Lovely Death

by Brandon Meyers

  “Oh sugar,” she said. “I hate to break the news to you but this sure as shit ain’t your room. It’s mine.”

  “Oh—oh shit,” Nick said. “There must have been some kind of mix-up at the front desk. I’m sorry if I’ve—”

  “Just sit back down, sweetheart. Take a load off those heels, why don’t you? If you don’t mind me sayin’ so, it looks like you could use it. Here, be a good fella and have a drink with me.”

  Nick had been in the process of picking up his discarded tee shirt when the young woman made a shooing gesture to dissuade him of the act. Instead, she leaned forward and handed him a glass. When she did, their fingers brushed and Nick shivered. Hers were startlingly cool and sort of damp, like an evening mist.

  “My name’s Delilah. A pleasure to meet you…”

  “Nick. My name’s Nick.” It was rare that Nick didn’t have something clever to say in the presence of a pretty woman. Surprise and lack of clothing had put him at a verbal disadvantage, at least for a moment.

  “Well, Nick. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “I saw you down at the bar,” he said.

  Delilah snickered, tipped her glass at him. “I know you did. It’s because you’re different. Felt it soon as you walked in the door. Like a magnet.”

  When she said it, Nick cocked his head at her curiously. She was certainly flirting with him, but her words meant more than just the obvious.

  He sipped at his whiskey. It was rich and smoky, and a glance at the bottle confirmed Nick’s suspicion that it was Jack Daniels. The drink brought a much welcomed flow of heat to his throat and chest. He immediately felt better, more relaxed. Sitting there on the bed, looking at a pretty blonde instead of a steering wheel, Nick felt calmer in that instant than he had all day long. Hell, he probably felt better than he could remember since he’d started losing sleep.

  “Who are you?”

  The girl laughed again, but did not answer.

  Nick watched her more closely now. Something was amiss with her appearance but he couldn’t put a finger on precisely what. The right half of her body sat in soft shadow, leaned against the desk and Nick edged closer to her along the edge of the bed. In contrast, the left half of her looked like a human-sized porcelain doll. Her pale skin seemed to absorb the lamplight. The frills of her pale blue Western dress were squeezed inward by the armrests of the chair. The corset showed off an impressive amount of cleavage, beautiful pillowy delicacies bound together by lacy cotton.

  “You look good without a shirt on.”

  “I’m sure I could say the same for you,” Nick replied.

  “You’re a real charmer, ain’t you?”

  Nick smiled, feeling more like his old self than he had in a long time. “I’m just a man in favor of stating the truth.” He edged closer yet.

  “That’s what got you into so much trouble, isn’t it?”

  The words caught Nick off guard, brought a furrow to his brow.

  Delilah shook her head. She polished off the rest of her drink and poured another. “I can see it, you know. And not just because of that shiner you’ve got. Or because your little lady is sleeping across the hall.”

  Nick brought his own glass to his lips again. He drank.

  “No, it’s more serious than that, darlin’. Trouble’s got you marked like the devil. You’re a man under the gun.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Delilah sighed. “Pardon me for saying, sweetie, but you don’t know horseshit from apple butter. So don’t get too hot, because I’m just making a simple observation. You’re in real trouble, the kind of trouble nobody else can see but you. I’m not wrong about that, am I?”

  “What do you know about it? What are you, some kind of fucking reporter? I swear to Christ, lady. I will call the cops faster than you can bat an eyelash and they’ll drag your cowpoke ass off to jail for harassment.”

  Delilah was unperturbed. She twirled the liquid in her glass, fascinated by the golden tsunami within. “Quite a mouth on you, ain’t it? That’s too bad. I do prefer a gentleman over a jackass.”

  “Who are you?” Nick demanded. He was ready to throw his glass across the room. But he flexed his hands, closed his eyes, and exhaled heavily. “What do you know about it? How do you know about—about my problem?”

  “Like I said, sugar. This is my room. Hell, it’s my hotel. No matter what anyone says. Always has been.”

  “You’re the owner?”

  Delilah snorted. “Former.” She raised her eyebrows at Nick and tossed back another full shot of bourbon. And then she was gone. Nick blinked his eyes, peering closer at the chair. It sat unmoving, vacant. The whiskey bottle and glass were still on the desk.

  “I can’t tell you how long it’s been since I’ve had the pleasurable attention of a nice young fella like yourself.” This came from Nick’s backside. He turned so suddenly he dropped his glass. It bounced softly on the carpet and rolled beneath the bed.

  Delilah was seated across from Nick at the other edge of the mattress. Her legs were crossed, revealing a length of fishnet-wrapped white skin, exposed above tall, laced boots with thick high heels. And for the first time, Nick could smell her. She smelled of lilacs. Not some cheap chemical perfume reproduction, but the real thing. It was an exquisite scent, something simple, yet strong, without being overpowering.

  Seeing her lithe body sitting there next to him, Nick felt his penis trying to get the best of him, to distract him from the fact that this drunken lass had just, what…teleported across his room? He adjusted his boxer shorts with what he thought was grace.

  “Thank you kindly for that,” she said.

  “For what?”

  “For talking with me like a civilized gentleman. I do get lonely here. And the times are few and far between that anyone ever even sees me, let alone gets to make friends.”

  Delilah reached up to unpin her hair. It fell slowly down over her shoulders, a golden curtain lowered over her dress and down past the azure sheath of her corset. And that was when Nick saw it. The lamp, which was now situated behind Delilah’s back, cast its light right through her. It didn’t last long, but Nick had undeniably seen it. Delilah’s body, her entire being, had faded for a moment. And now that he watched her, he saw that the light from the 60 watt bulb did not play upon her naturally. It illuminated her, like a silk sheet held up to the sun. The colors of her dress, her hair, even her skin, were all intensified to the point of being washed out, before fading back to normal.

  “You’re a ghost,” Nick said. He wanted to ridicule himself for even thinking such a thought, but the words were past his lips before he could stop them.

  Delilah smirked, arching her back in a stretch. “It’s a good thing you’re handsome, sweetie. Because you seem like the type who can be occasionally thick. Don’t take offense to that. But if you don’t wise up fast that thick head of yours is gonna get you dead. That fire-haired bitch is gonna see to that, but good.”

  At once, Nick edged closer to her. Gone were all thoughts about her exposed flesh, as well as any residual disbelief of her incorporeal existence.

  “What do you know about her? Please, you’ve got to help me.”

  “Don’t beg, honey. It’s unbecoming on a man. Be a good boy and fetch me my bottle, will you?”

  “Are you going to tell me what you know?”

  “I’ve been called many things in my time, darlin’, and most of ‘em are fitting, if not flattering. But one thing I’ve never been called is unsympathetic. Now bring me that glass, if you please.”

  Nick acquiesced with her request, retrieving both the glass and the bottle. His mind was racing, filled with cold concern for whatever knowledge this spectral being may be able to bestow upon him. Part of him was excited, in hopes that she might actually be able to help him. Another part of him, a much larger part, was afraid of the truth she might tell. He felt like a cold, naked man in an examination room trying to read through his doctor’s poker face. His han
ds almost trembled when he handed her the bottle.

  Delilah tossed the glass to the floor, but kept the bottle. She patted the space beside her on the thick comforter. “Have a seat, honey. Care for another pull?” She took a swig from the now mostly empty bottle before offering it to him.

  Nick reached for the bottle, upended it against his lips.

  “There’s a darkness on you,” Delilah said. Her eyes roved over him like a critic regarding a particularly vexing piece of art. She put a hand out to touch his face. Nick flinched, but allowed her to caress his cheek. “It’s attached to you, fixed right to your soul. I’ve never seen anything like it. Such a pretty boy, it’s a shame to see something like that.”

  “What is it?” Nick asked. The room had become uncomfortably cold. His fingertips were icy against his bare legs. He was aware that his nipples had hardened and gooseflesh had overtaken his arms.

  “I don’t know that it’s a what as much as it’s a who. Listen, honey, you living folks look different to me than you do to each other, alright? I see you, sure, with your big pretty eyes and your hairy chest. But I also see the real you, the spirit. It’s like a fire that burns on the inside, running all through the rest of you. And everybody’s looks different. There’s a whole rainbow of colors and don’t anybody’s look the same. Yours is half blue, like the ocean. And half red, like fresh blood. But there’s something else there too. It’s a dark gold, tangled up right here.”

  Delilah traced a fingertip down to the center of Nick’s chest.

  “It’s tied into your heart, laced up tight with sticky black thread. Sort of looks like tar.”

  She pulled her finger back and Nick covered the spot with his own hand.

  “What is it?”

  “Ain’t never seen anything like it, sweetheart. Except maybe when two people are really in love and their spirits dance together when they’re around each other. This, this ain’t natural, though. Somebody beat the devil’s tattoo right onto your heart.”

  The way she said it was matter-of-factly, but her voice was solemn. She took no pleasure in bearing such ill news.

  “When I look at the gold part I see a face, swirling in and around. It’s a pretty young gal, with long red hair the color of a sunrise. But damn does she look mean.”

  “Laura,” Nick said. He could actually feel his heart speed up when he spoke her name. His hands became clammy.

  “Yeah, that must be her. That gold part just sparked like a forge when you said her name. And the blackness…wait, there’s someone else in there too.”

  “Another person? There are people actually inside me?”

  “Spirits, honey. Or at least part of ‘em. Yes, there’s another one too. The man in the black thread. The black tar man. He’s the one that’s got you two bound up.”

  “The tar man? Who the hell is that? Is he dead too? How do I get rid of it?”

  “Sugar, these are things beyond my comprehension. What you need is a priest, or more likely, a witch. Because this, this is a curse.”

  “Is there any way you can speak to her, find out why she’s doing this?”

  “No. If I can’t see her here with us now, I can’t talk to her any more than I can to you.” Delilah sighed. “I don’t know you all that well, Nick, but if I had to take a guess I bet I wouldn’t be far off. A young girl after your heart is what I see. I’m gonna climb out on a limb and say you two have known each other, in the biblical sense. You’re a charmer, handsome man. If I were a betting woman I’d say it looks to me like it finally caught up to you.”

  Nick’s anger flared again at Delilah’s painfully accurate judgment. “So now what, I just wait until she kills me? Or until I lose my mind? Do I keep hallucinating and seeing monsters that are just in my head until I finally give up and bite the bullet? Is that my only motherfucking option?”

  “You been seeing things?”

  “What does it matter?”

  Nick reached for the bottle but Delilah pulled it away. She set it on the floor and watched him quietly.

  “Everything matters,” she said. Her previously drooping stare had given way to wide, concerned eyes. There was pity in her deep blue stare. It did nothing to console Nick. If anything, it embarrassed him. “Before this hotel was mine it was my Daddy’s. Back in the good old days when a man wasn’t afraid of working. Daddy, he worked the mines in his younger years, worked away and saved. And finally, one day, he was able to buy this hotel. Course back then it was known more as a saloon than a hotel, but you can be sure these rooms ain’t changed much at all since the place was built. It was real respectable. Not high class, but the next best thing. I do remember that. It’s where I was raised. And for a long while, we were happy.”

  Delilah adjusted the bustle of her dress as she scooted her back toward the headboard. She propped her boots up on the blanket without a second thought. Then she patted the space next to her. Nick didn’t remember doing it, but found himself seated beside her. His spine pressed against hardwood, and found it to be unnaturally warm.

  “But then,” Delilah said, “when I was fourteen, Daddy took ill. He found out the hard way that lead ain’t good for a man.”

  “He was shot?”

  Laura’s smile flashed in his head like a bullet through a mirror.

  “No, honey. Nothing so kind. I mean plain old lead. It seems when he was in those mines he got himself exposed to a whole lot of that nasty shit. Didn’t get to him until he was older though. He started…seeing things. It was godawful. Daddy started losing his mind, slipping away like the fraying edge of a dirty old blanket that’s beyond mending. He talked to himself, to people who weren’t there, held conversations all day and night. And after a few months he took to screaming. He’d go into fits for days at a time. Until one day I came home from playing with my sister Bea in the woods and we found Momma crying at the kitchen table. Her cheek was bruised, like yours, except she was covered in blood. Daddy thought she was a bandit who had broken into his hotel kitchen and clubbed her in the face with a bottle. And he probably would have beaten her to death. Except Momma had been cutting beef and she’d planted the butcher knife right in Daddy’s throat. That was six months after the lead had started acting on him. Momma never was right again after that. I was fourteen at the time. My sister was nine. For that man, a bullet would’ve been a blessing.”

  “I’m very sorry,” Nick said. And he meant it. “What happened to the hotel?”

  “Momma tried to get Daddy to close it after he fell ill, but he wouldn’t hear of it. It stayed open, but with Daddy around to drive off all the clientele with his craziness, it quickly went to spit. By the time he was in the ground, there was no hope for the business. Momma tried to revive it for a while, but heartbreak got the best of her. She stopped eating. Sleeping too. No matter what we tried, there just wasn’t any consoling her. Momma died within a year. By the time I was fifteen, the bank had taken the place and sold it to a fine Southern entrepreneur named Reginald LeBatt.”

  The name dripped from her tongue like acid.

  “He’s the one who started the gambling hall tradition. And the whoring. He was even kind enough a businessman to take on me and my sister as employees. We were a little young at first, but eventually I graduated from the barrooms to the bedrooms. Learning was easy with all the other girls he had around.”

  “Jesus. He didn’t.”

  “He did. I did.” Delilah shrugged. “You get hungry enough, honey, and you’ll do damn near anything to keep a roof over your head. And don’t blaspheme. But, you’re right. It was despicable. And just when I started telling myself it was okay, that I had stashed away almost enough money to take me and Bea away from this place before she got old enough to fill one of LeBatt’s beds…I died.”

  “How?”

  “Not really sure. It happened when I was sleeping. Next thing I knew I was here but I wasn’t. The coroner said something or other inside my head had popped. I don’t know. I’m no doctor. All I know is they carted off my b
ody in the back of a wagon while I watched.”

  “I don’t know what to say, Delilah. That’s damn awful.”

  “That was a long time ago, honey. Sometimes I see it all over again in my head, fresh as new, like I’m right there. But most of the time it just stays where it is: dead and gone.”

  “What about your sister?” Nick was almost afraid to hear the answer, lest it turn out to be another stake in this woman’s already gouged heart.

  “Bea?” Warmth came to Delilah’s cheeks then. A little smile lifted the corner of her mouth as she stared off into the distance. “I’ve no idea. After they took me away she packed her bag and left. I tried to talk to her, but it was impossible. She couldn’t see me. Not like you. Bea took the money I’d been saving and left that night. I like to think that wherever she went, she found something happier than this place. Maybe a nice man who was able to treat her right. Maybe she found a farm somewhere south to raise a family. That’s a nice thought, isn’t it? Truth is, I don’t know. None of us ever does, do we? Know what the future holds, what becomes of our family after we’re gone.”

  Nick nodded, thinking of his parents, early arrivals in both their own graves.

  “Thank you for sharing your story with me, Delilah. I’d tell you again how sorry I am but I don’t think you want to hear that, do you?”

  “Not particularly,” she said. “You’re a sweet boy, Nick. And I thank you again for talking to me. You’re in hot water and I wish you the best of luck with that. You’ll have to pardon me if I don’t get too excited about it. Being dead gives you some perspective on life. If you want my advice, I’d say you should be looking for the man with the thread. The Black Tar Man. If anyone’s got answers for you, it’d probably be him. I’m sorry I can’t help you more.”

  Nick crossed his arms, rubbed some warmth back into them.

  “No, you have helped. Thank you.”

  “Here,” Delilah said. “Take this.”

  She reached into the hem of her dress, pulled something out of a pocket, and handed it over to Nick.

  He held out his hand and was surprised to find a small piece of forged metal fall into it. It was a skeleton key. The narrow silver key was scuffed and dented, but a very solid piece of workmanship. A piece of string had been tied through the end of it, turning the thing into an odd necklace.