By fourteen Scarlett had filled out, soft and curved underneath her clothes. Harvey couldn’t stop staring, even when he came back from college on holiday break, and sat across from her at their parents’ table for Christmas dinner. By nineteen she moved in with Harvey to go to college for her English degree, and he could barely contain himself anymore, and sometimes just had to touch. Scarlett always brushed off her brother’s attentions, squirming away or calling him names. They never spoke of it. Harvey had to learn to be okay with that.
***
By Friday afternoon Harvey again found himself outside Black Heaven, sitting in his car, tapping the envelope on the steering wheel. He had already called Scarlett to let her know not to expect him home. She teased him over the phone about tawdry hook-ups with some floozy from Payroll, a strumpet in Sales. Harvey dismissed it with a chuckle, no matter how forced, and tucked his phone into his pocket. A man at the door let Harvey in when he carefully approached, inspecting the extended invite. Tattoos ringed the man’s thick neck, traveling down his arms to his index fingers as he stood in the doorway between slits of red light. With a nod the doorman stepped aside, “Good to see you’ve made it, Mr. McHale.”
Harvey held a breath and tried to smile, walking down the corridor to the staircase at the end. On either side were barred windows into apartments, bedrooms with red walls and ceilings. Inside, people engaged each other in all manners of sex behind curtained silhouettes and half-shut blinds. In one room a collared woman with amputated limbs crawled across the floor like a dog toward a woman waiting on the bed; a man in smeared makeup and a ball-gag bent over the dresser for a slender figure in a full leather suit in the next. It was hard not to stare at them all, sweating and moaning on the other side of the glass. Harvey swallowed thickly and kept his hands to himself, making his way down the staircase. A woman to his left caught his eye, pressed to the window on outstretched palms as a man fucked her roughly from behind. She smiled toothily at him and flicked out a forked tongue, her breath heavy on the window.
The sight made Harvey recoil despite the unwanted arousal coiling in his gut, quickening his steps. At the end of the stairs he walked through a small lobby lined with black armchairs and ornate gold wall fixtures to the host’s stand. There, a hostess in a collared black dress and high ponytail smiled at him.
“Mr. McHale. It’s good to see you.”
“I’m sorry, but what is this?” Harvey asked indignantly. He already regretted his decision to come at all. “How do you know my name?”
“This is Black Heaven,” the hostess smiled, “and Ms. O has been expecting you for a while now.”
“Ms. O?”
“You can follow me to your table now, Mr. McHale.”
He laughed reflexively. “There must be some mistake. I don’t know anybody named O, and I’ve never even heard of this place. She must have me mistaken for somebody else.”
“You can bring that up with her yourself.”
The hostess turned to disappear behind the golden room divider by her desk. Sighing, Harvey followed her through the club to a corner booth opposite a sprawling center stage. Black Heaven was small on the inside, its black walls peppered by golden wall sconces. She gestured to the booth and left him to slide into his seat, looking around the stage and the people milling around the bar. Cocktail waitresses in short black outfits moved between tables as patrons crowded around the stage to watch the dancer performing there, dancing with an octopus. Her hair was long and dark like Scarlett’s, body taller and leaner than his sister’s shorter, curvier frame. False lashes fanned out over her eyes, catching light like pieces of silver. Harvey took a deep breath and tried not to watch.
“Thinking about leaving?”
He looked up to see his guest drop into the seat across from him. Ms. O stood six feet tale in the heels pointing her crossed legs, folding her hands in her lap and leaning back to look Harvey over. Straight hair framed a sharp face, her pale eyes a strong contrast against her dark skin. Harvey tried to study her like he would a client but she gave nothing away, not even her age, indeterminate as it was under the light pouring from the stage.
“Thinking about it,” he leaned forward and, giving up, smiled. “I guess you’re my host?”
“And you’re Harvey McHale,” she said. “I’ve been expecting you a while now. I was beginning to think you’d gotten cold feet.”
“And just what is this place?”
“This is my social club.”
“I think you mean whore house.”
At that, Ms. O smirked. “My employees offer certain services that my customers can’t get anywhere else. Whatever the needs of my customers are, I cater to them. It’s just sales; I figured you’d know something about that.”
“Right.” Her smile did little to calm Harvey’s nerves. Nodding, he reached into his pocket for his invitation. “So, do you want to tell me how this got to my door? Because leaving them on peoples’ doorsteps kind of lower their value, right? I mean, it’s not exactly discreet.”
“And you still came.”
“Because you invited me.”
“No, because you wanted something out of it.”
That caught Harvey off-guard, his arousal warming in the pit of his stomach. He chuckled to cover it up. “Look, I get it. I’m not judging you here; I’m just not interested in whatever you’re selling. So you can take me off your mailing list or whatever.”
“Whoa. Cool your jets, kid,” Ms. O all but laughed. “I’m not trying to sell you a used car here. I’m in the business of making dreams come true.”
“And what do you know about my dreams?”
“Not much, but I know you have them. That’s why you’re here; that’s why everybody’s here.”
Harvey considered his answer this time. He looked over to the stage where the woman danced, moving across the stage, all sinewy grace and tentacles. “I don’t have dreams. I’m very happy.”
The toothy cups of the octopus’ arms left rings on the dancer’s skin where they gripped her, catching in her hair and the fabric of her tiny white halter-top and bottoms. From across the table, Ms. O smiled.
“Does she remind you of someone?”
“No.”
“You know, most people who come through here say they want the same things: A good job, a nice house, maybe even some money or a fast car. But deep down, under all that well-intentioned, status quo American Dream crap, everybody just wants the same thing.”
“And what’s that?”
“They want that one dirty, ugly little thing they can’t have.”
Looking away from the stage, Harvey swallowed. “It’s not like that.”
“I don’t care what it’s like, champ.” Ms. O folded her arms across her chest and looked him up and down. “What I’m asking you is how badly do you want it?”
“Scarlett doesn’t – she’s not like that with me. She never has been. I accept that.”
“You don’t have to.”
“How?”
“You and me, we work up a little deal: You get what you want, I get what I want, and everybody goes home happy.”
“What do you want? Money?”
“I got more money than I know what to do with. What I need are promises.”
Harvey shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“Look, kid, this is simple. You’re going to leave this club and go home. When you get there, she’ll be waiting for you. Just for you, Harvey, the way you’ve always wanted. Little baby Scarlett, all hungry and aching for it, like it’s her last night on Earth.”
Harvey took a deep breath and felt his face heat, his gut knotting treacherously.
“And what do you want from me?”
“All I want is you be ready to promise me what I ask, when I ask it. No backsies, no second-thoughts. I get what comes of this, okay?”
Harvey couldn’t say no to that. In the end, he didn’t even try.
***
When Harvey got home he had a knot in his
gut. A sick feeling crept down his spine, unsure of what he had agreed to or what he would find when he opened his front door. Surely it was foolish to think this woman could give him what he wanted. She was some kind of scam artist, he told himself, or a con; she had probably arranged all this just to get him to buy a timeshare or sell steak knives. Locking the door behind him, Harvey didn’t announce his presence in the house, listening for Scarlett in the next room.
Down the hall with a held breath, Harvey saw Scarlett through her open bedroom door. He stopped there, watching her slip out of the towel she had worn from the bathroom to retrieve her clothes from the closet. Her skin was still pink from the shower, hair wet and clinging to her neck and shoulders. Naked, she bent over to step into her underwear, and at the doorway Harvey’s heavy sigh caught her attention.
Scarlett turned to find him but said nothing, unwavering, unashamed. Harvey’s heart thumped as he closed the distance between them, his hand outstretched for her hip in a cautious skim of his fingers. He sucked in another breath and Scarlett stood still, waiting and compliant in a way she rarely ever was. Droplets of water caught in her lashes and as he brushed them away he kissed her, slowly, gently, expecting the worst. It never came. Instead he slid her underwear down her legs and nipped at her lips, coaxing her lidded eyes to meet his.
Harvey took Scarlett to bed, all the while thinking of his promise to Ms. O. Kissing his sister’s face and pushing inside of her, she didn’t make a sound. Harvey chose to think nothing of it.
***
Without an alarm to wake him, Harvey slept late into the morning, only opening his eyes to a grinding, choking feeling. Out of Scarlett’s bed as she slept beside him, Harvey hurried for the bathroom down the hall. He coughed into the sink, trying to force up the knot in his throat, eyes watering to the sting. Nothing came of it as he gasped for a breath and waited for the panic to pass. After a moment, he looked to his reflection in the mirror and sighed. Memories of Scarlett’s arms around his neck and the wetness between her thighs made him smile, even for the pain.
In the bedroom again he picked up his clothes from the floor, dressing before getting back into bed to watch his sister sleep. He learned forward to kiss her temple and brush the hair from her face. Stirring, she moved away and opened her eyes, scratching at the places his lips at been.
“What time is it?” Scarlett reached for her watch on the nightstand. Groaning, she threw the blankets back and got out of bed. “Goddamnit. Why did you let me sleep so late? I have my internship at the office today.”
Watching her dress, Harvey sat back. “I thought maybe you’d want to stay home.”
She looked at him incredulously and pulled up her jeans. “Yeah, but it’s not like I get the luxury. And don’t you have work?”
“Well, I mean – don’t you remember what happened last night?”
“I took a shower and went to bed. Why?”
Harvey sagged. Her shirt tugged over her head, Scarlett toed on her shoes and rushed out for her car keys and purse in the next room. Defeated, he got up to shower, shave and dress for work. In his jacket pocket his invitation to Black Heaven still waited for him.
***
In his office Harvey coughed uselessly between conference calls and presentations, clearing his throat until it stung. He coughed the whole commute into work, but tapping the invite on the steering wheel, he thought nothing of it. Something was wrong; he knew that much. Scarlett didn’t remember the night before. Worse, she lied. She had no reason to lie to Harvey; they never had secrets, even as children. Harvey loved her for that. He felt only betrayal now.
Clearing his throat, something wriggled from the hollow of his chest, scratchy and hard, sticking there like a bone swallowed wrong. He coughed twice but it didn’t come up; it lodged itself deeper with spines and jagged edges he could feel. Tears stung his eyes and he gasped, standing up from his chair to find the waste basket in the corner.
Clutching it, he heaved out tiny rib bones, scales and teeth pinging off the sides of the basket in splatters of blood. He swallowed the meaty taste of blood and muscle and picked out a bone with a shaking hand, holding it up to the light. It was then that Harvey realized this was far worse than he thought.
***
At home that night Harvey said nothing as he grabbed a beer and sat on the sofa. He watched Scarlett from a distance as she cooked dinner’s spaghetti and meatballs, mindful of the way she moved. She stopped at the stove top to salt her pot of boiling water, covering her mouth in a cough. He flinched and waited for blood, but none came.
Sitting down at the table to eat she smiled at him as though nothing had happened. She told him about her long day at the office, getting coffee and sending faxes. Harvey smiled and tried to listen, but he couldn’t look her in the eye for the rest of the night. He said nothing of it. Inside him, something tightened up, flinched, and then relaxed. He said nothing of that, either. That night he laid awake, listening to her cough in the next room and regretting ever going to Black Heaven.
***
“What does it look like?”
“Just a bone, from a fairly big snake, by the looks of it.” The veterinarian adjusted her glasses and wrinkled her nose, holding the collection of ribs up to the overhead light. “You say your dog threw this up?”
Harvey nodded. The thought of Scarlett going through this made him sick. “Yeah, right on the carpet. It’s the craziest thing: he doesn’t even go outside.”
She handed the bones back to Harvey. “Maybe the snake got in? Sometimes they can up through the sewer system into your toilet. Is your dog still vomiting?”
“Yeah. Bones and teeth.” He put on his best salesman face and lied through an easy shrug. “Should I be worried?”
“Watch his diet and fluids. If he keeps vomiting, go ahead and bring him in. Otherwise it probably just didn’t agree with him.”
Harvey nodded and smiled.
***
For two days Harvey hid from his sister, seeing her only in the hallway in the mornings before she made breakfast or worked on her papers. Outside the bathroom and from inside his room, he could hear her cough and sputter, cursing at no one about allergies and cedar and her damned throat. Harvey didn’t breathe a word of the snake scales he found in the sink when he coughed or the blood in his hands when he wiped his mouth.
She wouldn’t believe him. Instead he called the club seven times, hiding in his room away from Scarlett, locking the bathroom door behind him so she wouldn’t see teeth in the sink. Each time he received no answer.
Sunday night he sat outside the bathroom door, listening to Scarlett heave violently into the toilet. In his gut he could feel the snakes moving inside him. There was no sleeping, then, even if he wanted to. When she finally came out, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Harvey stood up, a hand out uselessly, unsure. He asked what she needed; she just shook her head and went to her room. When Monday morning came Harvey found himself outside the office in his car. His knee bounced against the steering wheel as he held his phone to his ear, waiting for someone, anyone, to pick up. The end finally clicked.
“Hello?”
“We need to talk,” Harvey said. “Now.”
On the other end, Ms. O sighed. “Yes?”
“You lied to me. She doesn’t remember anything, and now we’re both sick. How are you going to fix this?”
“Can’t help you. Sorry.”
“This isn’t what I asked for. You tricked me.”
“And how is that? You wanted her, champ! You got her.”
“What are you? What’re you doing to us?”
“I told you: I’m in sales.”
“Bullshit.”
“What do you think I am, kid? What do you think this is all about?”
Harvey’s chest tightened. “You want my soul.”
“And I’ll call you when I’m ready for it.”
“What? No – no, wait.”
“See you around, Harvey.”
Th
e line clicked again. Harvey pounded his fist on the dashboard and felt sick to his churning stomach. In his office, Harvey found thirteen websites on satanic ritual and animal sacrifice, historical texts and folklore, printed them out and wiped his browser history. Hiding illustrations of goat-men and red-eyed demons, and a woman’s name, over and over, written down on the back of his invitation: Onoskelis. At lunch with Rick from Accounting, he couldn’t even eat his sandwich and Diet Coke. Across the table Rick was telling him about his weekend and his son’s softball game, but Harvey wasn’t paying attention. If he listened hard enough, he could almost make out the rattles of snakes somewhere deep inside him.
***
Harvey’s phone rang four times. It rang once in the elevator, at his desk, again and lunch and finally after his staff meeting. Each time he checked it, it was Scarlett. He let it go to voice mail. He couldn’t face her yet with nothing to show for himself.
“Harvey, it’s Scarlett. Hey, I’m coming home early today. I don’t feel so good.”
“It’s me again. I’m feeling really sick. Can you pick up some cough drops on your way home?”
“Harvey, I think I need to go to the hospital. Can you please come home?”
“Harvey, please come home. Something’s really wrong.”
Checking his messages in the elevator, Harvey got into his car and sped home. There he found Scarlett on the bathroom floor and hated himself. The blood at the corner of her mouth trickled to the tile, speckled in the gleam of scales. He held her head, stroked her face and called 911 with tears in his eyes.
The Demonologia Biblica Page 21
