The Delphi Room Read Online Free PDF Page B

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    INT. VELVET’S HELL—MIRROR—VELVET’S BATHROOM—TIMELESS
    The Shadowman is now styled as Zorro, his black cape blowing out behind him as though he is standing in front of a giant fan. In one hand he clutches the belt that Velvet used to hang herself, and attached to the belt is Velvet herself, neck bent like a broken bird’s, limp and lifeless. He shakes her, hoists her high like dead quarry.
    SHADOWMAN
    Say hi little girl. Who’s your daddy?

    At the desk I sat trembling and trying to pull out my eyelashes, though I had already done a thorough job of that. I poked at my morphing eyes. Their changing colours, the doom marks on my irises, had not altered my vision at all. My Hell still looked the same.

    Dear Brinkley,
    I must say I was thrown by your description of the circumstances that landed you here. Because of my own story, I was convinced that this was a place for suicides and axe murderers, and those who have otherwise botched their karma. But you were an innocent victim; in fact, you can’t even quite remember what happened to you. So that detonates my theory and I’m—if it’s possible—even more confused. You said that there were things you might have done to deserve this. Such as?
    Like you, I was sure that this is Hell, but now that I know you’re next door, and we’re able to communicate, I’m wavering. Have we found a cosmic loophole? Is this really what it’s like to be dead? Perhaps there’s no use mowing this grass anymore, since neither of us has any idea and until something comes along to rattle our cages, we will remain among the clueless.
    So you’re a banker. I relied on my Snoopy calculator for everything. I was one of the kids that took dummy math in high school—I knew the mathematics of putting together a great outfit though, which frankly helps when your teacher’s a lech and you’re trying to pass the course. I worked as a waitress at a Thai café on Commercial Drive—I lived just off of there. You’d think I would’ve picked up a few tricks of the trade, absorbed some culinary skill through osmosis, but instead I was just the café’s best customer. I really can’t cook at all. I once cooked spaghetti for my friend Davie and he had heartburn for three days, and even my Bisquick pancakes turned green. Eating was by far my most successful relationship to food.
    As for my name, my mother called me Velvet. The first time she felt me kick she was hanging velvet drapes. And yes, I suffered for it. The kids at school called me Velveeta.
    Maybe we’re now film stars playing out some warped chucklefest on the Devil’s movie screen. We still haven’t seen the Devil, which makes everything more terrifying. I’d take a pitchfork over nebulous evil any day. The Devil must find Kafka hysterically funny.
    I wonder if there’s anyone else trapped in adjacent rooms. I keep thinking of the actor George Sanders, whose suicide note read: “Dear World, I am leaving because I am bored.”
    We could be in the presence of a celebrity.
    Sincerely, Velvet
    P.S. My eyes appear to be turning from blackish to blue. Are you experiencing any changes in your appearance?

    The pocket of dim under the bed started to suffocate, the smell of lavender beginning to take on aerosol room spray intensity. I poked my head out from under the dust ruffle. The closet door still stood wide open, the lone hanger’s single talon gripping its perch. The sight of the empty shelves and naked bars made me think of moving day. Bereft closets have always made me feel sad. I pulled my head back to the darker side of the dust ruffle, holding my breath, and felt around the grate for a letter. My fingers moved over it compulsively, up and down, even though I knew that Brinkley wouldn’t have finished his letter yet. Or so I guessed. Without Time, it was impossible to calculate. In a Black Hole,
when?
is not a relevant question.
    I cupped the sides of my face and brought an eye to the grate, feeling my lashes