“I’m Ashley, by the way.” I yelled into the bedroom. “What’s your name?”
“Brenda,” she yelled back.
“So, you do this full time?” I asked her.
“I used to. I just clean part-time now.”
It became silent again as I listened to her finish making the bed. The silence didn’t last long, as she soon came out of the bedroom, hauling out the old sheets.
“Well, these go into the laundry,” she said, placing them into a large plastic bag. “I’m all done except for the vacuuming.”
“Wow, you’re fast.”
“I try to be. I just do this work because it pays by the job and I make a lot more money being fast. I clean a few properties and then I’m done for the week.”
“Do you have a lot of properties to clean?”
Brenda laughed. “A lot more than I’d like. It would be nice to have more time to study.”
“So you’re a student? What do you study?”
“Criminology. I’m not even a junior, so I’m not quite sure what section of it I’ll specialize in just yet. Right now I’m leaning toward becoming a crime scene investigator, but who knows what part of the field I’ll wind up in.”
“What school?”
“New Orleans University. It’s the most convenient. And it’s a good university. I just wish I could go full-time. It seems like I’ve been going for years and I’m only finishing my sophomore credits. But I’ve got to make a living and I’m working my way through school. There’s a limit to how many semester hours I can take and still do both well. It’s hard to keep your grade point average up and work.”
Our conversation paused for awhile again as she turned on the vacuum cleaner. When she clicked it off, Brenda then wrapped up its cord, picked up her supplies, put everything back in her cleaning caddy and walked back into the front room.
“Well, I got everything done in here that I usually do. By the way, I won’t be back until day after tomorrow. I get Sunday’s off. It’s my only day off. I get caught up on all of my homework then and try to relax a little bit. If there’s another maintenance emergency, just call the office’s answering service and they’ll send somebody out.”
“That’s fine. Listen, let me grab my stuff and I’ll walk out with you. I really don’t want to stay in the apartment alone anymore.”
“Tell you the truth, I wouldn’t want to be here alone here, either. Sometimes I wonder if maybe I’m right about this place having squatters or gremlins. What do you think?”
“I wouldn’t know. It is a little spooky, though.” She was so much closer to the truth than she knew. I wanted so much to tell her everything, that she was right, that in a way, the house was haunted. I wanted to share this secret with someone, but I held back. This woman was not my mother-confessor. Again I reminded myself that this was my burden to bear and not hers, so I kept quiet. Still I couldn’t stand the thought of staying here all by myself anymore. I’d walk out with her and probably wander around the Quarter for awhile. It was still early enough and since this might be my last day ever on this earth, I thought that maybe I’d do something completely normal before my required return to The Crypt, an appointment I wanted to put off for as long as I could.
“By the way,” I asked. “Do you do just clean the apartment at this property? Do you do any of the rest of the house too?”
Brenda blinked. “The rest of the house?”
“You know, the rooms upstairs and the other wing that they don’t rent out. Do they have someone else cleaning in there?” It had looked pretty clean to me when I saw it. While I was up there, I’d noticed a little dust, but it hadn’t been totally excessive.
Brenda blinked again. “Nobody goes up there. I mean, that section of this property is pretty run-down. Rochere told me to stay away from all of it. She was really bitchy about it, too. That’s just as well for me because this house really spooks me. When nobody’s here, I clean this place and get out as fast as I can. I don’t think anybody’s cleaned the rest of the house up in years, cause it never gets used. I think that’s one reason that most people check out and leave right away, unless they’re poor college students or the Quarter’s booked for Mardi Gras. I was surprised to find you still here, to tell you the truth.”
I looked at her with what must have been a blank expression. “The house seemed fine to me when I saw it yesterday.”
“Gee, it must have been really dark when you got here last night,” she went on. “They only keep up this little apartment. The rest of the place needs some real maintenance. Really, take a good look at it in daylight. The picture of it on the website was shot a few decades ago and it was getting run down even then. But people keep coming here, so I guess it must be a lot cheaper than anywhere else in the Quarter. If you don’t mind my asking, is that how come you’re staying here yourself?”
“Well, yes” I answered cautiously, “My best friend and I booked this place for just that reason. It was a spur-of-the-moment vacation and we couldn’t turn down the price. It seemed like an unbelievable bargain for the French Quarter. My friend was supposed to have come with me, but things came up at her work so she couldn’t come and now it’s just me here. Why do you ask?”
Brenda shrugged. “No reason. Just wondering. It’s just that we get so many people coming here alone. I mean, don’t get me wrong, this is an okay little place, even with the funky decor but I could never stay here by myself.”
“How come?” I probed, wanting to know the opinion of a civilian not connected to the game.
She let out an embarrassed little laugh. “I know this must make me sound crazy. I wasn’t really joking awhile ago, you know, about the gremlins, I mean, and I’m a little embarrassed to admit it, but I’ve often wondered if this place is haunted. Either that or somebody really is squatting upstairs. Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that with you staying here and all.”
“No, that’s okay. Go on.”
“Well, about it being haunted, I mean, really, I do think…” Suddenly she became selfconscious and looked about as if someone were watching. “You won’t tell Rochere or any of them this if I tell you, will you?”
“Why should I? I’m just here for less than a week and I don’t know these people.”
“I mean, I don’t want to lose this job for telling you this.”
“My lips are sealed.”
“Okay, it’s like this,” she said, lowering her voice as if afraid she would be overheard. “Rochere’s horrible but thanks to the wonders of modern technology, I hardly ever have to deal with her. Her firm pays really well and it always pay me on time, but,” she hesitated. “Don’t ever let this get back to her that I said this, but if I could afford to go someplace on vacation, I’d never come here.” She seemed a little nervous.
“Don’t get me wrong, it’s a nice little apartment. But the rest of it – I mean, according to everything I know, it’s so ignored that goodness knows what could be in the rest of the house. If they checked hard enough, they’d probably even find Jimmy Hoffa up there. I mean, nobody but nobody ever goes into it; I don’t think anybody has even seen it in years. I’ve never heard of any cleaning crews being sent up there and nobody in the company that I’ve ever talked to has heard of Rochere visiting there either, although she’s such a secretive sort that nobody would know it if she did. Who knows, maybe she’s the one scaring off the spiders and keeping the cobwebs away. I can’t see that though because I just can’t imagine that one doing any manual labor.”
“Does she have a lot of rental properties?”
“No, just this one. You know, Rochere doesn’t have any other properties of any kind that I’ve heard of. She doesn’t seem to be much of a realtor, which is weird considering how long Rochere Realties has been around. I’ve googled her, but she doesn’t seem to have a web presence at all, except for this place. I mean, you’d think she’d keep it up better. With some work, she could turn this property around but she won’t. She always puts in just the minimum
amount of upkeep that she can get away with into it, which is next to nothing. I mean, look at this carpet. I hate having to vacuum it cause it’s shag. Who has shag anymore? After Katrina, you’d think she would have put some real money into it and fixed it up nice, but no. This place got enough flooding to replace the furniture and the carpet and what does she do? She finds this remnant from the late sixties that somebody stuck in a corner of a warehouse somewhere and completely forgot about. I don’t know how she found it, but I wouldn’t doubt it if they paid her to take it off their hands. And the rest of this stuff is probably things that Salvation Army didn’t even want. I don’t know what she’s got against this property, because it would be terrific if it was restored.
“Okay,” she continued, as if I were suddenly her confidant, “it gets better. Nobody, but nobody, ever comes back to stay here a second time. I mean, I’ve been cleaning this place for the last three years while I’ve been going to school and not ever, not once, has anybody that’s ever rented returned. I know, who am I, the maid, right? Hey, my major is criminology and I’m a straight A student. I remember a face once I see it and I swear to God that never once, in three years, have I ever seen anybody rent this place out twice.”
“Does she know that you’re a criminology student?” I asked, thinking that surely that would be the kind of person that Rochere would avoid like the plague.
“Rochere? Are you kidding? I’m the maid to her and that’s it. End of story. According to her, I have no life outside of this job. I mean, I can see why nobody ever wants to return. Despite the cheap price, it goes way beyond the funky décor. The vibes are weird here, but it’s nothing I can put my finger on, certainly nothing I can see that could pass for probable cause for a warrant to get a cop out.” Suddenly, Brenda blanched. “Oh, jeeze, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say all of that. I’m not supposed to talk about this stuff. I could get fired for it.”
It didn’t surprise me too much that she was confiding in me. People had a tendency to tell me things and I never knew why. Maybe I was a good listener, maybe I had an honest face. Whatever the reason, it happened so often that I frequently regretted not having majored in psychology and only minored in art.
“That’s okay, Brenda, don’t worry about it. I won’t mention a word to anyone. I understand about the heebie-jeebies. I’ve gotten them since I’ve been here myself.” And then some, I thought. However, I couldn’t make sense of what she was saying about the state of the house, which had looked immaculate to me and no, it hadn’t been dark when I’d arrived. Neither had the upstairs, into which I had just trespassed yesterday. It was a little dusty, maybe, but that was only to be expected. The state of the house she was describing was not that of the one I had seen.
“Look, I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t tell her,” she said, real worry now showing in her eyes. “I don’t know what came over me. I’m not usually one to gossip like this, especially to a client. I guess I’ve just been holding it in too long. Please don’t tell anybody. I just got a grant and if I can keep this job and cut back a little on my work hours, I’ll only have a little over two years left to go before I can get my degree. I know I could get another job, but this one is really easy for me and the hours are flexible and, like I said, believe it or not, Rochere’s firm really does pay very well. You see, the lady that worked this job before me reported to the firm that she heard somebody or something stirring around upstairs and it was never investigated. The only thing that she got for her trouble was fired. So please, whatever you do, don’t let this get back to her.”
“Don’t worry abut it another minute,” I assured her. “If anything ever gets back to her, it certainly won’t be from me. I said I won’t breathe a word about it and that’s a promise.” Brenda looked relieved but not completely convinced. “Hey, cross my heart. I have nothing to gain and I really appreciate that you’re so honest with me. Honesty’s a trait that’s all too rare these days; it’s something that I would never betray. Scout’s honor. Besides, who would I tell? I met our lady of perpetual coldness when I checked in and if I had it my way, I’d never deal with her again.” Brenda could never imagine just how much I meant that.
“Thanks.” Brenda took a last quick look around, picked up her cleaning supplies and started to head out. “Well, I think that’s about it for today. I think I got it all. Like I said, if there’s anything you need before Monday, just call the office. There’s clean sheets on the bed and in the bathroom, fresh towels, wash cloths and bath mat. And again, I hope you’re okay with baths for a few hours until somebody comes by later today or early tomorrow to jerry-rig the shower. And are you’re sure that you’re okay from your fall? If you’re not, please let me know before I leave.”
“Really, I’m okay, Thanks for asking, though.”
“Well, I’d feel lousy finding out I left you here with a concussion or something.”
“Trust me, I’m fine. Honest. Listen, I’m going to head out, too, now.” I reminded her. “Can you hang on for just one more minute? I just need to hit the facilities one last time before I leave and I need to get my keys and stuff out of my other pants. I forgot them awhile ago.”
“No problem,” she said. “I’ll wait for you out in the courtyard.”
She closed the sliding door behind her and I was all alone in the apartment again. I would have held it if I could, because going back alone frightened me terribly, but I had to go to the bathroom so badly that I just couldn’t wait. I was on high alert the entire time, searching around me continually for any sign of Rochere’s return. I finished as fast as I could, incredibly relieved that nothing had reached out of the john to grab me and suck me down into the sewer. I quickly washed my hands at the sink, then bent down to splash a little water in my face. When I stood up, a new bloody message was on the tile wall, but it was not reversed by the mirror. “YOU’RE MINE NOW!” it read. Terrified, I turned around, but there was absolutely nothing on the bathroom wall, it was clean. I turned back around to check the mirror again, but the message had vanished. As fast as I could, I dried off my hands on my jeans, slowing down for the briefest of moments as, shaking, I grabbed yesterday’s pants off of the bathroom floor under the sink where, gratefully, Brenda had left them, snatched out my ID, keys and money that were miraculously still in the left front pocket. I ran out the bathroom, stuffing my scant belongings into a pocket of the jeans I now wore as I skidded out of the front door and into the courtyard, where Brenda was waiting for me.
CHAPTER TEN
“What’s the matter?” she asked after taking one look at me. “You’re white as a piece of paper. Why, you’re trembling.”
“Nothing,” I lied. My voice, like the rest of me, was shaking horribly.
“Hey, that’s not nothing. You were okay when you were in the apartment. What happened?”
“Really, Brenda, it’s like I said, nothing. Just a bad case of those heebie-jeebies again, I think.” I locked the sliding glass door intently as I talked to her, afraid that if I looked her in the face, my eyes would give too much away. “I had a panic attack. That’s all. I’m prone to them.”
“You sure? You really sure that’s all it is?” She was less than convinced.
“Yeah, it got cramped in there. It’s a small bathroom and I’ve got a touch of claustrophobia. And I think I’m still a little hung over from last night. I’ll be fine. I just need to get out a little and get some fresh air.”
“Okay, if you say so.”
I collected myself, got the trembling under control as best I could and forced a smile.
I put the key back into my pocket, but as I turned to face the courtyard to walk out, I received yet another shock. Instead of the pristine building with the lush garden that I remembered from yesterday, I now saw the house as Brenda had described it. This was not the sight that had greeted me the day before, not even the house represented on the web site. What stood before me was a run-down, neglected structure. While it wasn’t exactly derelict, it was obvio
us that only the absolute minimum upkeep had barely been done over the decades to keep the building from being condemned. Poorly painted-over water lines marked the bottom of the house like tree rings, a testament to various floods from various hurricanes over the decades. The wrought iron staircase leading up to the second floor was in disrepair, chained from use by a heavy, rusted chain with a corroded sign hanging from it that declared “Keep Out.” The outer wooden staircase going up to the third floor, so crisply and freshly painted white when I saw it yesterday afternoon, was stripped of all but a few splotches of paint. Some of its boards were missing altogether. When I looked up I saw that the window glass of all the floors except the apartment was replaced with unpainted plywood. Old set-in water discolorations trickled down the sides of all outer windows, giving them the tear-stained appearance of weeping, blinded eyes. Weeping for whom, I wondered. For Edmond? For me? For everyone who had ever gotten pulled into this hellish game? Chills shot down my back. I walked slowly toward the courtyard garden which was as shocking a sight as the house. Instead of the lush flora that I remembered from late yesterday afternoon, the only plants that now haunted the courtyard were extremely dead. Even the shrubs that would normally be surviving in late October, even those that required minimal or no maintenance were all dead. Everything was brown and withered, to such an extent there were even no weeds. Why no weeds, I wondered. This courtyard was worse than abandoned. In Louisiana, with the rain and humidity, nature took back its abandoned. But not here. Nothing grew; everything was dead.
“What the…?” I said, shocked.
“Something wrong?”
“The house, the garden, it all looks so different than it did yesterday.”
“Is it that big of a difference?”
“Yes,” I said, still not believing my eyes. I wanted to tell her how beautiful it all looked and what an amazing difference it was, but I decided not to. It would do no good. “You were right, Brenda, it does look a lot better at night. By day it’s even worse than on the website.”
The Nightmare Game Page 17