Lyrical Darkness: 11 dark fiction stories inspired by the music that rocks your soul

by Terri Reid

  I walked toward her and reached for the key. She placed it gently in my hand, then caressed the side of my face. Taking my chin in her hand, she turned my head one way, then the other, carefully studying something.

  “What is your name, señor?”

  “Adam.” My voice seemed to come from somewhere else, as if I were hearing this exchange from a room down the hall.

  “Ahhh… Adam. God’s first man, sí?”

  “Yes, I suppose,” I heard myself answer.

  “Well, señor Adam,” she said, still holding my chin, but now looking into my eyes. “By morning, you will shave, sí?”

  My captive mind knew that shaving would be a bad thing for me, the drummer of a popular rock band. The guys would never let me live it down. It also struck me that asking me to shave was an odd and unusual thing to request of a guest.

  “Sí,” I replied when I found my voice. “I will shave.” I got the response I wanted, because she smiled.

  “Ahh…,” she cooed, then stroked the side of my face again with a touch as soft as a lover’s whisper. “I shall enjoy seeing your face, without the beard.”

  “Sí,” I again replied, unable to do otherwise.

  “And tomorrow, in the evening, we will dine together, you and I?”

  “Yes, tomorrow evening,” I said, realizing that I answered without thinking first.

  She kissed her fingertips then placed them on the side of my face. “Tomorrow, my lips will touch your clean-shaven face.”

  “Yes.” So mesmerized by her touch, I wanted it to be tomorrow evening right then.

  “Very well, señor Adam,” she said with that sly smile of hers. “I will be waiting for you.”

  She then stepped into the hall and turned toward the stairs, but not before blessing me with one final glance over her bare shoulder. Then she was gone, the light of her candle fading as she descended the creaky wooden steps.

  I stepped into the hallway and looked in her direction, wondering what I had just experienced. My Bad Sense told me that this could be Heaven, while my Good Sense reminded me that this could be Hell. Then, from down the corridor, I heard Hernando’s distant voice greeting another guest.

  “Welcome to the Hotel California.”

  I heard the guest comment that it was such a lovely place, and then asked if they had any available rooms.

  “Plenty of room at the Hotel California,” Hernando replied.

  I closed my door and looked around the room. This part of the hotel had been built around the turn of the century, based on the doorknobs, light fixtures and other hardware. I did, after all, grow up in a hardware store, and my daddy taught me well.

  The bed looked like it came from that same period. Ornate brass headboard and footboard, polished to a brilliant sheen. Heavy velvet curtains (I could not tell the color in the dim light) hung at the sides of the single window, with elegant lace sheers beneath them. Paintings hung on two adjacent walls. Both were landscapes—one depicting a sunny meadow filled with wildflowers—the other showed dark clouds over a distant mountain range.

  I sat down on the bed and fell onto my back, still wondering what had just happened to me. I wondered about Maria, and tried to determine exactly what about her had me acting like a boy in puberty.

  Having been in a big-time rock band allowed me to meet my share of ladies, and I had certainly spent more than my share of nights in a hotel. Truth be known, I have spent a lot of time with a lot of women in a lot of hotels. But Maria and the Hotel California had given me a whole new take on both subjects.

  Lying on my bed, deep in perplexing thought, I also felt restless and decided I’d rather take a walk as I thought about…it…her…

  I grabbed a pack of smokes from my bag and headed for the lobby. Hernando nodded at me with a strange grin as I made my way out the doors. The night air had cooled considerably since I parked the Corvette earlier. I lit my smoke and took a deep drag, filling my lungs with poison while trying to clear my mind of Maria.

  After pacing around the carport for a moment, I heard laughter from the side of the building. I made my way in the direction of the amusement and discovered a small courtyard. Miniature lights set in the ground between the ornamental plants and trees cast a soft, indirect illumination on a dozen people who mingled on a flagstone patio.

  I watched from a distance as I smoked, noticing all of the people dressed nicely. Not formally dressed, but many of the men wore open-collared shirts under light jackets. The few women in attendance wore long gowns or dresses. I could also see many sparkling jewels and precious metals among both the men and women as they tipped their glasses and told their stories.

  At one side of the patio, a bartender stood behind a table draped in white linen, mixing drinks and discreetly accepting tips. Bottles of various sizes and shapes covered the table.

  One corner of the patio held a gazebo, painted white and covered in climbing vines that clung to the latticework. Then I saw her, seated in the gazebo, sipping from a goblet.

  Our eyes met for an instant. She turned to the man she was talking to and must have excused herself, because she got up and began to walk toward me. I crushed out my cigarette as she sauntered my way, stopping briefly to speak to a man who also glanced in my direction. He appeared to be the oldest person there. His gray hair in a severe crew-cut matched his stocky, muscular build. He stood stiffly while Maria whispered something into his ear, then nodded and turned away.

  “Señor Adam,” she said as she approached. “Are you unable to sleep?”

  I shook my head. “I’m tired, but not sleepy. I’m still unwinding from the drive.”

  She nodded and took a sip from her goblet. The wine in the glass was the darkest I had ever seen. It clung to her lips and reflected the soft light. Then she gave me a wry grin and narrowed those turquoise eyes.

  “Perhaps a drink will help you to unwind, sí? You will come and join us for a while before you must sleep?”

  “No, that’s okay. I’m really not dressed for a party,” I stammered, looking down at my faded jeans and black tee shirt.

  “Oh, but I must insist.” She took me by the hand and led me toward the gathering. I tried to resist, but the attempt was futile. I felt like a puppy in the talons of an imposing dragon.

  We stopped when we reached the gray-haired man. “Captain Benson,” she said. “Please meet señor Adam, God’s first man.” Then she giggled and took a long drink of her wine.

  Captain Benson turned to me, and nodded almost imperceptibly. Maria had called him ‘Captain,’ and he did have the air of a military man, standing at salute with arms flat to his sides.

  “Our friend would like a drink, Captain,” Maria said. “Would you, please?”

  The captain gazed at me with gray eyes. “What’s your pleasure, son?” he asked without any expression.

  I thought for just a second, and as I was about to speak, Maria interrupted me.

  “Tequila.” She looked at me as if expecting me to agree, which I did.

  I raised both palms upward at the waist. “Tequila it is.”

  Maria smiled. She again took me by the hand and led me to a wrought-iron bench at the edge of the courtyard. Waving a hand at the bench, she asked me to take a seat.

  “The night is still young,” she said. She took the final sip from her glass before walking away, and I noticed that a residue still clung thickly to the sides. At that point, I knew she was not drinking wine.

  The captain returned in a moment with a short glass of tequila and handed it to me without a word. He left again, and took a position at the edge of the patio, seemingly awaiting his next order.

  Alone on the bench, I felt very much out of place as I sipped the tequila and watched the people. The crowd consisted mostly of men. Except for the captain, they all seemed about my age, in their early to mid-twenties. I also noticed them all cleanly shaven, with moderate to shoulder-length hair.

  Maria returned to the gazebo where she joined two other men and a wom
an at a small table in the center. She took a decanter and refilled her goblet, then took another deep drink.

  I watched and listened for few more minutes until the effects of the tequila began to kick in, and my eyes grew heavy. I lit another smoke and drained my glass, ready to walk again and to try to figure out what I was doing and why I was still here.

  As I lay on my bed that night, my body finally relaxed, but my mind churned with errant thoughts. Who was this Maria, and what interest did she have in me? What was this bit about me shaving my beard, and joining her for dinner? I had only intended to stay the night, which brought up the most troubling question of all. Why did I say yes to her request for dinner the next night?

  Some part of me wanted more than anything to have dinner with Maria. I felt that if I didn’t, I would regret it for the rest of my life. That feeling, strong in my mind, made me determined to have that dinner, and see what I could find out about the alluring Maria.

  Yet, another part of my mind screamed that something was wrong. I felt like I could not say no to Maria, even if I had wanted to. It was as if she were a bad drug and I was a junkie, powerless to walk away. The whole situation somehow seemed right, and yet wrong at the same time.

  I know I drifted off to sleep a few times that night because I dreamed of Maria. The fleeting, senseless dreams told no story and contained no dialog, just images of Maria and feelings of eagerness mixed with dread. I awoke on more than one occasion in a sweat, with my heart beating rapidly, although I could not remember anything except the images of Maria. At other times, (I’m not sure if I dreamed this or if I was just in a stupor) I awoke to the sound of Hernando greeting guests downstairs. Welcome to the Hotel California.

  When I next awoke, the sun was shining in the window, casting crazy, slanted shadows toward the floor. I felt like hell physically, but mentally I was excited to see the new day. With no clock on the wall, nor an alarm clock on the nightstand, I dug my watch out of my bag and discovered it was ten in the morning. Being a big rock star meant that I often slept during the day and stayed awake all night, especially after a concert. After playing fast and hard for a couple of hours in front of thousands of screaming fans, it was hard to just turn it off when the concert ended. Being up at 10 a.m. still felt mighty early in my book.

  I pulled on my Levis and went to the main desk in the lobby. A different man stood there, a bit younger than Hernando. He had slick black hair and a thin mustache that looked like it had been drawn on his upper lip. He was busy with some papers, so I waited silently. A name tag pinned to the front of his vest said Hector. A moment later, Hector glanced up and noticed me waiting.

  “Señor?” he asked. “May I be of service?”

  “Yes,” I said, with the flair of an important guest. “I’m going to be staying for another night and I need some supplies. How far is it to the nearest town with some decent stores?”

  “Well, señor, we do have supplies in the gift shop. What exactly are you looking for?”

  “Clothes. I left with only what I have on and I have an important dinner tonight.”

  Hector gave me directions to a town thirty minutes away, and the name of the store that I should look for. I walked out to the Corvette and drove past twenty miles of scrub and cacti, until I saw buildings emerge from the waves of heat rising from the blacktop.

  A little over two hours later, I parked in front of the Hotel California again. I had bought shaving supplies and new clothes, including a real kick-ass suit that I hoped would make an impression on Maria later that evening. I put the T-tops back on the ’Vette just to keep the blistering sun from cooking the black leather seats.

  Back in my room, I set to getting rid of a four-inch beard. As I watched the remnants of my beard fall into the old sink, the guy in the mirror started to look more familiar. I saw that kid again, the one who only three years ago still worked in his dad’s hardware store and played local gigs after closing time. That same innocent kid who had never seen people snort cocaine through a hundred-dollar bill or stick a needle in their arm in an attempt to feel better about themselves. He’d never seen the women who performed dirty deeds for a handful of pills and the chance to say they had slept with a rock star. That same baby-faced boy had fallen in love with Brenda Jane back in high school. The same kid that Brenda Jane had fallen out of love with soon after The Fast Lane became a big hit.

  As my former face emerged from behind the beard, I realized that I loved that kid and had really missed him. It dawned on me that I had grown a beard to hide that face—perhaps from myself, but certainly from others. I know that must sound pretty messed up, but sometimes the truth hurts. I hid that kid away by covering him up in hopes that he wouldn’t see all of the crap going on around me these days. I hoped he wouldn’t see me do some things that I was not particularly proud of, and I hoped he still loved me, even just a little. But now that he was here, I wanted to get a message to him; being rich and famous can be hazardous to your soul.

  Just as those thoughts came pouring forth, I heard the mission bells tolling again. It reminded me of being lonely, and I realized how much I missed Brenda Jane.

  As I said earlier, there was no TV in my room. Not even a clock radio. There wasn’t anything that made any noise. I was used to noise, and the silence started to drive me crazy. So while I put the razor to my face, I did what I used to do before The Fast Lane—I hummed my favorite tunes and made up a few of my own.

  Just seeing that kid again made me a little happier, probably because it took me back a few years. Back to a happier time when I drove my daddy’s old truck to school, and picked up Brenda Jane on the way. I had very little money then, so Brenda and I would go Dutch when we went to the Burger Barn on Friday nights after the game.

  I remember smiling at that kid in the mirror, remembering that I was happier being broke and driving that old truck around. Out in the parking lot sat a brand-new Corvette, and I didn’t even know how much it cost. I just told my business manager I wanted one, and he brought it to me a few hours later. I had gotten used to that but, like I said before, that kind of treatment could be hazardous to my soul.

  Then I reflected on how confident that kid was, and how he had plans for his future, plans that excited him as he looked forward to the challenges he knew would come. Never had he dreamed of anything like The Fast Lane happening to him back in those days when a little dab of Brylcreem helped keep his blond hair in place while he played second base with gifted hands. He’d been confident when he collected soda bottles along the side of the road so he could buy that Schwinn Sting Ray with his own hard-earned money. And by God, that kid did just that, one glass penny at a time.

  I enjoyed my quiet time after that and wanted to be sure to thank Maria for putting me in that room with no TV or radio. It was good to have to do my own thinking for a change and not let somebody else’s thoughts invade my head and make my decisions. I actually picked up a paperback copy of Stephen King’s Carrie from the gift shop and read a few chapters that afternoon in the quiet room. It turned out to be one of the best days I’d had in a long time. Just me, myself, and the kid.

  At five o’clock that afternoon, I wandered down to the lobby and discovered Hernando back at the desk. He watched as I approached.

  “Good evening, señor,” he said. “Welcome to the Hotel California.”

  I reminded him that I was staying at the hotel, and a look of recognition came over his face. I had been a bearded hoodlum in jeans and tee-shirt when I checked in, and now I was clean shaven and wearing slacks and a polo shirt. I told him that Maria had invited me to dinner that evening, and I wondered if he knew where I could find her.

  “Ahhh… Miss Maria will contact you, I am sure,” he said.

  “Okay, please tell her that I was looking for her.”

  “Sí, señor. I will give her the message.”

  I decided to explore the hotel, and found myself wandering down a wide corridor. Just a few steps from the lobby I found a bar called the �
��Golden Sunset.’ The front opened to the corridor, and several people sat at the bar and others at tables scattered about the room. I decided that a drink was in order, hoping it would help me feel more relaxed before my dinner with Maria.

  I took a stool between two other men at the bar and ordered a tequila mockingbird. A woman worked the bar, and in her efficient manner, she had my drink in front of me in just a minute. The man to my left looked to be thirty or so, was dressed in a jacket and wore an expensive watch. He nursed his drink, and then looked down, deep in thought. The man to my right, about my age, seemed more energetic, and drank with vigor. He turned my way and gave a brief nod, then lifted his glass toward me. After a few seconds, I realized he meant to toast, so I raised my glass, and he touched his to mine.

  “To the Hotel California,” he said, then gulped down the remainder of his drink.

  The man to my left heard the exchange, and mockingly raised his glass, toasting no one.

  The vigorous drinker then got up, brushed the wrinkles from his slacks, and slapped a bill on the bar top. He walked away, clapping a man on the back who sat a few stools down as he left.

  The man on my left looked up, watched him leave, and said, “He must be new around here.” He then looked at me, took a sip of his drink, and said, “You must be new here, too. I haven’t seen you before.”

  I didn’t know exactly how to take that comment, except to think the man was drunker than he looked. New around here? I thought. It’s a hotel. I took a sip while I thought it over, then answered the man.

  “I just stopped in on a whim. I was too tired to make it back to LA last night.”

  He looked at me with a strange grin on his face, which I again attributed to him being drunk. He glanced at his Rolex. “Stopped for the night, huh? And yet, you’re still here.”