Get Zombie: 8-Book Set (74 page)

Joann
holds out her hands.

“Show
me your ways, O Master.”

His
eyes are half open.

Drac
nods and takes her fingers.

“I
know why you’ve come. You’re goofy. And the only cure is
Greedy on The Inside. I invented that. Don’t steal it.”

He
looks at me and pats my head, then takes Joann’s face in his
hands and closes her eyes.

He
says, lovingly: “Close your eyes.”

Joann
does, and straightens her back.

Drac
raises his chin and opens his mouth.

“You
are so wonderful. I love you very much. You deserve whatever you get
– and those things are money & love & a cat. You will
be rich. You ARE rich. You are the best at everything. You deserve
the perfect boyfriend. You deserve a rich boyfriend with a lot of
money and he will do anything for you, sexually. Please, O Satan,
throw your stink upon this female. Help her, unlike the Son of God
who just teases us with his magic. What was his name? Judas Priest?
Call her your fetus – allow her to touch you and sample blast
your mana – which in Japanese, role-playing, video game jargon
means magic. You should play Final Fantasy. It’s a video game,
and can teach you much about life. I enjoy part 8 due to the theme of
love, though there are many that love part 7, which I think is ehhh -
waves hand horizontally.”

I
raise a finger and interrupt.

“Er…”

“Shhh!
Don’t interrupt,” he snaps, turning to me, not opening
his eyes. If this is a therapist, then I’m the king of France.
I should’ve asked Mr. Snake what Drac did to get fired all
those years ago…although maybe the answer will come to me soon
enough.

Drac
tightens Joann’s hands, digging his thumbs into her palms. She
drools.

“Ooooooooo.”

He
draws her close, and then hugs her. I feel jealousy creeping up my
spine again. This so-called therapist whispers into her ear.

“In
time, you will be fat with happiness. You ARE happy – right
this minute. You will understand NOW! HE THROWS HER ONTO THE FLOOR!”

He
throws her onto the floor and points with a strong finger and growls,
“The end.” I speed-crawl to Joann and hold her safe and
yell at him, “Stop it, you toad!” Joann pushes me away.
“No Rubs, allow me.” She front flips into a squat, brings
her hands up and turns them into claws and goes “Grrrr!”
She does a squat-rush toward him with her arms waving in the air and
makes scary, monkey-like sounds. She tackles him at the waist and
pins him against a wall and bites his crotch area. A wind chime
falls, romantically.

He
brings her up and kisses her.

Then
she kisses him back.

My
heart falls into my stomach and dissolves in acid. Something inside
me laughs. I look at them, wishing Joann would come running into my
arms and say Sorry, baby, sorry, I love you and want to be with you
forever & ever; amen.

But
it doesn’t happen.

I
get up and walk to the door.

Joann’s
mouth flies off of Drac’s with a wet smack.

“No,
don’t go!”

“You
guys should be alone.”

“Good
Lord, I’m so sorry. That was nasty. And I apologize.”

My
hand wraps around the bathroom doorknob, and I don’t give a
damn.

I
sit on the toilet with my pants around my ankles. My head hurts. How
did I get here? What was in that glass of milk?

Ice?

Nothing
comes out. I flush to make them think I’m using it. What are
they doing out there? What am I doing here? Maybe I should leave.
Maybe this Drac’s not such a bad therapist. He’s made her
happy, obviously. That’s what they do. It takes such confidence
to do what he did. I wish I could do that: Talk with such power, and
then kiss a girl that I didn’t even know.

I
wonder what they’re doing.

I
hope they’re not making love.

I’d
kill that therapist out of mean jealousy. Or at least think it.

I
pull my pants up and go outside into the hallway. The place is pitch
black. I stand there with my ears wide open, listening for hints of
pleasure. Must be around eight o’clock. I hold my hands out in
front of my face and can barely see them. I hear a door open and turn
around. I am met with Joann’s floating voice.

“I’m
so happy, Rubs.”

“Yessm.
Very good.”

“Thank
you for bringing me here.”

I
claw at the air for her.

“Good.
Happy to help.”

“Drac
is a genius.”

“I
noticed.”

“It’s
not what he says, it’s HOW he says it.”

“Yessm.
He is the genius. Love him.”

“I
will. Thank you so very much.”

“Where’s
the genius now?”

“Sleeping
on the floor. He cut up a star-shaped section of the carpet and says
that sleeping in the star-shape section of the carpet gives him
awesome, mental powers. Drac tells me, via telepathy, that therapy
will be the new religion of the world. That in the future all shall
bow down to therapy.”

“I
think he’s a Satanist.”

“Even
better.”

“I’m
going home now. I’m hungry.”

“Drac
says that you and I will be this religion’s new commanders. And
that we will roam the earth converting the lame.”

“Who’s
doing what now?”

“Drac
also says that you can eat whatever he has in the refrigerator.”

“Like
what?”

“Strawberry
ice cream.”

“Then
it is settled. Before I leave, I will eat his cream. Would you want
to dine with me?”

“Yessm.
I would.”

I
stroll into the kitchen, hands held out before me just in case I walk
into something scary. I can hear Joann walking back into the room and
closing the door. I was hoping she’d eat with me. Hoping she’d
want my company. Booo! Forget her. Just eat your strawberry ice cream
and leave. Beat it. Scram.

Darkness.

I
open what I feel is the freezer and dig around. It’s hot
inside. Sweat is falling into my eyes. Something smells bad. My
fingers dig into something soft. It feels like a face of some kind,
except there’s a long, tube-like front. I feel sharp, tiny
teeth…two eyes.

Is
this some kind of saved-to-be-eaten-later, freakish, pig head that
you can buy in China Town?

I
quietly close the freezer and instinctively lick my fingertips.

Stupid.

It
tastes like so many open sores.

I
throw up a little in my mouth with short gags and bring my hands to
my throat and make surprising chirping sounds.

Unable
to find the kitchen sink, I make a go for the bathroom, banging into
walls.

I
turn on the faucet and drink handfuls of water, washing down the
sick.

Visions
of my mum boiling chicken’s feet in a bubbling pot, reeking up
the whole house – the stink creeping up my nostrils while I
sleep, giving me nightmares. That awful stink! Why did I go into the
kitchen to see what was inside that pot? Why did I do it? Why did I
look, when I already knew what it was?

I
sleep on the freezing floor as a baby would, sucking my thumb…and
close my legs.

“Bottlenose
Connection”

THE
SUN BEATING against my eyes. The sound of an obese jet, struggling
from high above. I open my eyes and they hurt as if on fire. I reach
up and grab the toilet, pulling myself up. Children are playing
outside. They sound so joyous. I look out the window, but don’t
see any kids. What I do see is an elderly, white woman with
witch-like, stringy hair, speeding in a motorized wheelchair, chased
by an exhausted policewoman who runs with her hands on her jingling
belt.

I
close the bathroom curtains for no reason and walk out into the
hallway. The walls are painted black. At the end of the hallway, on
the back wall, is drawn a giant red lightning bolt. Was all this here
before? How could I have not noticed this odd detail? Do I need
glasses that bad? Yes. Yes, I do.

I
search the place, but find no sign of Drac or Joann.

The
television doesn’t work.

I
decide to raid his food, in anger and jealousy.

I
open the freezer and fall back.

“GAG!”

There’s
a dolphin’s head, between a box of frozen pizza and 5 bottles
of water. The head is wrapped in cellophane – its teeth bared.

I
poke at it with my pinky.

Nothing.

I
think it’s safe to assume that it’s dead.

I
feel my belly scolding me again, so I decide to lay off the food
until noon. Maybe all I need is a little air. As I make my way
through the living room, toward the balcony, I happen to glance down
the hallway and this time notice something new.

A
door near the back – painted black like the walls –
that’s covered by a clear, thick plastic. I bring the cigarette
box to my lips and bite out a stick. I’m not going to light it.
I’m trying to quit (sometimes I wonder if all I have is some
kind of weird, mouth fixation).

I
walk to the covered door carefully, as if expecting something hideous
to jump out and impregnate me.

A
soft breeze whistles down the hallway, rustles the folds of plastic.

I
play with the cig in my mouth – tonguing it to the other side –
and open the door.

The
stink SLAPS me on the nose and I gag. It is the heavy perfume of what
I can only describe as the inside of someone’s mouth.

The
room is quite large – even larger than the living room. The
floor and walls are white, but covered in the same thick, clear
plastic. There’s a lone window, looking out into the blue sky,
also covered by plastic. Birds fly by, singing. In the middle of the
room is the open corpse of a dolphin, on a plastic-covered table.

There’s
a rather cartoon-sized butcher’s knife in its back.

I
bring my right arm up and bury my face in the inside of my elbow.

I
step on things: Bloodstained boxes with the handwritten words Aloha
Happy Meat on them. Some boxes are sealed and addressed to India and
Canada and Israel and France and Alaska and the Philippines. How are
these boxes going to be shipped? Everything gets checked everywhere
nowadays after 9/11. You can’t use the bathroom at McDonalds
without being searched by a grinning security guard with a tattoo of
a nude George W. Bush Jr. on her thick neck.

On
bar stools, I see 6 answering machines. There are phone numbers on
them. Curious, I call each one and receive these messages:

You
make eye contact with a radical nun doing a cartwheel, in place.

You
squat in the middle of the aisle and you like it because I said so.

You
kissed the priest with your mouth and then your tongue touched his
tongue and he exploded into flames.

You
put a detachable clitoris into the offering basket. Will you notice?

A
pregnant woman cries in the distance. Oh God, she has a hook for a
hand!

You
put mini corn into the holy wine jug, and then you say you did it.

You
touched the small of the priest's back.

This
man is very smart. Obviously, these are codes – probably
shipping instructions for his illegal meat, at least that’s
what I make myself believe.

The
dolphin seems oddly at peace.

It
gives me the stiff one-eye.

I
stick my finger out and touch the eye.

…Soft…Wet…Slick…

Then
I touch its nose.

Hard,
yet soft.

Like
a cold burrito.

I
decide to stay the night – to watch over Joann. I’ll be
observant. I’ll see if she is truly, madly, deeply in love with
him. If yes, then I’ll scram.

The
phone on the kitchen wall rings. My heart JUMPS. I run out of the
room and shut the door and pretty-up the noisy plastic, trying my
best to get it looking just like I found it.

The
voice on the other end of the phone is who I hope for.

It’s
Polly.

She
tells me that I have to get up early tomorrow for work.

I
tell her that’s fine, and that I shall do my best.

Polly
asks if everything is going well with Joann, and I tell her “Yessm,
excellent,” that she seems very happy indeed.

Polly
explains that the reason for the early wake-up is an important one.
The script changed due to crazy reasons and now the two of us have to
go location scouting at 3 in the morning. The production is also
running late, and we have to find a beach to film on ASAP before
everything turns FUBAR – somewhere remote and picturesque. The
idea of waking up at the crack of ass tires me.

An
hour later

I
stay in the bathroom the whole day with a sharpened spoon at my
wrist…thinking about how I could end it all now. Maybe I can
come back in my next life rich. As Paris Hilton. We choose our lives
before we are born.

So
what the hell did I do – or not do – in MY past life to
deserve this shitty life? Why the fuck didn’t I choose a more
relaxing lifestyle?

I
wish I KNEW what I was THINKING.

But
would it really be better if we all knew what we did in our past
lives?

How
would you live knowing that in your past life you raped that cow?

I
press the sharp thing against my skin – against the hard,
tube-like tendon. They say you should cut vertically, not
horizontally like how you see in the movies or like how your
depressed-therefore-they’re-cool emo pals say.

And
then, of course, I can’t do it.

Blahhhhh.

If
only I had the strength to push down faster. And then what? Come back
in my next life as Angelina Jolie’s lips? Maybe. Then again,
since it would be cheating, I really don’t think the Universe
would sing praise to a soul that “gave up”.

At
best, I might be lucky to come back as Steven Spielberg’s 26th
stool.

I
shrug and instead take a hot shower. Then it gets too hot, and I take
a cold shower.