13 Drops of Blood (2 page)

“That’s not true. I like art shows quite a bit. I just don’t like those stupid movies you’re always watching. Most of them are terrible.”

“It’s hard to argue, but I still love them.”

“Yeah, I know. But… they’re so fake, Scott. They’re poorly written and the direction is awful.” Penny stopped herself from saying more, which she could easily do. She liked
good
movies. Scott liked shit. His fascination with that type of trash made her doubt his intelligence. Were all men enthralled in such foolish rubbish?

She looked to her shoes––her sixteen-hundred-dollar peach
gala
shoes––the ones she wore to her sister’s wedding thirteen months earlier and hadn’t put on since. Without meaning to, she let out a sigh, holding her Prada handbag in her arms like a baby.

Scott knew what she was thinking: she was bored and wanted to go home. “You know, Penny,” he said. “You’re really beautiful tonight. You look extra gorgeous, like a princess.”

Penny’s eyes lit up like little suns. “Really?”

“Oh yes. You look as lovely today as the day I married you.”

The suns eclipsed. “That was only two years ago, jerk.”

Scott laughed. “I know, and you still look good!”

Penny punched Scott playfully and kissed him on the mouth. Scott ran his hand down the back of Penny’s dress and gave her rump a little squeeze. As Penny pushed him away, the front door opened. Two people stepped inside the exhibition and the door began to close.

Before it did, Penny stepped free of the line and said, “Mister doorman?”

The man at the door hesitated. “Yes?”

“Can’t you let
more
than two people in at a time? We’ve been waiting for an hour!” Penny flashed her dimples and tilted her head. A curl of hair swooped across her thin eyebrows, bouncing up and down.

The man at the door smiled. Long teeth sat deep within his mouth. He had cheekbones like elbows, and when he spoke there was a rumble in the back of his throat that sounded like someone digging gravel with a shovel. “I’m sorry Miss… two at a time, that’s the way we do. It makes for a better show.”

Penny’s eyebrows lowered. “Oh.”

“And for your information,” the man said, “I’m
not
a doorman. This is my family’s exhibition. My name is Denoté.”

Before Penny considered a response Denoté closed the door with a BANG. The people in line, who had quieted down and listened to the exchange, began talking once again.

Scott said, “Well… now we know. Two at a time.”

After a while Penny opened a pack of cigarettes and lit a smoke. The guy waiting in front of them bummed one and shared it with his date. He was an older man with long hair and a tattoo of an eagle on his neck. The tattoo was well designed and inked with a skilled hand. Penny thought it made the man look dignified, not trashy. It was something she would never have admitted.

The tattooed stranger introduced himself as Gary Somers. In time, he said that he worked in real estate.

Scott laughed. “You don’t look like a real estate agent.”

“I know.” Gary responded proudly. “But I’m a nice guy and pleasant to work with. I get a lot of referrals and repeat business. You’d be surprised. This city is loaded with people that prefer working with an agent they relate with. Most sales guys have no soul; it’s like they’re manufactured in a real estate factory where sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll never existed.
Here’s your haircut, suitcase and nametag. Don’t forget to smile politely
. How can you have faith in someone when you don’t trust them?”

Scott nodded. Gary was a little over the top maybe, but he seemed honest and straightforward.

The door opened and two more stepped inside, laughing as they entered. As the door closed, Gary’s date––a woman who had introduced herself as Angel––said, “Have you noticed that people go in and nobody comes out?”

Penny dropped her smoke on the sidewalk and crushed it with her shoe. “No, but now that you say that… yeah.”

“Why is that?”

“I don’t know. Backdoor?”

“I guess.”

Time crawled. Penny touched up her makeup in a dark window. More people entered the exhibition in pairs and nobody left through the front door.

Finally it was Gary and Angel’s turn to go in.

“See you on the other side,” Angel said.

Scott smiled. “Have fun.”

Thirteen minutes later the door opened and Denoté led them to a ticket wicket. The lady behind the glass said, “Ticket please.” Her name was Page.

The tickets were big and gaudy and said THE HORROR SHOW – ONE NIGHT ONLY in giant bold letters. Below the letters, a mediocre drawing of an evil looking skull looked semi-daunting. In the bottom corner of each ticket was the price: $200.00, tax included.

Scott handed both tickets over.

Page said, “Names?”

“Scott and Penny Beach.”

Page typed the names into a computer.

Scott and Penny were led to a door. Above it was a security camera.

Before Denoté opened the door, he said, “Mind your step. The art isn’t merely on the walls. It’s on the floor and ceiling too. It’s in the air, the atmosphere. It’s everywhere; it’s alive. There’s only one exit, located at the far end of the building. This show is a one-way street. You can’t leave through the front door unless you do it now. You won’t have a chance to revisit the exhibitions once you pass them, so enjoy the art while you can. I hope you’re not faint of heart. This exhibition is hardcore, designed to scare you to death.”

“Sounds good,” Scott said. He noticed a smudge of blood on Denoté’s shirt; it looked like a handprint. Scott figured it was part of the show. “Looking forward to it.”

“Thank you,” Penny replied. Her voice was hardly a whisper.

Scare you to death
. She didn’t like the sound of
that.

As Denoté opened a second door, Penny wondered why she had allowed Scott to bring her to such a place. This wasn’t a gala, this wasn’t the theater, this was… well… she didn’t know what this was, but it wasn’t for her. She knew that much.

Scott and Penny stepped inside the next room. It was small: twelve feet by twelve feet. There was a single light hanging from a black ceiling. The walls were black; the floor had black tiles. On the far side of the room was a white door. There was no art inside the room, no furniture either. It was just an empty room that seemed very dark. The corners were only shadow.

One corner was hiding something: a small camera.

The door behind them closed; they heard the CLICK of the lock.

Penny turned around, startled. She grabbed the doorknob and twisted it. The door wouldn’t open. She knocked on the door with her knuckles hard enough to make them red; then she slapped the door with her palm.

Scott placed a hand on her shoulder. “Babe, what are you doing?”

“I don’t like this,” she said flatly. “I don’t like being locked in.”

“Why not?”

“It––” Penny stopped talking and looked Scott in the eye. She was going to say
it frightened her
. But wasn’t that the point, to be frightened?

“Are you scared?”

Penny laughed in spite of herself. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

“Should I remind you that––”

“I know,” Penny interrupted. “That’s the whole idea, to be scared. But I expected paintings and sculptures, not to be taken prisoner.”

“Prisoner! We’re not prisoners!”

“They didn’t answer the door.”

“
He
didn’t,” Scott corrected. “It’s just one guy.”

“What about the ticket lady?”

“What about her?”

Penny wrapped her arms around Scott’s body and kissed his cheek. “Just don’t try any funny stuff, mister,” she said. “I mean it. This
stupid
event is going to freak me out enough without you shouting ‘BOO’ in my ear.”

“I won’t.”

“Promise?”

“Penny, I love you. And at two hundred bucks a pop, I shouldn’t
have
to shout ‘BOO’ in your ear.”

“That’s true.”

“Actually, you know what I heard? I heard that tickets for this thing were going for ten thousand.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, and we paid two hundred.”

“Not just us,” Penny said. “I heard other people in line saying the same thing. Two hundred bucks.”

“Huh.”

After considering Scott’s words Penny said, “Ten grand is bullshit, babe. Either someone lied or they were talking about a different show.

Scott nodded. “I guess. Ready to move on?”

Penny looked at the room. “Is this it?”

“Looks that way.”

“Well… this is dumb.”

Scott made a face that suggested she was right. “There goes two hundred dollars.”

“Each,” Penny said with a smile, but she didn’t care.

Her folks were rich.

* * *

Lawrence Whitely and his wife Elizabeth sat in the back of the car, listening to Mozart. When the car stopped the driver turned off the music, stepped out, opened the back door, and held out his gloved hand gracefully. The driver’s name was Nathaniel Lewis; he was dressed in a pristine black suit and had been driving for Mr. and Mrs. Whitley for eleven years.

Elizabeth took Nat’s hand and was assisted onto the carpeted sidewalk. “Thank you,” she said, shuffling from the car.

“I’m fine, Nathaniel,” Lawrence interjected. “No need to help. This old coupé is still running smooth, thank you very much.”

“No problem sir,” Nathaniel said, tipping his hat with his fingers. He wasn’t surprised; Lawrence never wanted help, even when he needed it.

Lawrence grinned. “I’ll call you around ten-thirty, maybe eleven. You can pick us up then.”

“Very good sir.”

Lawrence and Elizabeth walked up the carpet. A young man in a burgundy suit opened a door. A man in a black tuxedo asked if he could be of assistance. His nametag said Donnie Polanski.

“We’re here for the Horror Show,” Lawrence said.

“Ah… very good, sir. The party is being held in the President’s Conference Suite. Right this way.”

Don Polanski led Mr. and Mrs. Whitely through luxurious hallways. When they arrived at their destination Lawrence handed the man a fifty-dollar tip.

“Thank you sir,” Don said, and he tucked the fifty into his breast pocket just as neat as he pleased. “Have a good evening.”

Inside the room, a man in a grey suit approached. “Good evening sir. Good evening my lady. Here for the show?”

“Why, yes.”

“Excellent. May I see your tickets please?”

Lawrence reached into his coat pocket and pulled out two tickets. They were small and elegant, with stylish gold letters written in script. There was no photograph on the tickets, but in the bottom left hand corner it said: $10,000.00 – one night only, limited to twenty tickets.

“Very good,” the man said with a brown-toothed grin. “A car is waiting.”

* * *

Scott and Penny Beach stepped inside the next room, the door closed behind them. They heard the CLICK of the lock, and with that the music began––though ‘music’ may have been the wrong word. It was a note, a low and hauntingly steady note; the type often heard in horror movies when things turned tense.

Scott smiled; he liked it.

Penny didn’t.

The room was twice the size of the first. Like the other room, it was painted black with a single light hanging from the ceiling.

On the left side of the room, three photographs had been pinned to the wall. Each photograph, taken with a Polaroid, was placed five feet away from the next. Above each photograph a small reading light illuminated the image.

They approached the first picture.

It was the image of a dog, a large brown rottweiler. Looked strong.

Penny took Scott’s hand, squeezed it, and together they approached the second photograph. This was the image of a table saw, the kind commonly used in a wood shop.

“I don’t get it,” Penny said.

“Me neither.”

They approached the third photograph, slowly, almost cautiously. There was a feeling growing between them that the couple didn’t want to address. They were becoming nervous, and not in a good way. They expected art, not this. Not cheap photographs and canned music. This was dark and disturbing, true, but there was nothing artistic about it––at least, not from what they had seen so far.

As they reached the third Polaroid, Penny turned away.

It was the image of a body, a corpse, mutilated beyond comprehension. The stomach was gutted, the chest was mangled; entrails washed the floor around it. A hand had been chewed off; the throat was opened to the bone. Glossy eyes were forever frozen in a gaze of terror.

It took Scott a few seconds to recognize the corpse as a woman, and a few more to see the rottweiler in the background.

“That’s fucked up,” Scott said.

Penny glanced at the image a second time, saying, “Do you think it’s real?”

In the far corner of the room, near the door they had entered, a wall began sliding up. It made a sound like an escalator. They heard a deep, sharp bark, followed by two more. There was nothing
canned
about it.

There was a dog in the room with them, a rottweiler. It ran towards the couple quickly. Its snout was arched into a brutal snarl, with teeth long and white. Its ears were pulled so far back they looked aerodynamic.

Penny stepped away, lost her balance and fell. Her dress yanked against her shoulders; her purse slipped from her fingers and slid across the floor.