Page 15 of Road to Ruin
Russell smiles a watery, ineffective smile at her that makes the color drain even further from her face. “Rebecca?”
Harriett’s friend raises her hand. “Here.”
“Good, good. Nikita?” He looks up at the blonde with the heels, both of his eyebrows curving upward as he waits for her to respond.
“I’m Nikita,” I tell him.
“Oh. Oh. I apologize. I’m sorry, I just thought...”
“That Nikita sounds like a fake stripper name?” I’m half expecting the woman in the heels to get pissy and make a comment about what I’ve just said, being that I’ve just implied that she looks like a stripper, but she just blinks vacantly back at me when I look at her. Her expression transforms, her mouth hanging open. “Whoa. Where did you get your contact lenses? Your eyes are seriously freaky. You look like a wolf.”
I bare my teeth at her by way of response, which she doesn’t seem to like.
“That must make you Charlie and Diane, then?” Russell asks hurriedly, stepping between us.
“Yes, sir. We was looking forward to havin’ the bejebbus scared out of us, Russell. Do you think you’re gonna be able to deliver? We don’t want no classroom lesson about dead folk. We want excitement. We want to fear for our lives and our eternal souls, don’t we, honey?”
Diane nods solemnly.
“I’m afraid your eternal souls are in no danger, Mr. Bryson. But yes, there are some sections of the tour that some people can find quite intimidating,” Russell informs them. “If at any point anyone would like to stop the tour so they can return to the bus, please just let me know and I will escort you back immediately.”
“We’ll be just fine,” Diane says defensively. Meanwhile, Harriett and Rebecca both look immensely relieved. I feel a little bad for them. They’re not from New Orleans, clearly. They’re probably from a tiny town in the middle of nowhere, where the chance of any kind of scandal or intrigue, paranormal or otherwise, sends the locals into piques of hysteria.
“Okay, then. I can see we’re going to be a fun crowd this evening,” Russell says, as he casts a doubtful glance around our motley crew. “Let’s get this show on the road, folks. Everyone in the van.”
I’d rather not go anywhere in Russell’s rape van, but it would look weird if I balk at his request, so I climb up into the front passenger seat. I think he expects everyone to sit in the back, because he looks sideways at me awkwardly when he notices me. “Oh. Okay, then.”
I shoot him a menacing smile in response. He immediately turns the stereo on, though he does turn the volume down a little, so the car isn’t so much vibrating as gently rumbling with every thump of the bass line.
Charlie and Diane coo over each other like newlyweds in the back, while Harriett and Rebecca sit quietly, each of them with their hands folded in their laps, eyes locked straight ahead, lips pressed into identical white lines. I don’t understand why they’re here if they’re so terrified. I mean, why put yourself through such torment?
Russell focuses on the road, fiercely squinting out into the darkness as he drives, swerving erratically every time another vehicle approaches from the opposite direction.
“Why couldn’t we meet at the cemetery?” I ask.
“This cemetery isn’t open to the public. The grounds are private. Papa Rioux has a standing arrangement with the grounds keepers, but they don’t want the location advertised. You understand. This is a very spiritual place. Very haunted. Supernatural beings are very sensitive to the comings and goings of the living. If too may people started traipsing through the place, who knows…it could send the spirits away. Or worse…it could make them violent.” He waggles his eyebrows for effect. I just stare at him. The guy’s a moron if he thinks spouting that kind of shit is going to freak me out. When I don’t gasp or start fidgeting uncomfortably in my seat, he clears his throat, fidgeting himself. “We don’t get many people coming to the tours on their own. You must have been really excited to come and check this thing out, huh?”
“Not particularly.”
“Oh. Then, why…?” He trails off, hands tightening then releasing the steering wheel. He’s clearly beginning to worry about my motives. Am I a serial killer? Am I going to go postal and murder everyone on the tour as soon as we reach the darkest, most secluded part of the cemetery? Am I going to flay him alive and wear his skin suit as a bespoke jacket? Russell is one twitchy dude. His discomfort would be mildly entertaining if I weren’t so uncomfortable myself.
“Some friends told me this was fun,” I say vaguely. “They love a good spectacle. A little…blood sport.”
His eyes go wide. “I’m sorry? Did you just say blood sport?”
I don’t reply. I just let that sit there between us for a moment. I plan on dropping a few more non-too-subtle hints on the car ride to our destination. If I’m wrong and the Papa Rioux tours have nothing to do with the Champion Ultime fights, then he’ll probably think I’m crazy and maybe he’ll call the police. If I’m right and the tour is linked to the fights, then he might eventually click and point me in the right direction.
“I’m afraid there’s no sport involved in our ghost tours,” Russell says. “And definitely no blood. Not real blood, anyway.”
Oh, great. Someone’s going to jump out from behind a headstone and spray us with fake blood? No, thank you. I will literally throat punch the underpaid actor who attempts to douse me in corn syrup and food dye. “There aren’t any special side events that people can visit?” I ask. “No other attractions people can visit if they pay extra?”
“I’m not sure I follow,” Russell says slowly. Sounds like he suspects I’m asking about an illicit sex club by the tone of his voice.
“Never mind.” I look out of the window.
We arrive at the first cemetery and Russell takes us around, giving us information about the historical figures that are buried here. The tour is bland to say the least; Diane and Charles look like they’re bored to their back teeth, while Harriett and Rebecca are starting to look a little calmer. I continue to make vague comments about fighting, asking if there are any famous boxers buried in the grounds, but Russell doesn’t seem to get it.
My frustration levels are pretty damn high by the time we get to the second cemetery. Halfway around the tour’s loop, Russell finally loses his temper with me and tells me that I can wait in the van and receive a full refund from Papa Rioux’s Tour Group if I’m not satisfied with the content of the tour. I decline his offer politely, flashing him my teeth.
