Read Online The Delphi Room by Melia McClure - Free Book Online Page A

painted white, with two red streaks running down from his coal-black eyes. He is dressed all in black, but his feet are bare. His nails are painted black, and long and pointed as fangs.
    SHADOWMAN
    Oopsie-daisy! What happened, my pet? Not much of a dancer, are you?
    Glass crunches beneath his feet like eggshells, but he does not bleed. Spears of clarity and comprehension shoot through Velvet’s daze; she trembles. A whimper escapes her throat, sirens into a keening scream. A black-nailed hand smacks her face silent. Then that same hand picks up a large shard of glass, places it with great ceremony on Velvet’s crimsoned palm.

    SHADOWMAN
    Here you go, little girl. Here you go.

    INT. BRINKLEY’S HELL—MIRROR—
DAVIE’S APARTMENT—BATHROOM—DAWN
    Davie pushes open the bathroom door, rubbing his face. For a moment he freezes at the sight of bloody Velvet on the floor, her body surrounded by the jagged remains of the mirror. Then he is with her, cradling her head.
    DAVIE
    Velvet! Velvet! Fuck . . .
    Velvet opens her eyes, focuses and smiles. Her smile is shoved aside by deep lines of worry.
    VELVET
    What’s wrong? What happened?
    DAVIE
    Fuck me.
    He helps her sit up and she looks around with wide, baffled eyes.
    VELVET
    What? Did you? I . . .
    Davie examines her left wrist, which is covered in dried blood.
    DAVIE
    Look at you. Oh, Vee.
    He rummages through the cabinet, tossing nail polish remover, a makeup kit, a blonde wig, box of condoms and a screwdriver onto the floor. He unearths a towel and soaks it under the faucet. Velvet continues to slump against the side of the bathtub, eyes glossy with bewilderment. Davie crouches beside her and wipes at her wrist, hurried but gentle.
    DAVIE
    Goddamn it. I must’ve been Florence Fucking Nightingale in a former life. Hmmm . . . that could be an idea for a new drag act. You’re my inspiration, Velcro Chenille.
    VELVET
    Florence Nightingale?
    Davie’s eyes are lush with tears.
    DAVIE
    Oh, babe. Well, it’s not too deep. You missed all the big veins. Your aim is for shit.
    He begins to wipe the dried blood from her face and hands.
    DAVIE
    Scared the hell outta me.
    VELVET
    Sorry.
    DAVIE
    My fast food-fed heart can’t take it.
    INT. BRINKLEY’S HELL—MIRROR—
DAVIE’S BEDROOM—A SHORT TIME LATER
    Velvet and Davie are on his bed. He is wrapping her wrist in an entire roll of gauze. Her hands are covered in “Van Gogh’s ‘Starry Night’ Band-Aids.”

    VELVET
    Sorry about your mirror.
    DAVIE
    (winks)
    That’s okay. Now I don’t have to clean it! Not that I was going to.
    VELVET
    I don’t really remember. He was dancing . . .
    Davie places his hand over her mouth.

    DAVIE
    Miss Florence is in the building! She’d probably sing a lullaby, wouldn’t she? I don’t know any. Oh wait, yes I do.
    (sings)
    “Twinkle twinkle, little star . . .”
    “Wee Willie Winkie runs through the town, upstairs and downstairs in his nightgown . . .” That’s more like a rhyme.

    VELVET
    It’s okay. Don’t sing.
    DAVIE
    Or you’ll slice up your other wrist?
    VELVET
    (chuckles)
    Something like that.
    DAVIE
    Velvet, don’t ever do that again. Or I’ll have to kill you.
    VELVET
    Promise?
    DAVIE
    You wanna go back to the Cracker Farm?
    VELVET
    No. But you’ll come visit me, right? You always do. He’s gone now . . . the Shadowman. Skedaddled. But he’ll be back. He always comes back. I’m so tired.
    (pause)
    Did you find a warlock?
    DAVIE
    Two. Ha ha! Happy Birthday to me.
    VELVET
    Yeah. Happy Birthday. It’s official. Davie?
    DAVIE
    Yeah?
    They stare at one another for a long time, as though waiting for something to break the surface of the gaze. Velvet shrugs. Davie nods.
    VELVET
    I’m hungry.
    DAVIE
    Me too.
    He touches her face, near the gash by her eye.
    DAVIE
    Guess there’s no cold egg rolls, huh?

    Dear Velvet,
    No, I was not a drag queen. (Pity, that. Who can deny that they are the best performers in the world?) Nor did I own a doll