The whistling sounded again, and the door flew open. She felt wind against her face. Something dark hovered above the bed. It floated toward her, then upward. It slowly dissipated into gloom. Curtains billowed, lifting off the floor, and then gently back. A tree branch tapped against a window. Leaves fell, and the wind picked them up, sent them tumbling across the horizon. Was there something else floating amidst brown and yellow foliage? Misshapen shapes hovered on street poles and on rooftops. Something spiraled toward the window, wings flapping, and then it vanished with the fog.
Diana moved into the room, peered through streaked glass. She shook her head. “Just damn leaves.”
Then a murky shape drifted toward the glass, startling her for a moment. A raven had landed on the outside ledge. It peered at Diana with curiosity, and then flew away, leaving a tiny droplet on the window.
“Looks like a teardrop.” She attempted to close the window, but noticed the housekeeper sat in the front yard, cross-legged, naked. Diana yelled down, “What the hell are you doing? Cover yourself. Didn’t Bruno—?” Diana imagined neighbors at windows, peering at the grotesque woman.
Several empty whiskey bottles lay at the woman’s side. Cigarette butts surrounded her, and strange-looking spots covered her body. She growled, and then looked upward. Her eyes met Diana’s. Her voice sounded gravely, eerie. “What are you looking at? You’re no different than any of us. You’re trapped in the same time warp—the same hell.” The woman hissed, tossed a bottle in Diana’s direction. Glass hit cement, then shattered. She stood, swaying a bit, then she padded across the lawn, making her way to the street. Headlights flashed, a car stopped and a driver, concealed in shadow, said something low and indecipherable. The woman slid into the passenger’s seat. The car's breaks screeched. She hung out the window, her head bobbing up and down as the vehicle drove over a pothole. She looked up at Diana, and then scowled before the car disappeared into darkness.
As always, The Hotel LaNeau loomed unpromisingly on the horizon. Diana imagined its massive front door opening and welcoming the crazed woman.
She sighed, feeling relieved, another minute and she would have called the police. “Crazy people in this world.”
Diana turned, glanced into the bedroom mirror. Her right eye had gotten worse, red and swollen. It pulsed several times, then she saw Tyler fleeing from darkness, with spiraling tentacles reaching for him. “Stop it,” she ordered the vision, and it obeyed, vanishing into nothingness.
She rubbed her eye, moved to the bed and collapsed onto it. Within seconds she had fallen into a deep sleep, but it was not an escape to tranquility and rest, rather a dark prison where the same haunting dreams refused to grant her release.
16.
“Diana, can you meet me at The Hidden Cavern later today? Around three?” Nicky asked in a solemn voice. “I need to speak with you.”
With phone cradled between her cheek and shoulder, Diana buttered a bagel, and looked on as Bruno sipped coffee. She'd slept until late morning, showered, and then hung out in the kitchen until noon. She'd planned to start cleaning out Tyler's effects early in the morning, but exhaustion had overshadowed her plans. And it would be better to meet Nicky that afternoon, rather than being interrupted at a later time. “Is everything alright?” She asked.
“I’ll talk to you later.” He was curt, and ended the conversation without a goodbye.
Diana hung up the phone, took in the smells of coffee and bacon, mingling with the scent of Bruno's aftershave. She studied him for a moment, wondering if it would be a
good idea to share her recent dreams with him. Did you dream, too, Bruno, she silently asked, and then decided to keep her reveries to herself.
She cleared her throat, and then spoke to him quickly, feeling as though she babbled on endlessly. “Bruno, I hate to impose on you, but would you mind driving me to The Hidden Cavern? You don’t have to wait for me. I’ll call you when I’m done. It’s Nicky…he wants to meet me there and…” She bit her bottom lip.
"No problem." Bruno nodded slightly.
Once more Diana searched Bruno's face. He gave nothing away, remaining stoic, without emotion. She depended on him. Things would be more complicated without him around. She silently thanked him for his service and allegiance, and then she once more wondered what dark dreams he honored within.
17.
Diana downed coffee, ate half her bagel, and then retreated back to her room. She dressed quickly, feeling anxious and afraid of what Nicky would tell her. She dabbed on some blush and a bit of gloss. It was still early, so she went to the window, looked to the lawn where rain splattered onto dry grass and shrubbery. Hours before the strange and vulgar caretaker had sat there. Now remnants she'd left behind were strewn over the yard. Whiskey bottles, shattered glass, a half-eaten bag of chips and cigarette butts. Diana once again felt anger well inside, but at least the despicable woman had left.
“I wish I could go back in time,” she said to herself, combing her hair, gazing absently into her mirror, and for a moment her right eye throbbed. Plates and glasses clinked downstairs, and Bruno hummed to himself, the same way Tyler did after he’d awakened late in the day.
Tyler loved late afternoon, and spent many strolling through Greenwich Village, a knit cap pulled over his eyes and hiding his hair.
She swore she could smell his male scent, feel his breath against her cheek, like he was there beside her, eating in a café in Little Italy, a cup of cappuccino before him, a plate of homemade pasta and sauce to his right, The New York Times folded neatly at his left. His face glowed. “The Italians are the best cooks. You ought to try some. You can’t live on coffee and toast.”
“You wouldn’t love me if I got fat, if I lost my looks.”
“I’d love you if you had one eye. I’d love you no matter what.” He laid his fork by his plate. “I dreamed you had one eye. Wonder what the hell that means.”
“It’s just a dream, Tyler. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“You were hunched, like an old woman—”
“Just eat. Don’t tell me about your crazy dreams, they creep me out.”
He leaned close to her, “Maybe it wasn’t a dream. Maybe I saw the future.”
The reverie dissipated when a plate crashed downstairs and Bruno cursed. Diana pressed her right eye with her index finger, feeling it pound again, and then cursing, "Damn thing is driving me crazy."
Her mother used to say it meant the devil watched over you when the right eye twitched. Or was it the left? Or both?
Suddenly she became aware of the clock on the dresser. It ticked, and the second hand made its way slowly across black numbers.
“Time,” she said, and she wished again that that it could be a year ago, a decade before. No chance. She had to face the future no matter how dark or painful.
****
Bruno helped Diana out of the Mercedes. "Call me when you need me. Oh, and are you sure this is close enough for you?"
"Thanks, kiddo. The Hidden Tavern is around the corner from Nicky's shop. It'll be good to take a short walk." Diana's eyes flickered to the boutique in the distance, and to an old woman standing in the doorway. “Did my father hire somebody new to oversee the place?”
Bruno nodded, then said, “Never know with him. See you later on.” He turned, made his way back to the car, opened the door and slid into his seat. And in a flash Diana heard the engine roar to life, and the vehicle moved into traffic.
She watched as the car traveled down the beach highway, then she made her way to the boardwalk.
A memory rushed through her mind. Tyler made love to her beneath a tree near the LaNeau. Rained came down, and lights glimmered in hotel windows above them.
“I love the rain,” he told her.
She moaned softly as the storm intensified, and lightning struck the roof. Illumination dimmed inside the hotel, and then everything turned pitch-black. Shadows moved over the roof, spiraling upward, taking flight like dark angels. She wanted to fly
away with them, be part of the darkened clan hovering over the structure. When power returned, brightening windows, the drive, walkways and spires, only splattering rain could be seen on the LaNeau’s highest gable, and only leaves flurried in the wind.
A group of chattering teenagers brought Diana back to the present, to the sense of loss, and to the place time had brought her to. She took a few more steps, her eyes still fastened on the old woman she'd spotted minutes before.
The temperature rose overnight, bringing rain. Earlier in the day, it had been heavy, and the wind had gusted rather violently; but now a soft mist remained, with the sun spreading gentle rays over the seaside city. But even though the day had turned a bit more pleasant, Diana felt uneasy about meeting her father. When she was a kid he'd visit her mother, bringing her dolls and coloring books. He'd take her hand, walk with her to the ice cream shop on the boardwalk, and allow her to indulge in her favorite sundaes. On those nights he'd tuck her into bed, and then join Felicia in the living room. Her parents would speak quietly after Diana had retired, voices rising and falling.
Sometimes Felicia went to the LaNeau, and it was a rare treat for Diana to tag along, knowing Nicky would spoil her with toys, movies and tasty treats. Felicia also worked in Nicky's shop as a card reader, but the relationship was strained, unusual. Her mother cried a lot, and Diana wished her father could be like her friends' fathers; men, who worked regular jobs, came home after a long day, ate dinner with their kids, took them to the zoo over the weekend. Nicky was never there when Diana needed him, or when Felicia needed him. Why did Felicia put up with a man like that? But Nicky changed after Felicia's death, spending more time with his daughter, outwardly concerned about her welfare.
Nicky and Tyler had been friends for years, and the two had shared secrets, unspoken words, often in Nicky’s shop, a front where clandestine meetings and dark deals went down—illegal acts resulted from those gatherings, and money got stolen—and people got hurt.
“Bad Karma in that place,” she whispered, moving closer to the establishment, noticing the old woman was smaller than she first thought; her skin a mass of wrinkles, her white hair brittle, hanging in uneven strands down her back, and her hands were large, with long thin fingers, and nails curling like claws. The woman shuffled to the front window, rearranged books and crystals, and then gently set a painting amid Tarot decks and amulets. After that, she toddled to the door, bolted it, and then she retreated further into the dark boutique.
Diana wondered who she was. Surely not one of Nicky's mistresses.
"Creepy," she muttered as she moved past gloomy windows, noticing candles flickering in semidarkness, over the painting on display—a sleek cat-like woman, with shimmering black fur. Ruby necklaces draped around her neck; she held a book in her right hand with GRIMOIRE emblazoned on it. One of her eyes had been stitched shut with silver thread, and bloody tears trickled onto her cheek. The image brought on a wave of nostalgia, a childhood fantasy and a subtle feeling of dread.
Now the haunting laughter of children drifted from within a nearby carousel house, as if in response. Diana paused to watch brightly colored horses, zebras and wild cats spin round and round. The mirrored canopy above the carousel caught nonrepresentational patterns from overhead lights. Some children clutched brass poles, some sat with arms dangling by their sides, and others reached for brass rings, as they spun past — ethereal, as though she peered into another world.
A memory from childhood suddenly came to her, an experience she hadn't thought about in years. She’d been five or six, and her mother had treated her. They’d eaten at the little chowder café next to the carousel house.
After dinner, Felicia took her by the hand, walked her to the merry-go-round and bought a ticket. Diana felt awed by Victorian horses, unicorns and exotic cats, painted with intricate detail. Delicate flowers draped their necks. She said, “I have to ride my favorite. The panther, Ma.” She held her breath, hoping no one else had taken her place on the exotic cat. Then she sighed, realizing the wildcat had been shunned by other children, because long ago vandals shattered one of its eyes.
Her mother looked down at her, patted her head and said, “Diana, every other little girl wants to ride a wild stallion, a unicorn, or even the lion. But you pick a panther with only one eye.”
“But I love the panther, Ma. She’s a Goddess.”
Felicia shook her head, and smiled as she strapped her daughter onto a misshapen wildcat. “Go for the brass, baby,” she said double-checking the straps. Felicia waved to her when the merry-go-round began to spin.
Diana waved back, taking in the beauty of the panther— its golden harness, headgear painted brilliant blues and reds. She ran her hand over its head, touched the gleaming white fangs, and then looked to her mother, who stood by the ticket booth. Felicia nodded with motherly approval.
She’d get the brass ring for Felicia.
Diana held out her arm. One rotation around, and she noticed a man standing by a spectator’s bench. Cloaked in black, holding a small clock in one hand, and though shadows covered most of his face, his eyes shined through the darkness. He stared at her, filling her with dread. Diana’s arm froze in midair, and all thoughts of reaching for the brass ring left her.
Second spin, and the man still stood there, staring at her. She couldn’t see his mouth, but something in his eyes told her that he was smiling.
The clock ticked ominously, over loud music and through the laughter of other children.
Another go.
His eyes followed her as she rolled by.
Next whirl, the ride slowed as he came into view. The clock’s tick slowed as he tucked the timepiece beneath his cloak. Then he stepped backward, waving slightly, and he floated through the door, down the stairs; black fabric billowing like smoke. He turned to look at her, nodded his head, turning to vapor, and then into a ghostlike black panther, blending with twilight’s black and deep grays, disappearing as the moon rose over the Hotel LaNeau.
She believed then that the man had slipped from one existence to another, from one world to another. But as she grew older, she dismissed the incident as more imagination and childish reminiscences than reality.
Tyler had always told her that different worlds existed, and that humans could inhabit more than one at a time. Diana scoffed at him, but sometimes she wondered if the strange vision had come from an alternate world. Had the dream man from that phantasm waited for her all these years—in some alternate time and reality?
“You’re here all ready.” Nicky’s voice stunned Diana to the present. “I was about to turn the corner onto Flushing to wait for you.” Nicky smiled, his gaze shifted toward the horizon for a moment.
“I was just thinking about coming here with my mother when I was a kid. The past, you know?” She took a step back.
Nicky must have sensed her uneasiness. “If you’d be more comfortable at the Chowder Café for now that’s fine. I’ve already eaten. But if you haven’t then—”
“No, the club’s fine. Right now a glass of wine would be nice. Hey, who is the old woman at your shop?"
His face darkened. "Friend of my uncle's, a great uncle to you. Somebody he knew from the city. Years ago she made her living as a reader here on the boardwalk. She's a bit eccentric, but still a great fortune teller…can wheel and deal and make people believe anything, but she’s as poor as a church mouse. I look after her as best I can. Owe it to my uncle."
"That's good of you. A great uncle? Did I ever meet him?"
"You might have a long time ago. He came to the hotel in December…once or twice. He hasn’t made the trip in years though." His eyes twinkled, and raindrops beaded on his mass of thick dark hair like tiny diamonds. He smelled of roses. Blood roses, she thought, as he placed his hand on her back, and led her around the corner to Flushing Street.
Diana thought about the panther man once more, and then childish laughter and music from the carousel sounded, spectral and lilting, once more.
&nbs
p; ****
Nicky guided Diana around the corner, through an alley, and to an entranceway announcing The Hidden Tavern. He opened the door, and then held out his hand. Diana took it, feeling his warmth. He led her down a winding staircase. Posters from old movies hung on the walls; Dracula—Grindhouse—Nosferatu—The Evil Dead.
"Owner is fascinated with horror films. He used to produce independent films. None as famous as these,” Nicky told her, pointing to the Dracula poster.
"I spent lots of time with Tyler watching them," Diana smiled, thinking about how much her husband loved movies.
When they reached the bottom of the staircase, they were greeted by a dark-haired hostess, dressed in a black leather jumpsuit. "This way," she said, as she waved her hand, showing off fingernails painted bright red, and curling like talons.
Diana took in her surroundings. Chains, cuffs and other tools of bondage hung from stone walls, surreal paintings of wizards looming over seductive woman, chained and bound, hung strategically between displays of torture devices, and the waitresses donned thigh-high leather boots, leather bras and thongs. The waiters wore black leather. Some were masked. Others sported white painted faces, with dark-lined eyes.
Nicky nodded politely at servers when they passed by.
"Reminds me of The Demon Pit in New York City," Diana said casually when she spotted a seductive sculpture of a woman, chained and bound on the back of a Siberian tiger. “Tyler loved the place.”
“He caused a few scenes there. I remember the incidences fondly.”
Diana thought back to a hot August night around 2001.
Nicky and Bruno carried a cursing Tyler into the den of their New York City apartment. Tyler was drunk, his shirt bloody, his right knuckles bruised.
“A bit of a scuffle at The Demon Pit,” Nicky told her. He gently removed Tyler’s jacket, and then eased him into a living room chair.
Bruno leaned close to her, “Tyler got into an argument with some guy who wouldn’t leave him alone, kept telling him he knew his tricks. That he made deals with demons for fame. I’ve seen the guy before.” He looked toward Nicky. “He always shows up just in time, you know?”
City at the Edge of the Earth Page 8
