Good & Dead #1 (11 page)

The guard’s eyes met his, and they both looked at the pants. 

Michael rushed back and leapt for them in desperation with his only free hand.  Pain shot through his back and chest as he extended his injured arm.  Then there was a loud pop and the pain vanished.  All of it.  Michael was momentarily stunned, his hand on the pants and his mouth hanging open.

“Stop!” the guard huffed, just barely missing the pants in a wild grab. 

“No!” Michael replied, tugging against the metal that held the pants in the fence.  They broke free with a loud tear.

“Wait right there!” the guard said again, attempting to get a foothold in the fence.

“No!” Michael said again, running away as fast as he could, marveling at the absence of pain in his arm.  He looked back to see the rent-a-cop flop down on the ground in defeat.

There is no way he is getting over that thing
.  But Michael ran just the same; pants, bag, and scythe in hand.

Michael woke up feeling as though he had never even shut his eyes.  He stared up at the slightly smoke-stained ceiling and groaned.  His limbs felt so heavy that for a moment it seemed he was paralyzed.  He sat up slowly, feeling that his middle might as well have been made of that eerily flesh-colored silly putty. 

The window to the fire escape no longer closed properly; there was a gap at least two inches wide at the bottom.  Even though there was a healthy breeze, he probably would not even have noticed had it not been for the snowflakes that blew across his face as he tried to sleep.  It was a strange thing to know objectively that not freezing to death was an advantage but feeling disturbed by it anyway. 

Michael trudged to the window and looked out.  The city was always at its most beautiful after a healthy snow, when all the browns and grays and blacks of the many shingles and exposed tar paper were replaced with pristine white sparkles.  Below, Michael knew, the streets would be a slosh of cold brownish mud.  But from his third-floor vantage point, the city was bathed in a clean slate of snow.

I have to kill someone today
.

Bell appeared on the other side of the glass. 

“Gah!” Michael jumped back in alarm and landed hard on his butt.

She was dressed in black leather from head to toe, her vibrant hair pulled back into a shimmering braid.  A motorcycle helmet was nestled in the crook of her arm.  She looked pissed.

She kicked the window open with a knee-high leather boot and stepped inside.

“What did I do?”

“That’s a good question, Michael,” she said, holding out a hand and yanking him to his feet.  “Let’s think about that.  What was one of the very first things I said to you?”

“Um…” Michael watched as she pulled a slender cell phone from her the pocket of her jacket.

She navigated to a video clip and held it in front of Michael’s face.

“There was an apparent break in at the Glenn Heights Retirement Home,” said a chesty brunette at a news desk.  “According to police nothing was taken; but check out this image caught on security cameras as the perpetrator was fleeing the scene.”

The screen flashed as a fuzzy square of security footage replaced the anchor.  The grim reaper was walking down the hallway of the nursing home, scythe and all.  The tape fast-forwarded a little bit, and then the figure went the same way he had come, and turned down another hallway.  “News correspondent Sylvester Lyle talked with Mr. Jeffery Westen, a resident who claims to have played host to a specter from beyond the grave.”

“He walked right into my room,” said the wheezy old man Michael had spoken to ten hours before.  “Pulled back the curtain and all,” he said, staring adoringly at the round-faced baby he held in his lap. “I asked if I could see my first great-great granddaughter.  “And He gave me one more day,” he smiled broadly, “11 lbs, 15 ounces.”

The brunette returned.  “The police decline to comment officially.”

Bell tucked the phone back into her pocket.  “Was I not clear that I do not appreciate media attention, Michael?”

“Yes, mam,” Michael said, wincing.  “Sorry.  I didn’t think—”

“Clearly you didn’t think, Michael,” she said sharply.

“I just thought it’d be better…than….” his voice trailed off as sickness rose in his throat.

“That’s your big idea to assuage your conscience? It’s cute,” Bell laughed.  “You’re going to bleed a near-corpse dry?”

“I won’t kill an innocent person who wants to live,” Michael said, less quietly.  “I won’t do that.  I was just going to see if there was someone who maybe…” Michael ran his hands through his hair. “Who maybe was ready to… ‘go’.”

“I see,” Bell said with a smirk.  “You have a painfully optimistic view of the world, Michael.  You assume the average person you pass on the street is innocent?”  Bell paced as she had the day before, like a tiger on the prowl. “There is one thing I’ve learned in my century in this city, Michael: No one is innocent.”

Michael stared at his socked feet and frowned. 

“You really do have some rose colored glasses, don’t you?” Bell set her helmet down on top of Michael’s computer.  “Do you know why I’m in charge, Michael?  What gives me an edge over every power—hungry number two I’ve ever had?”

Michael shook his head. 

She reached up to pull the elastic from her ponytail.  As her hair fell around her face it changed from her red silk to Charlotte’s blonde waves. Her long limbs shrank considerably and freckles popped out across the bridge of her nose. In a moment Charlotte was standing before him.  “I can tell,” she stepped closer to him, “with just one touch, what you are made of.  Your deepest fears.  Your hidden longings.” She reached a hand out to touch his face but he recoiled. “Your shameful secrets.  I can tell, without ever even hearing you speak, what makes you tick.  If you had any idea the things that I have seen come rising to the surface when I pass these ‘innocent’ people on the street…  Even your lovely little Charlotte has her secrets.  Would you like to know what they are?”

“No!” Michael had backed up all the way into the kitchen.  His back was up against the fridge.  She touched his cheek. 

She smiled and simpered.  There was no mistaking Bell behind Charlotte’s round eyes.  “You want to learn something about yourself?”

Michael squirmed and looked away. 

“You,” she said, patting his cheek, “are a coward.  And a fool.  And when you realize what a fool you’ve been, you’re going to find out just how much anger you have bubbling up inside you.  It’s more than you think.” She smiled at him with her stolen smile.  “And I can’t wait to see it.”

She took a step back and transformed back into her tall, terrifying self. 

“You are going to live forever, Michael.  That is an awfully long time to worry so hard over right and wrong.  That’s an awfully long time to agonize over your own guilt.  And it’s far too long a time for any man to resist temptation,” she said, poking him in the chest with a lacquered pink fingernail.

Michael hadn’t thought about it like that.  He had been focusing so hard on keeping his life together that he hadn’t had time to look to the future, which now seemed impossibly long. 

“I never,” Bell said dangerously, “ever, want to see you on the news again, Michael.”

“Can I still—you know—” Michael sighed, “do what I was going to do at the retirement home?”

Bell smirked deeply and put her hands on her leather hips.  “You go ahead, Michael,” she said at last. “Rock out with those rose colored glasses.  I think it’ll be well worth the wait when you finally reach you potential.”

“Thank you,” Michael said quietly, frowning.

“But I wouldn’t recommend giving out any more twenty-four hour passes.  You aren’t going to be able to keep your cool much longer.  You must have noticed the hunger.”

Michael closed his eyes and rubbed his fists into them.  “Yes,” he said, “I did notice.”

“It’s only going to get worse.” 

The buzzer sounded from his door.

Bell gestured to the intercom.

Michael glanced at Bell and walked uncertainly to the buzzer.

“Go on!” she insisted, in the tone of a harassed parent.

Michael pushed the button.  “Hello?”

“It’s me!” Randy’s voice floated up to them, accompanied by the rustling of grocery bags.

Michael pressed the little button to unlock the door at the front steps.

Bell flashed her bright smile.  “I think I’ll take the stairs this time, Joseph.”

“Huh?” Michael spun around and saw that Joseph had appeared on the balcony.  He nodded and started down the stairs without even looking at Michael.

“O…k…” Michael said, opening the door for Bell.

She started to walk through but turned back. “Almost forgot my helmet,” she said “Safety first, you know.”  She took her time on the way back to the door.  Michael could hear Randy’s lumbering steps on the stair.

“Have a nice day, Michael,” Bell said with a taunting wave.

Randy almost ran straight into her in the doorway.

“Jeez!” he exclaimed, dropping one of his grocery bags in alarm.

“Hello,” Bell practically purred.  She held out a hand in greeting, winking at Michael as she did so.

Randy had frozen.  He was staring at Bell’s glistening leather curves.

“Randy!” Michael called out helpfully.

“Huh?” Randy said, “Oh!  Excuse me, ma’am,” he bowed ridiculously, then reached out and shook her hand.

“That’s alright,” Bell said, glancing back at Michael with her customary smirk. “Let me help you with this.”

She bent down and helped Randy pick up the grapes that had rolled in every direction.

Randy couldn’t seem to move his limbs properly.

“Thank you,” Randy said when all the fruit had been retrieved, a strange twitch in his right eye.

“No problem, cutey,” she said, actually pinching his cheek on her way past.

Bell gave Michael one more mischievous glance before disappearing down the stairs.

Randy stood motionless in the hall for a full minute after she had gone. 

“Randy!” Michael finally yelled.

“Woah, man, did you see that…?” he asked, his cheeks red.

“Yes, I saw,” Michael said. 
You wouldn’t think she was so beautiful if you’d seen some of the things she does
, Michael thought bitterly.

“I mean, wow!” Randy said, walking through the open door and setting the groceries down on the table, “she doesn’t live in the building does she?” he asked hopefully.

“Um—,” Michael began.

“Wait, did she leave here?” Randy asked in disbelief.

“Yeah,” Michael said. “But she was…lost,” Michael said lamely. “Wrong apartment.”

“I’ll say,” Randy said. “Sorry about just showing up.  My cell died,” Randy said. “I think I need a new charger.”

“Gotcha,” Michael said. “This is quite a healthy spread,” he added, looking at Randy’s purchases.

“Yeah,” Randy grumbled, “my mom called last night.  She saw the pictures of the show up on the school’s website- you know, the ones where I’m imitating a beached whale on the set- she sent me a check for ‘more nutritious food’.  She actually wrote it on the ‘for’ line.”

“Wow,” Michael said.

“Yeah,” he said, throwing up his hands in surrender, “Apparently I’m fat.”

“Well, I just ate,” Michael lied, feeling nauseas.

Randy looked up from spreading a thick layer of mayonnaise on his bread and smirked t Michael’s questioning glance. “What?  It’s whole grain.”

Michael sat and watched Randy make himself a sandwich and a fruit salad.  The two of them had always enjoyed cooking.  They were teased for it in high school but were pleasantly surprised to find that it was downright sexy when you were a college man.  Not that either of them had taken advantage of that fact.  Most of their cooking skills were now employed with making pulled pork sandwiches and spicy sausage cheese dip for their Dungeons and Dragons games.  Michael watched him assembling his three-decker delight and tried to gather his thoughts.  He knew why Randy was here.  He was going to get to the bottom of Michael’s odd behavior.  The only question was whether it would be sooner or later.

“So,” Randy said with a mouth full of ham and mayonnaise, “what were you hiding from the police?”

Michael sighed.  He’d chosen sooner.  “I’m not hiding anything useful to them,” he began carefully, “I just…don’t remember what happened that night.”

“What do you mean?” Randy asked.

“After you got into your cab, I went back inside.  Charlotte thanked me for dragging your butt out the door, and then I came back outside.  After that, I can’t remember anything.  I woke up here, right before you called me to tell me I was late for Dr. Roger’s midterm.”

Randy looked puzzled.  “You can’t remember anything that happened?  Not even how you got home?”

“Nope,” Michael said, shrugging.  That part still bothered Michael.  He knew what happened that night.  He couldn’t remember, but he had all the information he needed to fill in the blanks.  But why would whoever turned him bring him home?  How would they even know where he lived?  Had he been conscious and somehow auto-piloted to home on his own?  He didn’t think that was possible.

“You know what?” Randy said, snapping his fingers, “I bet you had a concussion!  Memory loss, that weird headache, the vomiting, it all fits.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s true,” Michael said.  That was convenient.  “I bet you’re right.”

“I knew I should have made you go to the hospital,” Randy said, only a faint hint if worry in his eyes.  “I bet you’ve got brain damage.  That’s the only explanation for it.”

“The only explanation for what?” Michael asked.

“For how you’re doing so well with Charlotte all of a sudden,” Randy said. “Nice!”

Michael looked at the floor and felt his face grow red.  “Whatever.”

“Well,” Randy said, “when you get around to asking her out you should definitely invite her over for dinner.  Any girl who can still stand you after seeing your apartment would be completely amazing.  Pull that band-aid off real quick.”