That whole thing about Sinclair finding a new manager by the end of the week? Yeah, that was a load of bullshit. I was left as the acting manager of St. Mihel while desperately trying to get a hold of Sinclair in any way I could. But he never answered the phone or responded to any messages that I left at Sombra Rehab Center. Leaving me, the glorified golf caddy and servant as the manager of St. Mihel, without a fucking clue about how to run this place.
What made this so much worse was that our annual horse race was coming up. We held it every year and it attracted every single wealthy family in the entire New England area. We’re talking money so old that they were here when the Mayflower landed on Plymouth Rock or whatever. And here I was, being left to organize it all.
My cigarette intake tripled as I was overloaded with papers to sign and numbers to dial and rich snobbish bluebloods to invite and talk to. And all the while I had a pounding headache anytime I contemplated just getting up and leaving. For whatever reason, whenever I thought of just quitting, the idea left my head just as quickly as it entered. So I continued to organize this all to the best of my very limited abilities. The only sense of joy I got from all this was being able to boss everyone around for once.
On the day of the race, our parking lots were packed to the brim with expensive cars. The lobby was filled with not only cigar smoke and wine glasses, but hearty laughing and complaints. It truly was a rich person’s paradise. I looked like I hadn’t slept in weeks. Which, to be fair, I really hadn’t. As I stood in front of the enormous portrait of Sinclair’s father, those judgmental eyes stared down at me and I could tell where Sinclair had received his own pair from. Though, aside from that, I couldn’t really see much that the two shared in common.
“He originally called this place Tundra. It was fitting with his personality really.” Sinclair’s voice startled me enough to send me a few inches backward. I spun on my heels to stare at the man that had been seemingly impossible to come into contact with for the past month or two. Anything I wanted to tell to him was quickly thrown out the window when I noticed the white ball of fuzz that he was holding in his arms.
“Is that a cat, sir?” I asked him. A stupid question since obviously, it was a cat. I was just more surprised that Constantine Sinclair of all people, was standing before me with a random cat. He stroked the little thing from head to rear and looked down at it.
“I found it wandering around outside,” he told me, lifting his hand to tickle the little thing’s ear. It flipped around in his arms to look at what was touching its ear and began playfully swatting at Sinclair’s finger. It wasn’t completely white as it had almost a black smear of fur across its right eye. “I’ve always been partial to cats. My entire life I’ve loved them. And they seem to enjoy my company as well,” he said almost wistfully.
“I’ve been trying to reach you for a month, sir,” I told him, taking my chance of interrupting his cat time. He looked over at me, his hands still holding and petting the cat. I could tell he probably wanted to strangle me but didn’t want to let go of the cat. “You said…you’d get us a new manager,” I told him.
“Theodore let me tell you something. I hate this place. I despise it. If I could I would’ve closed this place and burnt it down.” He told me this while rubbing this cat’s head and looking the most like a Bond villain that I had ever seen him. “The only reason I didn’t is because of the pushback I got from the members. They all pissed and shited themselves saying that my father would never let me do that. Clearly, they didn’t get the message that he’s dead.” I had clearly struck a nerve. I wanted to just sink away into the crowd of rich assholes but his mere presence kept me frozen to the floor.
“Is…that why you didn’t pick up my calls?” I asked him, quickly scooping up a glass of champagne from one of the passing waitresses. I would’ve gotten one for him but at that moment he seemed much too busy with the cat in his arms.
“Exactly. I hate this place. In fact, I’m only here to drop him off.” He motioned his head toward the area behind us. Looking over his shoulder I dropped the glass of champagne to the floor when I saw who was sitting in his wheelchair behind Sinclair and seemingly receiving every rich guest in the entire country club. LeBlanc. In his tuxedo, legs hidden underneath a blanket and a silver mask covering up the horrible creature underneath.
“Sir, no. I cannot babysit him,” I told Sinclair flat out. He stared at me with his very tired eyes that held a hidden hellfire beneath them. I swallowed a lump in my throat and tried to tell him something that for some reason hadn’t crossed my mind yet at all. “I qu- I q- I qu-” I tried to say that I quit but the word simply refused to leave my throat.
“I see James has been with you. Good, I couldn’t be bothered to replace another manager. Now, I’m going to leave you in charge of all this, Fairfax.” Sinclair looked down at his cat only to angrily hiss at it. I was wracking my brain trying to figure out why I couldn’t simply quit but I managed to see why he was hissing. The shadow creature that clung to Sinclair was attempting to bite the cat’s head off, but upon the hissing command from its owner, the creature slithered away back down into the floor.
“Sir, please. I cannot possibly deal with him. Not with what happened last time with him here.” I pleaded to Sinclair but he was seemingly uninterested in whatever I was pleading him to do.
“He should be behaving today. A lot of these people are in quite a bit of debt to him. Just make sure to feed him the loser today after the race. I’m sure you can handle it, Theodore.” With those final words, Sinclair walked past me and headed outside of the main hall, leaving me to deal with LeBlanc. Snatching another passing drink I walked over to LeBlanc and his nurse and softly coughed to get one of their attentions.
“Mr. LeBlanc?” I asked in a voice dry with fear and quivering in uncertainty. The creature in the chair dangled his head to the side and slowly turned it to look at me. The entire process screamed uncanny valley into my ears. Whatever LeBlanc was he was obviously not a human, but his upper torso could pass for one at a glance. But his mannerisms, the mask over his face, and the fact I had seen what he really was caused me to be in flight or fight mode the moment I got near him.
“You will refer to him as, Monsieur,” his nurse told me sternly. Her eyes were almost as heavy and tired as Sinclair’s were. But she had the added feature of being the skinniest woman I had ever seen. She was gaunt and it looked like she was gripping LeBlanc’s wheelchair for stability just as much as LeBlanc was using it to ‘blend’ in.
“Right…Monsieur LeBlanc? I’m Theodore, I’m supposed to make sure you, behave yourself while you’re here.” He stared at me while I talked. Though from the black depths of the eye holes on his mask, I couldn’t see any semblance of eyes staring back at me.
“I am behaving myself,” his hollow-sounding voice told me. His breathing was shallow and barely in rhythm as he stared at me and the feeling of uncanniness increased the longer I stared at him. “Would you like me not to behave?” he asked, rising in his chair slightly.
“No! No no there’s no need for that, sir. Er, Monsieur,” I told him quickly, watching him sink back down into his chair. Letting out a silent breath of relief as he settled back down. “Can I lead you two up to the private booths so we may all go and watch to horse race?” I offered, clasping my hands in front of me and silently begging that he would accept.
His nurse leaned down over to his head as he seemed to whisper something to her. She looked over at me and back at him before whispering back to him. As I kept watching another revelation hit me about LeBlanc. He didn’t seem to possess any ears. Now at first glance, you’d think that they were hidden underneath his shaggy black hair and even the straps to his mask. But as I watched as his nurse whispered to him, he wasn’t bending his head to better hear her. In fact, he lay perfectly still as she whispered to him.
“The Monsieur would enjoy that, Theodore. He wonders if it would be possible to order from the special menu as well while he waits for the end of the horse race,” she told me, brushing a few stray strands of hair back into place with the rest of them. When she mentioned the special menu I swallowed the bile that was building up in my throat. After what had happened with Garibaldi most of the chefs had left and begrudgingly come back. If they were forced to cook something else from that menu I felt that I wouldn’t have a kitchen staff.
“Unfortunately, Monsieur, the kitchen is closed for the event.” I lied through my teeth. Hoping that he would buy it. He stared at me and tilted his head to the side at an angle I sure would’ve broken anybody else’s neck.
“D’accord,” he told me with a quick nod, leaning his head back and banging his head on the wooden seat of his ancient-looking wheelchair. His nurse grabbed the wheelchair and started pushing it toward me. So I took that as the cue to begin to lead them up to their private booth. I led them over to the elevator after almost leading them to the ornate stairs. I was surprised to see that LeBlanc’s wheelchair could fit me and his nurse also in the elevator with him.
When the doors swung open I led them over toward the booth that would most likely suit him. I hadn’t known this back when I was just a servant boy to the rich people and not acting manager, but there up where the other private rooms were there was one for each of the members of Sinclair’s inner circle. One for Antonio Garibaldi, whose name was scratched out and hastily rewritten with sharpy after the fact, James Harrison, Jackson LeBlanc, King Creole, and Constantine Sinclair. Each booth seemed at first to be identical but upon closer inspection inside the window of each room, they were all differently decorated.
“Huh, never noticed these before.” I rubbed my chin in confusion, as LeBlanc and his nurse followed me to his room. His of course was wheelchair accessible so I helped his gaunt nurse push his chair up into his room, closing the large door behind us as we entered his room. Taking a moment to look around his room, it was as I sort of expected a normal booth to look like. Though his room had a few pieces of archeology and hunting trophies in his room. “Do you, enjoy hunting, Monsieur?” I asked him as I looked at an ancient carving sitting at the bar.
“Very much,” he said through his labored breaths. It seemed to me that just talking was painful for him. But remembering back to how he talked to me before, after his rampage in the lobby, I knew for a fact he didn’t really ‘talk’. “I love chasing them. Watching them squirm. Sinking my teeth into them.” His body let out a sound I could best describe as a cockroach hiss. His nurse walked over to him and quickly whispered to him, producing a handkerchief and wiping his face.
I regretted asking him anything, and quickly walked behind the bar and began to fix myself a drink. Now I’m not normally someone who enjoys liquor. Cigarettes and nicotine are my addiction of choice, but I had a feeling that I needed something to get me through all this. As I fixed myself a drink I looked out the giant windows that allowed us a clear view down to the race track.
You honestly couldn’t have asked for a better day to hold a horse race. Not a cloud in the sky but also not too hot, it was truly a beautiful day. And I wished that I was anywhere but having to babysit whatever it was that LeBlanc was. Hell, I’d even take another meal with Garibaldi over this. But, a job’s a job.
Fixing myself the worst Old-Fashioned known to man, I made my way over to them just in time to watch as LeBlanc lifted his head up and sank his teeth into his nurse’s arm. Causing me to choke on my drink and nearly drop the item down on the floor. His nurse seemed only slightly miffed by all this as he started sucking up the blood that was leaking from her arm.
“Doesn’t that…hurt?” I asked his nurse as she looked over at me with those tired heavy eyes of hers. She shook her head and looked back down at him as he unhooked himself from her arm and looked back down to hide his true jaw.
“He numbs the area like a mosquito would,” she told me, grabbing some gauze and starting to treat her wounds. I had heard rich people being called bloodsuckers before, but I never would’ve thought that it was true in the literal sense of the word. While she patched herself up I walked over to the couch and sat down on it. Just cause I was the acting manager didn’t mean I wasn’t also going to half-ass it.
Just as an awkward silence descended the private booth, the event began. The announcers named every single horse that was to participate in the race. I had been so busy that I hadn’t even bothered to place a bet on a horse. Not that I actually felt like gambling or losing money. Not to mention I didn’t know the first thing about horses. I honestly would’ve put money on the horse with the best name, but none of them struck me. They all had cliche names, Spirit of St. Louis, Versailles, etc etc.
LeBlanc on the other hand was watching with intense interest. So much so that his metal mask was pressed right up against the window and softly clawed at the glass. It sent a shiver up my spine as I watched him drool over the horses. Suddenly realizing what Sinclair had meant by feeding him the loser. Concluding I needed a stronger drink, I stood up and walked back to the bar. But before I could make myself something with more whiskey there was a knock at the door.
Half expecting it to be Sinclair coming to relieve me, I stepped over to the door and opened it, only to be met with one of the other people who worked here. I wasn’t that familiar with him, a guy named Felix. We had talked a few times but we weren’t friends or anything.
“Hey Ted, is LeBlanc in there? My rich guy needs to talk to him,” Felix told me in a hushed whisper. Which made sense since his rich dude was standing a few feet away from him, clearly impatient about something. I nodded at him and moved back as I opened the door wider for both of them to come in. Felix’s white guy blew past us as he rushed over to LeBlanc, who was now sitting back in his chair, his nurse cleaning the drool he had left behind on the window.
“Want a drink?” I asked Felix. He looked at me for a second, and I could tell he really wanted one. So before he even answered I headed over to the bar with him following after me.
“What the fuck, LeBlanc? You’re supporting Davis over me? We had a deal that I would be the one running for that senate seat!” I watched from the bar, pouring Felix a shot of vodka as per his request. It was difficult to tell what LeBlanc was doing since his giant wooden wheelchair blocked his entire body from being seen at this angle.
“You will refer to him as Monsueir.” His nurse started to tell the man but he held up a finger to her to shut her down instantly. I rolled my eyes and poured myself a shot of straight whiskey. Passing the bottle over to Felix but he stuck with his vodka as we both watched what was going on in front of us.
“He offered me more than you did,” LeBlanc told him through his labored breaths. This rich guy looked more offended than I had ever seen anyone be offended before. And I’ve had to deal with guys like this for a while now.
“What could he possibly offer that’s better than what I did?!” He shouted, reaching out to grab LeBlanc but having his own arm grabbed by the nurse. He looked over at her and I could tell he wanted to smack her, but he then looked over at me and Felix. We each raised our glasses to him and I couldn’t help but smirk as he looked back over at LeBlanc.
“His daughter,” LeBlanc said. The room was dead silent except for the barely audible cheering coming from the crowd of horse race enthusiasts.
“What do you mean his daughter…she…she went missing.” He backed away from LeBlanc as he began to work it out in his head. “Dear God…he…he stooped that low?” The rich man stared down at LeBlanc and back toward us. And before we could raise another toast to him, he bolted from the room as quickly as he could.
“I should follow him,” Felix told me, swiping the bottle of vodka and running after his patron, leaving me with LeBlanc and his nurse. Pushing my unfinished next shot of whiskey, I cautiously made my way over to the window as the race began to start. The announcers got the crowd wilds up as the excitement was palpable.
“And they’re off!” The announcers shouted in unison as the gates holding the horses back opened up and their jockeys began ushering the horses to run as fast as they possibly could. I don’t know if it was the whiskey shot and old fashioned, but I was actually getting excited seeing the horses sprint as fast as they could around the track. And apparently, so was LeBlanc.
He began to pant and his whole body began to bristle as he again slammed his face against the window. Drool streamed from his mouth as he slammed his hands against the window and let out another cockroach-like hiss. His nurse sprang into action, shedding that tired aura she had around her constantly and trying to force LeBlanc down in his chair.
“Monsieur! You must control yourself! You may indulge after the race!” she told him, mixing some French words I couldn’t understand into the mix. But it all seemed to be in vain as he easily shoved her aside as he stood up from his chair. I watched with my mouth agape as I got to see firsthand his second pair of legs break and emerge from inside his body. Letting out a loud screech he smashed his head against the window over and over as large cracks began to form.
“Fuck me.” Was all I could think to say as LeBlanc broke the enormous window and let out another screech. I watched as he got down on all six limbs and hopped out into the crowd of spectators. Running over to the window I got a great view of him clambering over people and making a beeline toward the racing track horses. I thought that maybe the horses could outrace him, but he was significantly faster than them.
I’ll spare you all the details of what happened to the horses and their jockeys. It was enough to get me to throw up for the second time while working at this place. After I was done throwing up and not wanting to hear the pained screams of horses and people, I walked past the stoic and silent nurse and exited the private booth.
Outside the booth and down in the lobby didn’t offer me any reprieve either. As a bunch of people were running around screaming and trying to get out as fast as possible. To be fair I wanted to join them but then that idea was quickly thrown out of my head. That brought me to a halt amidst all the chaos going on around me.
Why couldn’t I just quit? I had wanted to. What had happened that made me stop? Why couldn’t I even say the word to Sinclair? What was going on with me? These questions ran around in my head as I tried to make sense of it all. And through the millions of questions, I suddenly heard piano music. Which was odd, since there was no piano in the lobby. At least there usually wasn’t, but to my surprise, there was one there right at that moment.
It was a melody that seemed familiar to me but I couldn’t quite remember its name. But I definitely knew who was playing the piano.
“Theodore! My dear boy.” An overly friendly Southern accent greeted me as I got closer to the piano. He wore a suit with a purple tie. His skin was white as chalk. and his eyes were two black buttons. His mouth was stitched up and his head was kept on his shoulders by stitches around his neck. “Quite the commotion you’ve caused,” he hummed at me, still playing the piano and grinning so wide I thought he’d rip his skin apart from the stitches. “Shame you didn’t invite lil’ ol me.”
I swallowed a lump in my throat as I stared at King Creole as he played this mystery piano that had suddenly appeared. And it was there where the most important question in my entire life was asked of me.
“How would you like to come to work for me?”