignets washed down with cold cafe au lait. The last decent meal I’d had was breakfast at the Austin airport before my flight. Oh, crap, I realized, I hadn’t thought to pick up any groceries or takeout yesterday. I guess I just had too many other things on my mind, figuring that overstating the obvious might make me feel a little better. It didn’t. I thought I’d check the kitchen anyway, since it was the route of least resistance right now. Maybe the last tenants had left a can of soup or something I could open and heat up in the microwave or maybe the little elves had mysteriously deposited something yummy in the fridge and shined my shoes during the night while they were at it. If there was nothing at all in the kitchen, I’d just go through the phone book and order in a pizza, although the thought of having to wait thirty minutes for it to arrive was not appealing. Hangover hunger was unlike any other because it was so extremely demanding. I knew was going to get extremely sick if I didn’t get something to eat immediately, so I got out of bed and stood up. The room began to spin. On top of the excruciating hunger, I was now feeling nauseous. I took a step toward the kitchen and my knees buckled beneath me, forcing me to clutch onto the furniture as I made my way toward the kitchen. For the first time I realized that this was no ordinary hangover, that was sure. As I feebly took another step I realized that other than the headache and nausea this didn’t feel like any other hangover I’d ever had in my entire life. It was similar to the sickness I’d felt in Rochere’s office yesterday afternoon just before her furniture attacked me, but with actual hangover symptoms added in for good measure. I had a feeling I was in real trouble.
I managed to make it to the kitchen on very unsteady legs, continuing to cling to the furniture for support, breathing a sigh of relief at the successful completion of that effort. On the kitchen table lay a piece of paper with something written on it. I picked it up and read the handwritten note.
“I hope I’m wrong, but I figure you probably need this real bad right about now. There’s some food in the ice box. It should help a little to get you going. – Virginia.”
The penmanship was barely legible and looked more like a man’s. Funny, I would have imagined that Virginia’s handwriting would be pretty and old-fashioned. What a completely meaningless observation, my addled brain realized. What did it matter? This was a gift horse. Who cared? She was incredibly sweet and thoughtful to have provided this for me. Bless her, what a doll
she was. She’d given me sustenance, been the answer to my prayers. Who needed elves, I thought, with such a good friend like Virginia around? How could she possibly have known just how badly I needed something to eat right now? The answer was clear the second I realized that while it might be my first shot at this game, it was by no means hers, for she’d been through this scenario hundreds of times before. I made my way over to the refrigerator, opened it, and there was food, lovely, glorious food. A takeout bag was lying on the top shelf, beckoning to me along with a couple of bottles of water that sat next to it. I bent over and fished the package and one of the bottles out of the icy environment, put them on the counter next to the sink and closed the door to the fridge. Another wave of dizziness came over me as I did so, and I felt as if I were going to black out. I had to eat something urgently, so I remained standing at the kitchen counter, holding onto it, afraid I’d probably pass out before I could make it to the dining table. I wasn’t even up to pulling out a glass for my water, so I just drank from the bottle, draining most of it before stopping. That helped a little. A sandwich wrapped in butcher paper was lying on one side of the bag. It was the first thing I pulled out, followed by a Styrofoam container that had a translucent white plastic cover, along with a plastic spork and a few paper napkins.
Thinking that the sandwich would be a little too heavy on my stomach to start with, I took off the cover to the white dish, for it looked easiest to digest. It turned out to be rice pudding. It tasted like heaven and I devoured it in just a few bites. I felt a surge of relief now that the brunt of my gnawing hunger was appeased, so I went to the dining area, set the sandwich down carefully upon the table and plopped into a chair. It felt so good to sit down. I put my head in my hands for a few seconds and tried to compose myself because the room was beginning to spin again and little black dots were floating in front of my eyes. My nerves were stretched so taut that not only were the tips of my fingers tingling, I could have sworn I even felt the dragon on the necklace vibrate. After a few moments of gathering myself, I was able to begin functioning again. Oh, thank you, Virginia, I thought to myself. I appreciate this so much. You couldn’t possibly know how much this means to me. But then she did know, didn’t she?
The Nightmare Game Page 11