Song of the Damned
Night swim.
Note: This story is part of an anthology about the 9 Story Hotel. Murder, mayhem, monsters, and mistakes. A place where assassins, thieves, lunatics, and lost souls wander the halls. Some never leave.
Visit the 9. Where everyone gets what they need.
Moonless sky above. Malik steps onto the pool deck bearing toolbox and coiled hose slung across shoulder like the dead carcass of a boa. Not a soul around save the woman floating facedown at the far end of the pool. He puts down the box and lets the hose fall to the ground. Allows himself one slow, conscious breath of the night. The air is icebox cold and his vapor breath catches on the eastern wind. Somewhere faraway the city is a beast sleeping with eyes open, blue and yellow.
Toolbox opened and an orgy of post-it notes stuck to the underside of the lid. The notes contain the scrawled writings of Arthur Finch. One among them, hot pink and furled, alone bears words yet to be crossed out. Pool fucked, please fix. Pink is Arthur's attempt at humor. Please is his prayer on the wind.
Step one is always prep. Plan accordingly but take only what is needed. Malick reaches into the box and removes a hammer and a thick pair of gun range style ear muffs. Slides the first into a loop on his coveralls and drapes the second around his neck. Ready to begin.
Start with the pump. Not because it's the origin of the problem or easiest to fix but simply because it's the one end of a chain furthest from the water and all that uncertainty.
Back facing the hotel and the pool always in his peripheral he pries off the cover to the mechanism. Fingers take to task across lubricated bearings checking rotor, shaft, and fan. Eyes go down, ears go up. The hairs on the back of his neck are dancing. From the pool no sound of rippled water. Nothing for the cold air to carry to his ears.
She is still in the pool Malick. Malick, focus on the task. Focus on the pump. The pump is fine. The problem is somewhere further down the chain. Closer to the pool. Closer to her. Close the cover and now eyes back up.
Check the lines Malick. Move down the chain.
Takes the hose, a dead snake uncoiled. Start with the head. Dead snake, live snake, the head is the dangerous part. He has to step closer. Where the flow intake to the skimmer line connects to the pump. Close enough that he might not be able to make it back to the hotel if it comes down to a foot race. He takes that night air into his lungs once more, deeply then exhales a mantra. Something about time and entropy.
Three or four steps now and he can see she is still facedown. Hasn’t moved. Hasn’t breathed. Bending down but keeps his eyes up.
You need your eyes Malick. And your ears. Let your fingers do the work.
And they listen, his fingers. They glide across concrete and plastic then find the groove and the cover is off. He jams the head of the dead snake in like a violent offering and feeds it into the maw of the intake. He threads it slow, resists the urge to watch it disappear. The head of one snake fed into the mouth of another. The god of palindromes would approve.
Eyes still up and he inches backwards. Drags the dead tail end towards the faucet until the back of his boots touch the wall. He is close enough to the hotel now. He can afford to look away from the pool and he does. Three quick twists and the snake's tail is secure. Lets his fingers find the spigot.
One violent turn and he looks up to behold the dead snake come to life. It writhes across the ground in anger. Wonders why it awoke with its head down the throat of its brother. He hears something eject from the skimmer into the pool. Now he sees Evangeline's eyes. Two vicious embers just above the waterline staring back at him.
He knows the door to the hotel is off to his right. Maybe a few feet away. Go for the door. That's the smart play. But his task is not complete. Something flew into the pool. It might be fixed. It might not. The job isn’t finished until he is certain. He throws out a curse that disappears on the wind and now Evangeline is on her back making angels in the deep end.
Get your shit together Malick. Don’t make any sudden moves. Nothing that might piss her off. But don't wait too long. Don’t let her snare you with her voice. Slowly, maybe the slowest thing he has ever done, Malick places the muffs over his ears.
Ears are dead to the world. It's just his eyes now. Head on a swivel he rips the pole with the net on one end from the wall and takes up his hammer then its heel toe heel toe toward the water.
Creeping forward, pole in one hand hammer in the other, he looks like a man who has taken up the mantle of one of the gods but can't decide if it's Neptune or Thor. The pole net is useless in a fight. It hinders him but he needs it. The hammer. The hammer is for one throw. One roll of the dice. One shot to knock that bitch in the teeth if she comes at him. It won't stop her but it might give him the window he will need to make the sprint. If she gets up close it won't matter. At the edge of the pool now.
The pool. The pool is a glass darkly. Light streaks across to reveal nothing. Like the collapsed heart of a dead star its true characteristics remain uncertain and indeterminate. At its farthest edge Evangeline still floats like a porcelain doll.
Malick wastes no time and thrusts his net into the abyssal waters. He sweeps the pole in a wide arc near the front of the skimmer and thinks he feels something but it fails to catch. Another thrust but it only manages to push the object further out. Another silent curse. About to make a third attempt but then Evangeline lifts herself up out of the water.
She sits on the lip of the pool staring across the water at Malick. She wears black mesh bra and panties. Malick averts his eyes. Evangeline lets her legs dangle in the water and starts to kick them back and forth. Splash splash splash splash. Her jet black hair bounces to the rhythm across her ghost white face.
Throw the hammer and run you dumb fuck.
But he can’t find the strength. Tries to move his arm but it betrays him. It's her face. Something there that passes deeper than the dark waters between them ever could. Evangeline’s legs stop their dance and the universe falls silent. Quick as death she dives into the pool.
Now you’re fucked old man
Malick tries to backpedal but already she is back out of the water on his side of the pool. His feet become a tangled mess beneath him and he feels himself falling back now. Feels the hammer slide out of his hand. Doesn’t register the metal clank across the concrete. Then he is on his back, belly up to the heavens.
Accept your fate. Meet death with eyes open.
Bracing for the end but Evangeline just towers over, looks down at him. Malick doesn't do anything. He can’t. Not until she extends her arm down, palm and claws open, and he realizes she isn’t going to tear him to shreds. He lets his hand float up to meet hers. Talons, cold but gentle, slide across his forearm, careful not to draw blood even as they tighten around his flesh. With a strength he does not believe exists she pulls him to his feet. Evangeline gestures toward her own ears. She wants Malick to remove the muffs but he is the frozen shadow of a statue. So she does it for him and they slide back down his neck.
I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you, she says in a voice like crushed velvet. Is this what you were looking for?
Malick hasn’t regained control of his body, can’t get his face and jaw muscles to form the words. Feels her put something round and wet into his hands.
Is it ok if I swim some more? He manages a nod. She is back in the pool and making angels again. His faculties return and Malick retrieves his hammer, drops it into his toolbox without ceremony, trudges toward the hotel, head low.
He’s at the door and his shoulder pressed to the glass when her voice rises up in song.
There are songs to exult, others to lament. Then there are the ones that shatter a man’s heart into a thousand pieces. He will never remember the words but they will haunt him for the rest of his life.
Listens a beat longer than he should then puts the muffs back over his ears. Doesn't take them off until he is well inside the hotel.
Somewhere, in a dark corner of The Nine, he looks down at the skull Evangeline put into his hand. He lets it fall from his grip and it crumbles into dust at his feet as he wipes away tears no one else will ever see.