The Nightmare Game (10 page)

When I looked into her eyes, she smiled warmly at
me. I felt as if she were trying to give me some of her courage.

“I’m really not the right person for this job,” I
told her.

“You are. If you wasn’t, he wouldn’t have chose
you.”

“What should I do now?”

She stroked my hair tenderly, as if I were a
child. She suddenly looked very old, very sad and very tired. There were tears
in her eyes. She whispered, “It’s time for you to go now. It’s time to get
started.”

“Where do I start?” I found myself whispering as
softly as she was.

She pointed to the to the flyer on the table that
Marcus had given me.

“Get your things now.” she said. She seemed almost
as reluctant to send me to this task as I was to go on it.

I walked into the bedroom and did as I was told,
silently slipping on my loafers and stuffing my money, keys, I.D. into my jeans
pockets. I came out, picked up the leaflet and stuck that in as well.

“I feel like I’ve known you forever now,” I
whispered in her ear as I hugged her goodbye.

“Me too, darlin’. Good luck. I wish there was more
I could do to help you, but there ain’t. Just remember, don’ ever, ever take
off that necklace and don’ ever drink anything that comes from her. Not even
the tiniest drop.”

“The guy, your friend, he said something about a
fall. What did he mean?”

“It’s just that you need to prepare yourself for…”
Her eyes filled with fear as her voice trailed off. She looked around
nervously, as if she had just heard a burglar in the house and was now
straining to hear the noise again.

“For what? Prepare myself for what?” I begged her.
I needed to hear her explanation. “Tell me, please!”

“She’s close, real close,” Virginia said,
whispering so low that could barely hear her.

“Tell me, please,” I implored again.

“Prepare yourself for the fall, so you don’…” The
sound of her words was the first thing to disappear as she mouthed her answer
to me in silence. I couldn’t make out what she was trying to say but could only
watch as she lost density. Rapidly becoming more and more transparent, she soon
disappeared altogether as I stared in disbelief.

Now that she was gone I felt even less sure of
myself now than I had just a few moments ago, especially since I had not been
able to make out her last instructions to me. The only thing I was sure of was
that I had a dangerous task facing me that I had to begin now. I opened the
door to leave, turning around to take one last look at the apartment. I felt
suddenly deserted and wondered if I’d ever see her or the apartment ever again
after tonight. Lonely, confused and afraid, I stepped out of the door, passed
through the courtyard and exited the gate. Night had already fallen as I left
the house on Toulouse Street to begin the game in earnest.

 In no particular hurry to meet my fate, it took
me a long time to get to Bourbon Street, which by now had already become, for
all intents and purposes, a gigantic street party. I knew where I had to go
tonight, having memorized the address for The Crypt, but I still kept the flyer
in a back pocket in case I needed it to get in the door. Once on Bourbon, I
meandered around the street for a long time because I couldn’t force myself to
go directly to my destination; I was too afraid of what I’d find when I got
there. Each step I took filled me with greater and greater anxiety, causing my
resolve and courage to fade in direct proportion to my proximity with The
Crypt. I was feeling increasingly overwhelmed by the task that lay ahead of me.
On the one hand I wished that I knew exactly what it was that I was getting
into, but on the other hand if everything was as bad as Virginia said it was,
maybe it was a good thing that I didn’t. Sometimes there was such a thing as
too much information and I had a feeling that this was one of those times. If I
were aware of everything that was in store for me, I would most likely want to
ditch this whole effort, go home despite all the warnings, take to my bed and
just die quietly, if death were indeed inevitable. There were far worse things
in the world than leaving this earth in the comfort of one’s own bed and I had
a horrible, sinking feeling that I was going to find out first hand exactly
what they were.

The Bourbon Street party was something that I’d
always enjoyed whenever visiting the city during my college years; but tonight
the reveling mass served only to make me more anxious than I already was. The
movements of the crowd were too fast, everything seemed too colorful, too
animated. Faces were coming at me and then going again. I could feel sweat
breaking out on my forehead and in the palms of my hands. I wasn’t in the midst
of a panic attack, yet but I could feel one coming on and I could tell that, if
it actually did get hold of me, it was going to be a doozie. A drink. I needed
a drink. No, that would do no good. I needed lots of drinks to calm me down
tonight. But I knew I needed to keep my wits about me, so one would have to do
the job. I crossed a side street at an ebb in the human river, stopping off at
a Hurricanes-to-Go place and ordered a Hurricane in a plastic cup. Walking a
few more steps, I found a relatively calm niche in which to stand, closed my
eyes for a few seconds, took a few deep breaths, and started sipping it. Here
in my quiet spot, surrounded by the not always pleasant smell of seafood and
booze, I was able to observe the human drama passing before me without having
to be in the thick of it. I felt easier being on the sidelines. The crisp
Autumn air felt good in my lungs and I was grateful with each breath that this
was late October and I had been spared the stifling humidity that beset the
city so much of the year. It really was an unusually perfect night. A cool
front must have blown in today. Under normal circumstances, I would have found
a nice seat by an open window inside a club and spent hours listening to music
and people-watching. The lightness and energy that Fall brought to inhabitants
and visitors alike made the Crescent City scene bustle in a slow, easy,
southern kind of way. Halloween was in the air, bringing a palpable feeling of
excitement along with it. The crowd’s mood was happy, a mood I was giving my
best effort to absorb as I tried to gather myself together.

Tonight’s group represented the usual mixed bag of
revelers for Bourbon Street. There were the locals, enjoying the scene,
partying themselves, some having fun observing the sightseers, while others
ignored them altogether. There were the kids, either from college or high
school, checking the limits of their fake ID’s. There were the obvious
tourists, sporting their various accents and the out-of-towners, people from
outlying small towns of northern Louisiana or Mississippi, dressed to kill;
some of these were staggering badly, figuring they weren’t really getting drunk
if no one they knew saw them do it. There were some visitors that were in the
city for a football game, plastered all over with their home team’s loud colors
and official logos, along with the conventioneers, some still dressed in
business attire, so anxious to start their partying that they had not even
bothered to change clothes. Then there were my favorite to watch, those playing
the mating game. Among this group, there were the singles, both gay and
straight, looking for love or a good time, with whom I could truly identify.
Also, there were the couples, those that had actually found someone, be it for
a lifetime or only for the night. These doublets came in all forms, young, old
and everything in between, each seeking fun and a romantic evening. Boyfriends
and girlfriends, married and newlyweds, the crowd contained pairs of all sizes,
shapes and colors, twosomes that clung to each other in affection, lust and
inebriation. Men with women, men with men and women with women held each other
tightly, some kissing openly while walking down the street, happy to be in the
city that for over a century had been described as the “Paris of the New
World”. It reminded me again of my own love, the dream man who was so real to
me, even though we had never actually met in the flesh, and of how badly he
needed my help. I stepped away from my comfortable little spot at the wall,
threw my empty cup in the trash and began anew my journey toward The Crypt.

My quickened pace lasted until my courage ran out
when I reached the corner of Bourbon and Ursuline. I found I could go no
further. The flyer said that The Crypt was on Ursuline, but I wasn’t familiar
with the street or its numbering system and I couldn’t see it from the corner.
I didn’t even know whether to turn left or right. Looking both ways down the
street, which contained little human traffic tonight, I lost my nerve. If I had
to walk too far down Ursuline, I thought I’d be better off walking to the club
via a more populated route. But which way to go? There was a bar near the
corner where I stood, so I figured I’d pop into it and see if the bartender
could tell me which way to turn and how far down the street The Crypt was
located.

As I walked in, the band was going on break. Good,
I’d be able to get directions a lot easier without having to scream over loud
music and strain to hear the answer. I walked up to the bar and sat on the last
empty stool at the far end. The bartender came up to me and asked me what I
wanted to drink.

“I don’t know. Maybe just a club soda?”

“Just a club soda? You sure?”

“Well, I don’t really know what I want,” I said.
“I just came in to ask for directions, but while I’m here, okay, what do you
recommend?” One hurricane hadn’t quite bolstered my nerve enough. I could go
for another drink.

“We got a house specialty. Gater Madness. Wanna
try it?”

“Sure, why not?” I was in this neighborhood to do
something that I did not want, under any circumstances, to do. Maybe just a
little bit more liquid resolve might help. If I didn’t like it, I didn’t have
to drink it.

I watched him pour the frozen, pre-made liquid
into a tall glass from a vat that looked more like a slushy machine than
anything else. He brought it up to me at the bar, I liked it, so I paid him.

“So,” he said, “You need directions?”

“Yes, to The Crypt. It’s a club. It’s supposed to
be somewhere down Ursuline.”

“The Crypt? I never heard of it. Dan,” he yelled
to a man across the room, “You ever heard of a club called The Crypt?”

The other man shook his head. The bartender turned
back toward me.

“I been workin’ in the Quarter for fifteen years
now and I never heard of that place. You sure that’s its name?”

Confused, I reached into my back pocket, unfolded
the flyer from this afternoon and handed it to him.

“This address, it’s down that way a few blocks.”
he pointed, handing the flyer back to me, “You gotta go in the direction of
North Rampart but it’s before you get to Rampart. I know the Quarter like the
back of my hand, but I never heard of this place before.”

“It’s new,” I heard a voice behind me say. I
looked around to see a set of big, innocent dark blue eyes behind me, eyes that
belonged to the hero that had saved me from Rochere earlier today.

“Troy!” I was so very happy to see his familiar
face.

“How you doin’ Ashley? You sure look a lot
better’n you did this afternoon!” He gave me a hug.

“Yep, you were right, I just had to sleep it off,”
I said, although “dream it off” would have been a more accurate description.

“See, I told you that you’d be okay. Whatcha got
there?”

“A leaflet. It’s some club I’m supposed to be at
tonight.”

He took the flyer out of my hand and studied it.

“Yeah, I heard about this place.”

“You have?” said the bartender, incredulously.
“Man, I haven’t.”

“Sure. It’s bran’ new. I think tonight’s like
their openin’ night or ‘preview’ night or somethin’ like that. I think it might
even be some kinda private club.”

“Funny, a private club handin’ out flyers. Well,
maybe you can help this lady, then. She needs directions.”

Troy smiled at me, “Be happy to. Hey, Ashley.
What’s that you’re drinkin’?

“Gator Madness,” said the bartender. “You want one
too?”

“Nah, that’s alright, I’m fine.”

At that the bartender walked away to help another
customer.

“Don’t drink too much of that stuff,” Troy warned.

“Oh, no, this is only my second drink tonight. I
just had one Hurricane earlier.”

“Man, you’re brave, mixin’ your drinks like that.
I wouldn’t mix any more if I was you.”

“I don’t plan on it. They are pretty good,
though,” I said as I took another sip of the drink. Sweet and luscious, Gator
Madness went down with smooth deception, only to reveal its strength and bite
after it was too late. While I’d been handed an assignment for tonight, I
reminded myself that I was still on an over-due vacation, after all, and needed
to have
some
fun.

Troy reached into the front pocket of the faded
blue jean jacket that he wore over a black turtle-neck sweater and pulled out
his cigarettes and a lighter. He extracted a cigarette, lit it and offered it
to me. I hesitated, tempted for a brief moment.

“Thanks, but I gave up cancer sticks years ago.
Don’t you know those things’ll kill you?”

“Yeah, but there’s lots of other stuff gonna kill
you hangin’ around this life, too,” he said somewhat sadly, sticking the
cigarette he had offered me in his own mouth and taking a long drag.

 I looked at him trying to figure out what he
meant by that. His tone conveyed more than just a lame smoker’s excuse.

We sat silently for awhile. Troy appeared to be
lost in thought; he seemed to have his own burden to carry. I sipped my drink
while he silently smoked his cigarette. I hadn’t quite finished my Gator
Madness when the band came back from break and the sound check of their
instruments began to cut loudly through the air.

“You want to get outta here?” he asked.

“Yeah. I’m really not much in the mood for music
tonight. Besides, I’ve been putting this off for too long. It’s time for me to
go to The Crypt and get this over with.”

Troy didn’t ask any questions about why I had to
go to The Crypt or what it was I wanted to get over with. Looking over at him
he seemed to have troubles of his own.

As we walked out of the bar, the cool, crisp fresh
air, available for such a short time in the deep South during the heart and
soul of Autumn, invigorated me and cleared my head.

“I’ll walk you over there. With you being a
visitor, it’s just safer that way. We don’t want you gettin’ mugged, now do
we?”

“Thanks, Troy. I was a little scared of venturing
off the tourist path by myself.”

“Sorry that I can’t go in with you, though.
Tomorrow’s a work day for me an’ I got a whole day’s worth of seminars that
start early in the mornin’. But I wanna walk you on over though an’ make sure
you get there in one piece, okay?” His tone was light, but his face held a
worried expression in the dim light that made me wonder if he was concerned
about more than my just getting mugged.

“That’s fine, Troy. I really appreciate it.” And I
did. Once again Troy had proved himself the hero and come to my aid when I
needed him. Having company along not only made me feel safer, it also kept me
from speculating or dwelling too much on whatever unknowns which might be lying
in wait for me at the ordained location.

We walked for a few blocks, stopping near an
intersection.

“It’s right over there across the street,” he
said, pointing in its general direction. “You gonna be okay now?”

“I hope so,” I responded. Just viewing my
destination, looming so near, made the lump in my throat and the knot in my
stomach grow and twist. I looked at Troy and tried to smile. “It sure was nice
to run into you tonight and thanks again for walking me over here. You know,
that’s twice today that you’ve gone above and beyond the call of duty to help
me out.”

“I do what I can,” he said. To my surprise he gave
me a very warm bear hug, intimate but not sensual.

He smiled, warmly yet sadly. “You take care of
yourself now. I wish I didn’t have to go so soon. It’s been so nice meeting you
and I really, really hope to see you later. Bye now.”

“Same here. Bye.”

I watched him as he turned and walked away until I
lost sight of him altogether when he rounded the corner. This was it, then. I
was here all alone to start some mad nightmare game that I knew almost nothing
about, except that it would be very dangerous, nearly impossible to win and
would probably kill me.

I stared over at the object of my fear, a black
door which sat near the middle of a lonely block, a door illuminated only by
the small, dim light bulb hanging above it. In the middle of the door the
club’s name “The Crypt” loomed large, hand lettered in a blood red shade
reminiscent of the credits from early 1960’s Technicolor vampire movies. The
downward-slanting script was deliberately sloppy, its red paint dripping
gruesomely from the letters, drying in clumps resembling clotted blood at the
bottom where gravity had finally given up tugging at its flow. A few people
were entering the building and I wondered if they’d been handed copies of the
same leaflet that I had. Were they also players in the game and, if so, whose
side were they on? I walked a few more steps down the street until I faced the
club’s entrance directly, getting a better look at the clientele as they went in.
The street lamp revealed them to be rarefied people, very young, tall and
extremely beautiful to the point of perfection, so graceful they glided rather
than walked into the establishment. While some entered moments before the
others, they all appeared to be part of the same group. Their beauty was only
increased when illuminated by the light coming from inside the nightspot, a
light that exhibited itself so shortly as they entered and then extinguished
itself as the door closed behind them.