Read Online The Bones of Old Carlisle by Kevin E Meredith - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kevin E Meredith
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set a brisk pace for the Eden Hotel.
As the sun progressed at this time of day, the line between light
and dark on the hotel’s brick exterior rose so fast you could almost
watch it happen. Six stories tall, with 20 rooms on every floor, it
was Heligaux’s biggest and grandest hotel. New inns and motels on the
interstate had taken business away in recent years, however, and
sometimes in winter it would go days at a time with no guests. The
Eden Hotel had seen better days, but it was still a place of
happiness, and that’s why Journeyman told her to head over. So, had
she? And if she had, where would she go within it? The lobby, the bar,
the restaurant? Or would she invite herself into someone’s room? The
possibilities were endless, for chaos, even death. As he neared it,
Arrowroot studied the building, wondering if bullets or bodies or both
were about to start flying.
A flash of white caught his eye, from the hotel’s second-story
veranda: A dark-skinned girl, leaning over the railing, watching the
rush of the Mittelkopp. In a wedding gown, alone.
This must be her. This must be Tamani. But his concern for her
informational value evaporated as he mourned for her. No girl should
be alone on her wedding day, but this was all she’d known since
morning, apparently. Now with day giving way to night, she was still
by herself, no groom, no bridesmaids, no minister, not Prophet Banjo.
Not even a stranger or two, as the veranda stayed empty this time of
year.
Then two more figures appeared behind her. Arrowroot knew one of
them well. Things had just taken a very troubling turn.
Chapter 8: Wedding Girl Disagrees
It wasn’t until he ran for Junior Class President that Karl
Arrowroot met his first monster. Quiet and studious, he’d avoided
notice, just another Traxie kid who still believed school could get
him to High Heligaux.
He knew he could beat Ernest Washburn, who was ambitious and
well-connected but a poor public speaker. Arrowroot already had the
Traxie vote, and he was determined to win the vote of anyone who cared
about the quality of his campaign speech. He’d been practicing it for
weeks, quietly before his bathroom mirror, more loudly in an abandoned
factory backlot.
He signed his name early on a Tuesday morning in April, right
under Washburn’s, and in fact the first person who acknowledged his
candidacy was Washburn himself, who shook his hand and wished him
luck. But Washburn’s peers were scandalized, and a set of instructions
were quickly passed through a convoluted adolescent social hierarchy
involving Washburn’s girlfriend, her brother, several more girlfriends
and a football player, at the culmination of which a 16-year-old Karl
Arrowroot found himself face to face with the rank darkness of the
human personality.
“Get on back to Traxie, Arrowfag,” ordered Lief Pullmon, his face
inches away from Arrowroot’s. “Lot a trash in Traxie. Maybe someone’ll
elect you to clean that up.”
Arrowroot knew something like this was bound to happen, but he
didn’t expect it to be so organized or happen on the same day he’d
nominated himself. They’d caught him in front of the old Green Grocer,
long abandoned and now just another eyesore along a street full of
them two blocks from his home. There were a dozen kids there, all
gathered to witness something as awful as what he’d hoped to see at
the state fair the time that Ferris wheel broke. He wasn’t going to
die today, he knew, but he stood to lose something almost as precious
as his life, and they wanted to watch it happen.
Arrowroot stood back, put out his hand and smiled. “Lief, good to
see you today. Traxie’s not all that bad now, is it?”
Pullmon took Arrowrot’s hand and smiled. “You gonna cross your
name out tomorrow, right?”
“Well,” Arrowroot replied, “if I did that, I couldn’t get
elected.”
The other youth watching the confrontation burst out laughing.
Pullmon slapped
As the sun progressed at this time of day, the line between light
and dark on the hotel’s brick exterior rose so fast you could almost
watch it happen. Six stories tall, with 20 rooms on every floor, it
was Heligaux’s biggest and grandest hotel. New inns and motels on the
interstate had taken business away in recent years, however, and
sometimes in winter it would go days at a time with no guests. The
Eden Hotel had seen better days, but it was still a place of
happiness, and that’s why Journeyman told her to head over. So, had
she? And if she had, where would she go within it? The lobby, the bar,
the restaurant? Or would she invite herself into someone’s room? The
possibilities were endless, for chaos, even death. As he neared it,
Arrowroot studied the building, wondering if bullets or bodies or both
were about to start flying.
A flash of white caught his eye, from the hotel’s second-story
veranda: A dark-skinned girl, leaning over the railing, watching the
rush of the Mittelkopp. In a wedding gown, alone.
This must be her. This must be Tamani. But his concern for her
informational value evaporated as he mourned for her. No girl should
be alone on her wedding day, but this was all she’d known since
morning, apparently. Now with day giving way to night, she was still
by herself, no groom, no bridesmaids, no minister, not Prophet Banjo.
Not even a stranger or two, as the veranda stayed empty this time of
year.
Then two more figures appeared behind her. Arrowroot knew one of
them well. Things had just taken a very troubling turn.
Chapter 8: Wedding Girl Disagrees
It wasn’t until he ran for Junior Class President that Karl
Arrowroot met his first monster. Quiet and studious, he’d avoided
notice, just another Traxie kid who still believed school could get
him to High Heligaux.
He knew he could beat Ernest Washburn, who was ambitious and
well-connected but a poor public speaker. Arrowroot already had the
Traxie vote, and he was determined to win the vote of anyone who cared
about the quality of his campaign speech. He’d been practicing it for
weeks, quietly before his bathroom mirror, more loudly in an abandoned
factory backlot.
He signed his name early on a Tuesday morning in April, right
under Washburn’s, and in fact the first person who acknowledged his
candidacy was Washburn himself, who shook his hand and wished him
luck. But Washburn’s peers were scandalized, and a set of instructions
were quickly passed through a convoluted adolescent social hierarchy
involving Washburn’s girlfriend, her brother, several more girlfriends
and a football player, at the culmination of which a 16-year-old Karl
Arrowroot found himself face to face with the rank darkness of the
human personality.
“Get on back to Traxie, Arrowfag,” ordered Lief Pullmon, his face
inches away from Arrowroot’s. “Lot a trash in Traxie. Maybe someone’ll
elect you to clean that up.”
Arrowroot knew something like this was bound to happen, but he
didn’t expect it to be so organized or happen on the same day he’d
nominated himself. They’d caught him in front of the old Green Grocer,
long abandoned and now just another eyesore along a street full of
them two blocks from his home. There were a dozen kids there, all
gathered to witness something as awful as what he’d hoped to see at
the state fair the time that Ferris wheel broke. He wasn’t going to
die today, he knew, but he stood to lose something almost as precious
as his life, and they wanted to watch it happen.
Arrowroot stood back, put out his hand and smiled. “Lief, good to
see you today. Traxie’s not all that bad now, is it?”
Pullmon took Arrowrot’s hand and smiled. “You gonna cross your
name out tomorrow, right?”
“Well,” Arrowroot replied, “if I did that, I couldn’t get
elected.”
The other youth watching the confrontation burst out laughing.
Pullmon slapped
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