This story originally appeared in Saturday Night Reader on April 15th, 2015.
Bourbon Street had never felt so cold. Alex stumbled around the corner and gritted his teeth. Neon lights flickered and swayed in the wind. The street was deserted. It must be late. He had to get home.
Images of the girl from the club flashed in his mind. What was her name again? Cathy? Katie. Yes, that was it. So beautiful. And her dancing, so erotic how she would grind her body against his, her lips curved into that devilish grin. Calling to him. But then what happened? Had he said something that offended her? Had he even gotten her number? The whiskey always had its way.
Alex jogged across Canal Street and leaned against a lamppost, tugging his scarf closer. Had it ever been this cold in New Orleans? He had to get home.
An airy horn startled him. The streetcar was here. Where the hell had it come from? Maybe he’d dozed off waiting. He shook his head and climbed aboard, the stairs creaking under his weight.
The driver tipped his cap at Alex, and his teeth flashed in the yellow lighting. His tweed jacket was worn and fraying at the seams. Damn, he looked familiar. Probably just from another night home on the streetcar. Alex nodded and paid the fare.
The streetcar was empty. What time was it, anyway? Dark stains mottled the floor toward the back of the streetcar. Probably vomit, or worse. Alex took a seat near the middle. The old wooden seats were like ice through his jeans. The air was musty, but he didn’t dare open a window in this cold. He leaned against the window and tried to stay awake.
The streetcar rattled and shook its way onto St. Charles. Shuttered restaurants gave way to dark mansions. At each intersection, the cables flashed like lightning overhead, and the inside lights flickered out for a few seconds. When were they ever going to replace these damned streetcar lines, anyway? They had to be a hundred years old.
Alex blinked. In the reflection of the window, he could see a big woman with tangled hair, sitting across from him. A few rows up, two men in dark suits sat shoulder-to-shoulder. Where had they come from? Had he fallen asleep between stops?
The lights flashed back on, and Alex looked around. The streetcar was empty. He looked back at the window. Nothing.
He rubbed his eyes. He had to get home. Why hadn’t Katie wanted to come home with him? She seemed so interested. What had gone wrong? Had he even gotten her number?
Alex pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts. No Katie. He searched his pockets with numb fingers. His left hand found something long and cold. He pulled it out.
A silver hair clip. Strange. A smudge of lipstick ran along the back. Had Katie given it to him? Why not her number, instead? Maybe he shouldn’t have had that last whiskey. He’d feel better in the morning. He just had to get home first.
A murmur carried through the streetcar. The driver’s head was cocked to the side, and his lips moved slowly. Who was he talking to? There wasn’t anyone there. The way he was turned, it was like he was talking to the damned streetcar itself. Freak.
They screeched through another intersection, and with a flash, the lights shut off again.
There she was again, that lady with the funny hair in the reflection. Was that a bone dangling from her neck? And the two men, there they were, now looking at one another like one of them was about to say something. This time, there were more: a pale woman in a purple dress, a tall man in a top hat hunched over like he was sleeping. They looked straight out of another era.
The lights flicked on, and Alex looked around. The streetcar was empty. He shivered. His hands gripped the bench until the wood dug into his palms. His heart pounded against his ribcage. He had to get out of here.
The streetcar ground to a stop. Thank God. Wherever they were, he’d walk the rest of the way home, to hell with the weather.
The driver stepped off the streetcar, and the doors swung shut behind him. He’d left something on the dash, a blue glass bottle with writing on it.
Alex jogged to the front. The jerk must’ve forgotten about him.
“Hey, wait! You’ve got a passenger here!”
Alex pushed the doors. They didn’t budge. He leaned into them with his shoulder and shoved. The streetcar shook on its tracks, but the door remained shut.
He ran to the first seat and pried at the window. It was jammed. He wiped condensation away with his palm and peered out. Big houses and wrought iron gates lined the street, but…where the hell were they? They must still be on St. Charles, but nothing looked familiar.
Then he saw him. The driver was standing across the street, pulling long drags from a cigarette. His tweed jacket hung all the way to his knees. He looked so damned familiar, standing there.
The nightclub, of course! That guy had been leaning against the wall down the alley, smoking a cigarette, when Alex had led Katie around the back of the club. Around the back, where–
The cold air caught in Alex’s throat. His fingers closed around the hair clip in his pocket. She had been so beautiful. She had called to him. Why did she say no? It made him so angry. She tried to scream. It all happened so fast.
He had to get home.
Alex banged his fists against the window. “Let me out! I have to get home!”
The driver flashed a smile. The streetcar lights flickered and went out. Faces shone in the window’s reflections. Alex turned around. This time, the people were still there. There were so many of them. They turned, and looked at him.
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