Eric, holding the stare with Kellen for a moment before turning to the door. He kicked it open with the
heel of his boot and then stepped outside as the door banged off the wall and shuddered slowly back and Eric’s blood dripped
onto the floor.
12
B ACK IN THE P ORSCHE , after getting Eric’s nose to stop bleeding and then drinking one more beer to assure Becky that they were at peace with
the bar, Kellen turned to him.
“Well, I’m sorry that happened, because that idiot is in no way representative of my experience in this town.”
“Shouldn’t have dragged you out to a place like that.”
“No, man, that’s what I’m saying—it wasn’t the
place
. I’ve been in there before. In fact, I’ve been in this town a lot, and that’s the first time I’ve ever had anything like
that pulled. Which was, to be honest, against my expectation.”
“Yeah?”
Kellen nodded as he started the engine. “Some racist history to this state, really. First hotel down here was built by a guy
named William Bowles, who was tried for treason because he was involved with something called the Knights of the Golden Circle,
which was pro-Confederacy and a forerunner to theKKK. He was a real good guy—indicted for grave robbery, of all things. Wasn’t all him, though. Back when the area was really
booming, blacks weren’t allowed to stay in these hotels. Joe Louis wasn’t allowed to stay in these hotels. All the local tourism
stuff uses his name today, brags on him being a frequent visitor, but the reality is, he always stayed at the Waddy.”
They pulled out of the parking lot, Kellen driving with one wrist hooked over the wheel.
“So when I came down here, wanting to write the black history of the area, I maybe had a sour taste in my mouth from what
I knew of the past. As long as I’ve been down here, though, people have been nothing but friendly—with the one exception being
our buddy back there, Mr. Bradford. He would be the last of
my
Campbell’s line. I hope you’re right and you’re looking for a different guy. Because Josiah isn’t going to be a help to you.”
“I’d say not,” Eric agreed. “But you’ve got to figure my guy is related to him.”
“I know it. And that’s why I’ll be interested to see what Edgar Hastings has to say. He’s the only person I’ve found in town
who has any clear memories of Campbell. But he’s also something of a foster father to Josiah, so best not to mention what
happened tonight, I guess. You free tomorrow if I get something set up with him?”
“Sure.” Eric was touching his face with his fingertips, assessing damage. His lip would be a little swollen in the morning,
but he’d kept a cool beer to it, so he wouldn’t look too much the worse for wear.
“I’ve never heard of another Campbell Bradford,” Kellen said. “It’s strange.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Eric said, thinking that the
least
strange thing in his day was confusion over the man’s identity. Thatdidn’t come close to the black train or the leaves or that man in the bowler hat, no.
Kellen dropped him off with a handshake and a promise that he’d call Edgar Hastings the next day. Eric was almost nervous
going back into the hotel alone and felt a childish desire to run back into the parking lot and flag Kellen down, ask him
to have one more drink.
Just stay with me for twenty minutes, buddy, enough so I can look around and make sure the place is an ordinary hotel again
and not the friggin’ Overlook
.
For some reason, thinking of Stephen King’s hotel horror story made him smile as he walked back into the atrium and looked
around. Yeah, Kubrick would’ve salivated over shooting in this location. It had everything a filmmaker desired—beauty, grandeur,
size, history, and, at least for Eric tonight, a King-size dose of creepy.
“Couldn’t ask for anything more,” he said under his breath. The hotel had quieted a bit, with just a handful of
heel of his boot and then stepped outside as the door banged off the wall and shuddered slowly back and Eric’s blood dripped
onto the floor.
12
B ACK IN THE P ORSCHE , after getting Eric’s nose to stop bleeding and then drinking one more beer to assure Becky that they were at peace with
the bar, Kellen turned to him.
“Well, I’m sorry that happened, because that idiot is in no way representative of my experience in this town.”
“Shouldn’t have dragged you out to a place like that.”
“No, man, that’s what I’m saying—it wasn’t the
place
. I’ve been in there before. In fact, I’ve been in this town a lot, and that’s the first time I’ve ever had anything like
that pulled. Which was, to be honest, against my expectation.”
“Yeah?”
Kellen nodded as he started the engine. “Some racist history to this state, really. First hotel down here was built by a guy
named William Bowles, who was tried for treason because he was involved with something called the Knights of the Golden Circle,
which was pro-Confederacy and a forerunner to theKKK. He was a real good guy—indicted for grave robbery, of all things. Wasn’t all him, though. Back when the area was really
booming, blacks weren’t allowed to stay in these hotels. Joe Louis wasn’t allowed to stay in these hotels. All the local tourism
stuff uses his name today, brags on him being a frequent visitor, but the reality is, he always stayed at the Waddy.”
They pulled out of the parking lot, Kellen driving with one wrist hooked over the wheel.
“So when I came down here, wanting to write the black history of the area, I maybe had a sour taste in my mouth from what
I knew of the past. As long as I’ve been down here, though, people have been nothing but friendly—with the one exception being
our buddy back there, Mr. Bradford. He would be the last of
my
Campbell’s line. I hope you’re right and you’re looking for a different guy. Because Josiah isn’t going to be a help to you.”
“I’d say not,” Eric agreed. “But you’ve got to figure my guy is related to him.”
“I know it. And that’s why I’ll be interested to see what Edgar Hastings has to say. He’s the only person I’ve found in town
who has any clear memories of Campbell. But he’s also something of a foster father to Josiah, so best not to mention what
happened tonight, I guess. You free tomorrow if I get something set up with him?”
“Sure.” Eric was touching his face with his fingertips, assessing damage. His lip would be a little swollen in the morning,
but he’d kept a cool beer to it, so he wouldn’t look too much the worse for wear.
“I’ve never heard of another Campbell Bradford,” Kellen said. “It’s strange.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Eric said, thinking that the
least
strange thing in his day was confusion over the man’s identity. Thatdidn’t come close to the black train or the leaves or that man in the bowler hat, no.
Kellen dropped him off with a handshake and a promise that he’d call Edgar Hastings the next day. Eric was almost nervous
going back into the hotel alone and felt a childish desire to run back into the parking lot and flag Kellen down, ask him
to have one more drink.
Just stay with me for twenty minutes, buddy, enough so I can look around and make sure the place is an ordinary hotel again
and not the friggin’ Overlook
.
For some reason, thinking of Stephen King’s hotel horror story made him smile as he walked back into the atrium and looked
around. Yeah, Kubrick would’ve salivated over shooting in this location. It had everything a filmmaker desired—beauty, grandeur,
size, history, and, at least for Eric tonight, a King-size dose of creepy.
“Couldn’t ask for anything more,” he said under his breath. The hotel had quieted a bit, with just a handful of
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