Dusting the top of the bed with some dirt, I lie down in the hotel, haunted by a sense of incompleteness. I had been one of the last to leave, weaving in and among the empty stalls of booths searching for what I had not found. Thankfully, the hotel was not far, but the sun had been hot on my heels.
It was a long shot, I suppose. She might not have heard, she might not have cared, she might not have been able to come had she wanted to. It might have been too far, it might have conflicted with her schedule, or it might have just seemed too expensive. A thousand things might have kept her away—she could be dead, I considered with a shudder—but there was this nagging thought that one of those things might have been me.
I could have told her no, used my will to make her stay, but she knew that. That’s why she tried to do it quietly. She was taking her bags, one trip at a time, down to the old cart. I just picked up her last valise and suitcase and followed her down the wall.
Didn’t say anything. When she turned around, she jumped a little. I handed her her things. Maybe I should have said something. I guess I was waiting for her to say something; at least to say goodbye.
No goodbyes, no hellos; no awkward “Oh, so it’s you” moment. I had let myself hope for an improbability. I had let myself hope.
So what? I thought. Even if she had been there, do you think anything would have changed? Would you have found any closure, or would you be here, just where you are now, bemoaning the same broken heart?
The sound of some stumbling drunk in the hallway broke me from my reverie. He must have fallen against my door. I frowned at the annoyance, but my arms were heavy as lead, now; my throat shut tight as the grave. I heard him fumbling at the lock. Idiot, I thought. Go away.
My annoyance slowly morphed into fear as the electronic lock chirruped quietly, flashing a green light to herald the bright beams of the hallway. I was straining, trying to turn my head, but all I could see was a dim figure in the corner of my eye.
The door closed, and there was a brief moment of darkness before the click of a switch flooded the room with the humming of Edisonian luminance.
The figure was stumbling nearer, and I slowly recognized the painted face of the clownish salesman whose ruddy smile looked like some strange, sanguineous sliver of the moon above me.
“I must apologize,” he said, sitting down beside me. “I can see this is not my room.” He gazed into my eyes. “Ah yes, I think I can see the question fighting to break from those dead lips there. What am I doing here? Well, it is hard to say, exactly; how much time do you have? Well, I can see you’re not busy. Let’s see, where to begin?” he asked, gazing up into the dirty ceiling. “I’m a madman, they tell me. Dr. Agonson tells me all sorts of things, you know? Have you ever met the good doctor? No, well, I’ve told him about you, about all of you, your slithering, crawling, undead abominations. Hungering shadows of nothing. He says that I killed those children, and maybe I did. I find the memories very confusing. Anyway, when I heard about your little convention, well, I just had to attend. Told the nurses I was taking a sabbatical. Dr. Agonson wasn’t happy about that. No, but then again, he and I, we don’t see eye to eye; we’re complementary, though. Right and left hand, reflections, I like to think. He says I’m just an interesting case—Oh dear, how egotistical! I can see I am boring you. No, but the fact is, I just wanted to congratulate you. I thought I had you on the hook there, for a moment, but you didn’t bite. I didn’t sell you my little Jack-in-the-box, my little Jack goes in the box and doesn’t come out, trick. So, as a reward, I thought I’d give you my personal attention. Quality and quantity. My little trick will kill about seventy vampires today. I doubt anyone can compare with those numbers, but there is something personal left out. Sure, I had fun haggling over prices when I would sell them for nothing, but not to be there, not to be able to savor the moment the stake pierces the flesh—ah! But I’m monologuing. Best to drive the point home quickly rather than draw it out. Truth is, I didn’t bring a stake. That’s what comes from hurrying, I suppose. Grabbed the wrong bag.”
He lifted an old and familiar valise shaking it over my head. My eyes widened.
“Of course, there are other ways,” he said, “to stab someone in the heart.”
He tossed the old valise onto my chest.
“She screamed your name, I think. You called yourself Marqui, right? I thought I recognized the name. Well, she made pretty ashes, in the end. Oh, I’d paint you a picture with my words. I have a nice little trap for vampires nowadays. She fell right into my crystal palace, my stained glass pyramid. They all scream so well when the sun rises, but they scream curses, vulgarities, threats they don’t intend to keep. Such promises they make on the precipice of dust. She was different, though, to call out, Marqui. Was she a friend of yours? I can see it in your eyes. Well, I must be going. I don’t know where the good doctor would be without me there running the asylum. He just hasn’t been the same since, but that’s telling tales, now.”
He rose, but leaning down, kissed me, softly, on the forehead.
“That’s for her. I’m sure she would want me to give it to you. Really, she must have loved you, I think, or hated you something fierce. What a gift she’s given us, now, bringing us together with her last breath. But now, I really must go. You really are quite the talker. I wish you’d let me get a word in edgewise.”
He slammed the door to, and I lay there glowering out of the corner of my eye. Then, the lock chirruped again, and the clown poked his head in.
“My apologies,” he smiled, “but I was quite forgetful just now.”
A white gloved hand reached up and turned off the lights.
Tale Told 