1 Straight to Hell

by Michelle Scott

  “I got really angry at her,” he continued. “I couldn’t stand to see what she was doing to herself. Finally, I told her to go to hell.” His voice broke. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I went over to apologize the next morning, but I found that she’d passed out on her back, and thrown up during the night. She choked on…” He couldn’t continue.

  “Oh Tommy, I’m so sorry.” I reached across the table to hug him. I couldn’t bear to see him so upset. “It wasn’t your fault, you know.”

  He nodded, but the pain etched in his features didn’t go away. “I try to tell myself that. But so far, I can’t believe it.”

  “You must miss her terribly.”

  “I do.” He took his wallet from his back pocket. “I don’t think I ever showed you this.” He handed me a well-worn photo. It looked like a high school portrait.

  I studied the young girl. She was dressed differently in the picture, wearing a plaid blouse and a silver necklace, but her severe haircut, and serious expression gave her away. This was my cellmate from the weird prison that I’d gone to after being hit by the Volvo. And, unless things had changed since my last visit, Stacy was still in hell.

  I didn’t tell him, of course. Not because I didn’t think he’d believe me, I was almost sure he would, but because I couldn’t bear to deliver the news. He was already in too much pain as it was.

  Chapter Nine

  A few nights later, Mr. Clerk appeared at my elbow. I’d been stirring marinara sauce, and his entrance surprised me so much that my hand flew up, sending fat drops of red liquid over my arm and his white, suit coat.

  He eyed his coat with dismay. “Ruined, of course.”

  “It isn’t ruined,” I said, and took some soda water from the fridge to rinse the stains. “Besides, I wouldn’t have done it if you’d knocked at the door like a normal person.”

  “I’m not a person,” he replied.

  This had become something of a joke between us. Now that Mr. Clerk realized I wasn’t competing for William Darcy’s affections, the two of us got along pretty well. Although, if he had any idea how much time I spent fantasizing about William, he’d probably hate me all over again. Most of my fantasies started with a scene in which I cursed William for the things he had said to me in Miss Spry’s office, and then ended up with his heartbroken apology and our reconciliation in my bed. And on the couch. And in the shower…

  Mr. Clerk removed his coat and handed it to me, so that I could anoint it with the soda. “Besides,” he said, “if you’d learn to pay attention, you could hear me coming.”

  “I thought I was paying attention.” He’d been giving me advice on how to deal with the otherworld, like showing me some of the back passages he used to travel from one place to another so that I no longer had to rely on Miss Spry to send me herself. But there was still so much I didn’t know. “Isn’t there a handbook or something with instructions in it? A web page maybe?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” He used the spoon I’d been stirring with to taste the marinara. His eyebrows shot up. “That’s very good.”

  “It’s much better when I use fresh tomatoes from my garden,” I said, “but thank you.” I handed him back his coat which was now fully white again.

  Once more, Mr. Clerk looked impressed. “You have some talent after all.”

  “I’m not a complete failure,” I told him. I glanced at the clock over the stove. “You’re a little late for Real Housewives.” We’d become so chummy that he often visited me in the afternoon when the girls were at school. I think he was lonely. We’d drink tea and gossip about the people on the reality shows we watched. Mr. Clerk claimed that Miss Spry had been acquainted with most of those families for years.

  “You have another assignment for tonight. Ten o’clock sharp. And you’re to dress up,” he said. “Wear something from our little shopping expedition.”

  Although I dreaded the idea of doing Miss Spry’s dirty work, a part of me perked up at this. Going out at ten in the evening all dressed up implied that something exciting was about to happen. Most importantly, something without kids. I hadn’t done anything remotely this adult since I’d hosted a cocktail and hors d’oeuvres party for the grand opening of Ted’s new office.

  Mr. Clerk continued. “Your job is to sit next to the old man in the rumpled suit and engage him in conversation. But when he asks you to come to his room, you must throw a drink in his face and insult him.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “So I’m a succubus,” I whispered the word so the girls wouldn’t hear, “but you want me to not seduce someone.”

  Mr. Clerk’s bland expression didn’t change. “That’s correct.”

  “Who are you?” Ariel had come into the doorway and was watching with narrowed eyes.

  Mr. Clerk immediately drew away and smiled tightly in that I-hate-children-but-don’t-want-anyone-to-know-it kind of way that older, unmarried men seem to have patented. He held out his hand for her to shake. “I’m Mr. Clerk. A friend of your mother’s.”

  “Aunt’s,” Ari corrected flatly.

  I found it interesting that Ari could see Mr. Clerk. I’d wondered if these new friends of mine were invisible to the living, but apparently not. In fact, from the way Ari took in Mr. Clerk’s white suit, his gray hair, and plastic smile, they were not very interesting, either.

  Ignoring Mr. Clerk’s outstretched hand, Ari sniffed at the pan on the stove. “What is that crap?”

  Patience, I coached myself. Patience. “Spaghetti sauce.”

  “It doesn’t smell like spaghetti sauce. And where’s the jar? My mom always makes the stuff from a jar.”

  Your mom used to feed you donuts she found at the bottom of a Dumpster, I thought. “It’s like the stuff from a jar. Only much better.”

  “Well, I’m not eating it,” Ari said and stalked out of the kitchen.

  Mr. Clerk wiped his hand on his pants even though she’d never touched him. “Charming.”

  “Isn’t she just,” I muttered. Yes, a night away from home was exactly what I needed.

  Although I’d normally be in my pajamas by nine o’clock, that night, I was showering, attempting to fix my hair and putting on my makeup. As I peered into the bathroom mirror, I wished for my vanity which used to dominate my dressing room at my old house. Yes that’s right, I had my very own dressing room, and Ted had his. I told you my house was nicer than yours.

  I hadn’t touched any of the bags from my shopping spree a few weeks before, and opening them was a thrill. I’d forgotten how many wonderful things I’d bought. Er, stolen. It took me a while to decide, but I finally selected a gypsy-print silk dress that fell mid-thigh, and tall boots with stiletto heels. After dressing, I looked myself over in the mirror, wishing I’d known about this assignment earlier so that I could have had my roots retouched. Hopefully the man in the rumpled suit would be too short to see the top of my head.

  Ariel appeared in the bathroom doorway as I was putting the finishing touches on my face. “Where are you going?”

  “Out,” I said. “Just for a while.” I squeezed past her and went into my room, wondering what to wear over the dress. Outside, it was hovering above ten degrees, and I wasn’t about to step outside without a coat or jacket or something.

  “Out where?” As if afraid of the light in the room, Ariel hung in the shadowed hallway.

  “Out with a friend.”

  “You have friends?”

  “Ha, ha,” I told her. I picked a black sweater from one of the bags and modeled it in front of the mirror.

  “I just mean that you never go out. Especially not on a school night.” She edged her way into the room and sat on the bed. “When are you coming back?”

  “Soon. But Jas and Tommy are here, so don’t worry.” Of course, my niece would have to pick tonight of all nights to be this chatty. Ten o’clock was rapidly approaching, and I had to get going. Mr. Clerk had told me where the find the right passages, but if I disappeared in front of Ari, I’d be faci
ng questions I couldn’t answer when I returned. So, though I hated to do it, I chased her away by going on the offensive. “What’s up?”

  She fiddled with the strap to my purse and shrugged. “Nothing.”

  “You’re acting like you want to talk, so spill it.”

  She flung purse strap aside and glared at me from under her black-lidded eyes. “There’s nothing, okay?”

  “Does it have to do with that voodoo doll I found?” That creepy little bit of cloth still haunted me. “Or the fight club?”

  She flinched. I’d hit the target. But as much as I wanted to find out her story, I had to leave. So I went in for the final assault. “You know, Ari, if there’s anything you want to talk about, anything at all, you can. Is it a boy? Your period?”

  “God! There’s nothing, okay?” She stormed past me looking furious, then stomped down the hall.

  The sound of her door slamming was like a bullet in the back of my neck. I hated myself for sending her away, but didn’t know how I could have avoided it.

  At ten-o’clock sharp, I quickly entered the passage that opened up on the far side of my bedroom, the walls to the apartment dissolving into a smoky gray blur. A moment later, I found the door I needed and passed through it.

  “Lose the sweater.”

  Blinking, I saw Mr. Darcy standing in front of me. He was looking casual but elegant in a brown leather jacket and jeans. Behind him was a set of glass doors that opened onto a posh restaurant overlooking a dark cityscape of twinkling lights. We were high up, thirty stories at least.

  “Unless the next two words out of your mouth are ‘I’m sorry’, then don’t talk to me,” I said. But at the same time, I shrugged off the cardigan. “Besides, back home, it was freezing.”

  “I have nothing to apologize for,” he said, “and you’re not back home; you’re here.” He took the sweater and stepped back, eyeing me critically. “Not bad, but – “ He loosened another button on my dress, his fingers lightly brushing the skin above my breasts.

  I jerked away. “Do you mind?” I was still angry but, at the same time, I would have given anything for him to unbutton my dress even further. Lord, how this man made my head spin! “What are you doing here anyway?”

  He gave me a steady look. “This is an important job. Simple, but crucial.”

  “And you want to make sure that I don’t screw it up.” I glared at him. The last thing I needed was a babysitter. “I can do fine on my own, thank you very much.”

  “Maybe. But I wanted to make sure there weren’t any mishaps.”

  I gave him a look of silent scorn, the one I’d seen on Ariel’s face often enough.

  “Your target is in the bar. You won’t need to approach the hostess’s stand.”

  “I’ve been in restaurants before,” I told him. “I think I can handle it.” But truthfully, I wasn’t sure. Not that the fine dining intimidated me. No, it was the job I was supposed to do. Having William here made the stakes seem higher now, and I felt like I was taking a test of some kind. My palms grew moist and my heartbeat quickened.

  “What are you waiting for? Get moving,” Mr. Darcy said.

  Resisting the urge to give him the finger, I went into the restaurant without a word.

  The lights were dim, all the better for the patrons to see the stunning view of the city. The room was slowly revolving, quietly turning past the fiery sunset that painted the far horizon. Where was I? I tried to remember any city that might have a revolving restaurant in it, but came up empty. I’ve traveled widely, but right then, I was too nervous to think. I hadn’t been in a place like this for quite a while, and I wasn’t sure that I fit in any more.

  Behind me, William stage-whispered, “To the left!”, so I headed in that direction, looking for my victim. I spotted him right away, slouched over his drink like it was his last friend. He was far older than I’d imagined, and far uglier, too. His bulging eyes and wide-lipped mouth made him appear froglike. He looked like he’d slept in his clothes. For the past two weeks.

  When I walked up to my victim, a younger, better dressed, man whistled at me. “Hey, Beautiful. Have a seat.” He patted the empty one next to him. He didn’t slur his words, but his eyes were glassy. He moved aside as if he fully intended for me to join him.

  I ignored him and continued on toward the man in the suit. Sitting down, I ordered a gin and tonic, my signature drink. I was consulting with my demon about our opening move, but when the bartender gave me my glass, the old guy spoke up. “I’ve got that, Miss.” He pulled a crumpled bill from his pocket and set it on the bar.

  “Why, thank you,” I said and smiled at him. I could see my reflection in the mirror over the bar, and, to my relief, I really did look like I belonged in this place. It wasn’t only the clothes, although they helped. It was the way I sat with my back straight and the aloof expression on my face. I looked like I had in the old days before the divorce and the fire and the thousand other things that had happened to me. I crossed my legs, letting the dress ride up a little on my leg, drawing the old man’s gaze.

  Let him do the talking, the demon suggested.

  “You’re quite lovely,” he said. “You remind me of someone I used to know.”

  What a line. I moved a little closer to him. “Who’s that?”

  His eyes grew distant. “The wife of a client.”

  The wife of a client. Great. Someone he was probably cheating with. As I remembered the ‘actress’ I found in my bathtub, I suddenly hated this man. Even so, I smiled coyly. “She must have been a very lucky woman,” I said.

  He laughed, surprised. “Not really.” He downed his drink and called for another. Noticing that I’d hardly touched mine, he said, “Drink up. Life’s short.” He ordered a second drink for me as well.

  The younger man who had asked me to join him walked up, pressing against my back so tightly that I could feel the rising lump under his slacks. “What’s this guy have that I don’t,” he asked.

  I turned around and let my demon snarl at him. “Get lost.”

  He held up his hands and backed away. “Okay, okay.” Then, as he swaggered off, he said, “Bitch.”

  My older companion looked anxious, but I calmed him with an indolent smile. “So, please, continue. The woman I remind you of?”

  He regarded his drink. “I used to wish that I was married to that woman, but she was too good for me.” He gazed into his drink. “She had a kind heart. And I sometimes wonder if she ever thinks about me or the things I’ve done.” He wobbled a bit on his stool, and I realized how drunk he was. Alarmed that he might fall, I caught his elbow to steady him. “You are really beautiful,” he said. “I mean extraordinarily lovely.”

  Okay, now things were even better than the old days. I’d been attractive, yes. But not breathtakingly beautiful. Even the bartender was giving me appreciative, albeit covert, looks. I felt sexy and desired. Giddy with the power my demon was lending me.

  So when the old man in the shabby suit asked if I would come back to his room with him, it was nothing for me to toss my head and call him a ‘little toad’. When I threw my drink in his face, he cringed, ashamed, but I didn’t care. In fact, I laughed.

  I caught the bartender giving me a look of incredulity, but steeled myself against it. “You disgust me,” I told the old man, and stood up to leave.

  The old man’s hands were trembling and there were tears on his cheek. But even so, he remained courtly, standing up when I did because a gentleman always rises when a lady does. Even if she’s a stone-cold bitch.

  That’s what finally broke through to me: his courtesy. I blinked, taking in his miserable expression. “I’m sorry,” I told him. I used several napkins to dry him off. “I don’t know why I did that!” But, of course, I did know. I’d given my demon way too much power.

  I ordered it to back off, but it fought back, demanding that I walk out of the bar. I refused. It screamed in outrage, filling my head with noise. I told it to shut the hell up. Gradually, I won.<
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  I spent the next half an hour attempting to cheer my victim up, but when he finally excused himself and left the bar, he didn’t look any happier. Dispirited, I left the restaurant, which, by now, was almost empty.

  But I couldn’t locate the otherworldly passage I needed to get home. I walked up and down the lobby, looking for a ripple in space, but I didn’t see a thing. Behind me was a bank of elevators, but I knew I hadn’t taken them when I arrived. The door had opened on this level. I was sure of it.

  Stop playing around, I ordered my demon. Show me where to go.

  She stubbornly resisted. I could feel her burrowed deeply inside my conscious like an old, hurtful memory.

  I began to panic. I turned around to go back to the restaurant’s entrance and re-orient myself, but my way was blocked by the man who had accosted me at the bar earlier.

  He was taller than I’d realized, and much broader across the shoulders. He was also much drunker. “Did you get lost?”

  “No.” When I stepped to get around him, he moved as well, obstructing my way.

  He kept going forward, herding me into the farthest corner of the lobby. As he passed an elevator, he pushed a button. “You weren’t very nice to me back there.”

  I dredged my psyche, trying to unearth my demon and tap into her rage. But it was hopeless. She remained hidden deep inside me, refusing to surface. Instead, I called for help, but the word came out pathetically weak. I tried again. “Help!!”

  The elevator opened, and to my horror, it was empty. The man grabbed my elbow hard enough to make me whimper and tried to pull me inside the car after him. I hit him with my purse, and when that had no effect, I dug my nails into his arm. “Let me go, you bastard!” I took aim at his crotch, but he thrust his hip at me, cutting off my attack.

  He yanked harder, tearing the sleeve of my dress. Desperate, I drove my foot into his, hoping to land a stiletto in the middle of his instep, but all I did was throw myself off balance, giving him an opportunity to drag me into the elevator.