Excerpt: Vatican Roulette Lyrics (working)

Words from - or through? - Nigel

"Thank you, Everyone, for the warm welcome," he started by saying after nervously clearing his throat. He tipped the microphone in a few directions before asking, "Can everyone hear me?" A number of people called out in response that, yes, they could hear him. A lone voice at the head table, raucous with a bit too much wine and likely able to hear Nigel without the aid of the microphone due to his proximity to the podium, said no and then laughed too loudly at his apparent joke. Nigel cringed a bit but nodded and managed a weak smile. "Very well," he finally said and tugged at the lapels of his jacket.

"Despite our lovely surroundings," he began by stating, "it is evident that The Main Stay has seen some rough times. The past of this grand space is somewhat checkered and certainly, if these walls could talk, there would be a tale to tell." Nigel paused and arranged his notes momentarily, took a sip of wine and cleared his throat again. "Recent memory should be fresh for some of us who may recall some of the events that took place here. I will elaborate further for the benefit of our out of town visitors." Pausing once more, he looked over his notes, written in tidy, flowing script on an unlined piece of paper. The words appeared very organized and in stark contrast to the speaker's current manner of delivering the information. "Last summer, as some of you may remember, there was an accident involving a young man who, after a many cocktails and a likely dose of an as yet unnamed illegal substance, decided that the balcony outside of his guest suite was a suitable platform by which he decided to access the pool." A few gasps were heard around the room and more than a couple hands were raised in horror, covering mouths and eyes as if to block out the mental images. Nigel droned on with the cold, impartial tone of a news correspondent in the broadcast studio. "Had he hit his target, it is unlikely that he would have survived, being that the shallow end of the pool was closest to his suite. However, there would have been, obviously, less to clean up." Nigel grinned ghoulishly, just a little bit, as if this uncharacteristic brand of humor was appropriate for the setting. He appeared strangely calm, as if he was settling into a practiced and routine delivery.

"A few years prior to that," he continued as murmurs were exchanged at the tables before him, "an all too familiar end to what should have been a very happy day took place following a lavish event in the large garden at the west end of the property. A wedding reception was held here for a couple that lived an hour or so north of here, in a somewhat rural community. This was a big affair for them and their family, to come into the city for the special occasion. Sadly, an uninvited guest turned up part of the way through dinner, determined to confront the happy couple. It would seem that this guest was a spurned lover and could not bear the thought of his true love marrying a woman." The corners of Nigel's mouth turned up in a wry smile as he waited for the realization to settle in across the crowd. "As you might expect, the fellow made quite a scene and professed his love for the groom in front of the entire family and wedding party. Being from a small town, I suspect there a few people in attendance that were wholly aware of the situation. The father of the bride, a proud man who had some trouble accepting this version of the story, confronted both the groom and the interloper. Before anyone could react, the father of the bride drew a pistol and shot both men before he could be stopped. The spurned lover died on the scene and the groom lingered in the intensive care unit of the local hospital for a few days before he too was released from this mortal coil." Nigel licked his lips and raised his wine glass, draining the contents in a single swallow. Lynne Rangel appeared aghast and simply stared at her friend's strange behavior.

"There was also an unfortunate incident nearly forty years ago with a circular staircase that passes between the service area and an upper floor laundry room. A college aged employee, working over the summer months when this hotel rivaled any resort in the area, was bringing a stack of linens down and found the momentum of his movements was too much for his feet to manage. In fact," Nigel said, snickering softly, "rumors suggest that, if you listen carefully, you can still hear the swiftly moving footsteps ringing on the metal stairs in the moments before a terrific crash as the man slipped and his body tumbled down to the concrete floor below. Talk about persistent customer service!" He laughed openly while the shocked guests looked on, some of them nervously sipping at their drinks and fidgeting with their napkins.

"This is why," Nigel swaggered, taking the microphone off the stand and stepping away from the pulpit like a polished television evangelist, "you are in for a real treat this weekend. I have arranged to have them all here for your entertainment. Let them beguile you with their sad and tragic tales, convincing you that they were innocents, lost in time and locked forever in this place. Never mind that they should have never been here. Pay no heed to the lives lost on this site centuries ago, when your grandfathers' grandfathers took this land for their own, stealing it from those that rightly belonged in this place." The veins on Nigel's neck began to stand out, his face growing red as his voice became louder and his gestures became more wild and erratic. "YOU DO NOT BELONG HERE," he bellowed in a deep and foreign sounding voice, pointing a shaky finger at the guests seated before him. Chairs scraped and bumped against the tables and other chairs as people backed away from the man who had transformed himself into a raving lunatic before their own eyes. "YOU WILL SEE THAT THE MEMORIES OF THOSE TAKEN FROM THIS PLACE, NOW AND BEFORE, WILL NOT PASS QUIETLY AND RESIDE COMFORTABLY IN THE ANNALS OF HISTORY!" Nigel took a step forward and felt the tug of the microphone, restrained by the length of the cord that was pinned beneath the podium. He grasped the cord in his free hand and pulled fiercely, cause the podium to shift precariously toward the edge of the platform. Nigel grinned wildly and pulled once more, sending the podium over the edge and crashing into the nearest table. Fortunately the people seated near the podium had scooted away once Nigel began his presentation. He laughed, a brutal and cruel sound that caused shivers to travel down the spines of those nearest to him. "ENJOY YOUR WEEKEND, ONE AND ALL!!!," he cackled before collapsing to the floor. Lynne and the other organizers stepped quickly to Nigel's aid while others ran for the nearest exists. The ordinarily quiet man convulsed, froth leaving his mouth in rivulets that traced down his cheek and sprayed those trying to help him. "Call an ambulance," someone shouted. "Here, put this in his mouth," another offered, passing a small paperback book to keep the man from biting off his own tongue. "Nigel, Nigel, please stay with us," Lynne cried, holding his hand and looking to the others.