Mark Henry_Amanda Feral 02 (28 page)

I crept down the hall, the music’s volume increasing with each step. He was definitely in there. Dancing. The shadow stretched across the linoleum, across the bodies, like a De Chirico study.

I stopped in my tracks.

It was time for the plan.

Markham has a thing for bottomless girls? Wait until he got a load of me. I’d show him bottomless— the hottest piece of zombie ass around, guaranteed. Wendy was out of service, after all, and this was Bum-fuck, Nowhere. How stiff could the competition be? Once I’d lured him in with my perfectly trimmed patch and badonkadonk, I’d have him near enough to blow the life right out of him. Just one quick exhalation into his unsuspecting mouth and those lungs would turn to sponge and suck the life out of the vamp.

I slipped out of my skirt and panties, letting them drop to the floor in a rare patch of blood-free linoleum. I took off my blouse, hung it on a doorknob and sauntered into the shaft of light, posing with my hips twisted outward and a pout on my perfectly toned lips, playing the slut for all it was worth.

And that would have been great. Demeaning, sure.

But, it would have worked perfect.

If only it had been Markham.

“Amanda!” The voice exploded from the figure in the center of the room, as though shouted into a microphone, and blood swirled in between us, curling away from the vile creature’s lips.

It couldn’t be.

It just wasn’t possible.

I could feel bile, or bits of skinhead rise in my throat along with the dreaded words.

“Hello, Mother.”

She stood in the center of the room; hand on her cocked hip and a look of condescension on her bloody face. At her feet lay a desiccated Markham, looking a lot less threatening in a sunken colorless heap. Dead. Again.

“Where are your clothes, girl?” she asked, followed immediately by the look and a slow condescending shake of her head.
¹⁴⁷
Blood dripped from her chin, down the front of her hospital gown.

I covered myself with both hands. “What the fuck?”

“Well, I’m alive, obviously, get some clothes on, you’re embarrassing me.” She stepped over Markham’s body and then stopped, head snapping to the right. “Avert your eyes, boys. I’m not kidding. I’ll do you like I did the rest of these shitheads.”

Two burly guys, one red-headed and freckled as Becky Thatcher, the other black and shiny, but with unusually thin lips, covered their eyes like a quick salute. Turning and facing the wall, apparently under my mother’s spell.

Did she have spells?

I was even less prepared than I was clothed. The
words wouldn’t come. All that practiced hatred seemed inaccessible. I slipped out and put my clothes back on.

“What the hell happened here? And why aren’t you dead, Ethel?” She wasn’t, that was clear. Wasn’t even dying. She looked healthy, in fact, glowing, gorgeous, even youthful, by twenty years, at least.

I always knew I looked like my mother. But seeing her like this made me realize it again. We could have been sisters.

“Mr. Markham here …” She kicked the body. “… was waiting for you to get here with someone named Gil. Oh-ho-ho boy did he want to kill that one. Who is that, by the way, boyfriend? Husband?”

“Oh no. God no, just a friend. He’s outside.” Why was I even responding? I should have turned and walked out the moment I saw her. Abandoned her to figure all this shit out on her own.

“So our dead friend here got bored and thought it’d be fun to bite your old mom. Pick on a dying woman, can you imagine? Well, that was just rude. So, I bit the fucker back.”

“More than just bit from the looks of it.”

“Oh well, the blood sprayed in my mouth and at first I was disgusted. Then something odd happened. It started to taste good. So good. It’s been a long time since I’ve even tasted anything, what with the fluid they keep pushing here and the medication. Might as well have been in a coma, for the treatment. So, I kept drinking and drinking. He did, too, I guess. That’s what vampires do. But, I was thirstier. By the time I was done, so was he.” She jerked a thumb at the pile. “Passed out a little bit, but then felt this amazing strength. Like rage. It’s what I’ve been missing all my life, Mandy.”

“Don’t call me that.”

She ignored me and continued. “When I walked
out in the hall, these two hambones were making a real mess. I gave them quite a talking to, I can tell you. Ask them, if you don’t believe me.”

“It’s true,” Darryl or Randy said, still facing the wall. “I’m guessing we work for Ethel, now. Your mom, I mean.”

I rolled my eyes.

“I should say so.” She strode past me and snapped her fingers. Inexplicably, I followed. “I finished off the rest myself, took off their heads because some of the skinny fuckers were starting to turn into wolves.” She plodded through the bloody mess in the hall in fuzzy slippers, soppy with gore, kicking cheerfully through the deceased like new snow. “Sloppy boys. Couldn’t tell if the others were going to so I thought it would be prudent to even it up.”

“God. Why’d you line up their heads like that?”

“Seemed like the right thing to do. Plus, you know how I like to be organized. This way they can be easily identified. Now.” She turned and smiled, fangs bared. “Where’s that boyfriend of yours? I owe him a great big hug for sending me the cure.”

“Sending you the …” I slapped my forehead with my palm. “Mother. You don’t need to meet Gil. You need to get outta here, figure out what you’re gonna do. The police are eventually going to show up.”

“Oh.” She reached for my hand. “Silly. I know exactly what I’m going to do. I’m going to follow my girl back to wherever all this magic comes from and live happily ever after. That’s what I’m going to do.”

I groaned. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go at all. I couldn’t even tap into the anger. It was all just so weird. Maybe Gil could just take care of her, like some vampire Big Brother program.

“Amanda!” Gil shouted from the rear entrance. “Are you alright?”

“Ooh.” Ethel clapped her hands once. “There he is now. I can’t wait to meet him.”

“Is someone with you down there?”

“Um … yeah.”

“Darling?” Ethel asked. “Who’s this glassy Asian gentleman sitting next to me?”

Mr. Kim gave my mother a suspicious glance and with good reason. Not only did she not care for strangers, she wasn’t a fan of Asians. Never had been. I cringed at the thought of her calling him a gook or chink or some other more offensive derogation.
¹⁴⁸
You should have seen her toy with the delivery boy when I was a kid. Horrific.

“That’s Mr. Kim and that’s
exactly
how you’ll refer to him. Understand?”

She sneered and held out her hand as though he’d gladly kiss it. “The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Kim.”

He simply stared.

I slammed her door and we were on our way back to the hotel. Randy and Darryl followed behind in— oddly enough—a bright yellow Volkswagen Bug, looking very much the couple. Where did they go to henchmen school? Fire Island?

“It’s been quite a while, darling. We’ve got some catching up to do.”

“Is that a threat?” I glanced over at Gil for back up. He hid his eyes behind his hand like a Venetian mask.

“No.” The word spilled out of her in two long venomous syllables, the last one pitching upward, ever so slightly, like a shank under the ribs. “I’m just trying to reconnect with my long-lost daughter, after what? Ten years.”

“Wow,” Gil mumbled. “That’s a long time.”

My mother nodded her agreement, dramatically.
¹⁴⁹

“I gotta tell you, Amanda. I’m kinda lovin’ your mom. Saving me from that psycho, and all.”

Ethel winked at him, beaming. “And you’re a wonderful boy, Gil. A shame I weren’t twen—uh … ten years younger. I’d change you back to our team in a heartbeat.”

Gil chuckled. “I just might let ya, you minx.”

“You’re a naughty one, too.” They were both laughing. Even Mr. Kim giggled a bit. I, meanwhile, could have chewed the insides of my cheeks off.

Thankfully, Rapid City is a small town so the lovefest and the ride were cut blessedly short. I pulled off the highway and the hotel rose ahead of us like the world’s largest fantasy bong. But that’s not what caught my attention first. The Cleavers’ RV was barreling through the parking lot toward the exit and us. Ward drove with a face full of rage, scrunched up like one of Grandma’s pantyhose dolls.

“Jesus!” Gil yelled, clutching the little handle over his window as I swerved to avoid a head-on collision.

A victory cry echoed from the monstrous vehicle (the Cleavers were not at all subtle) and the creepy boy gave us the finger from the back window. So much for the happy family—these Cleavers were driving like methheads fleeing a lab explosion. The RV took the curb like a stunt jump, scraping the ground and sending a fantail of sparks into the waning night.

If that weren’t enough of a scene, close on their tail sped an oddly familiar white truck, its driver shouted obscenities from the window. “Goddamn ass lickin’ pigfuckers!”

Fishhook was mad.

He careened after the RV out onto the main road and west on the freeway, the crappy Nissan truck coughing black smoke that shadowed the streetlights like a low budget Eastern European vampire movie.

Meanwhile, the Volvo ended up wedged between a dumpster and a horrified family of four, interrupted while packing their car full of luggage and miniature Mount Rushmore figurines.

“Well what was all that about?” Ethel straightened the raincoat she’d swiped.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t good. I’d completely downgraded the family’s threat level from “oh crap” to “eh” on my personal security advisory scale, but now
we were going to be moving them up into the highest category, “holy shit.” Fishhook’s behavior defied proper classification. But it begged the question …

What the fuck was going on?

I backed the car away from the frightened family and crept toward our room in the far wing of the hotel. The camper was still there, ditto the orange Mustang. But, I felt an anxious stitch spark in my stomach when I saw our supposedly barricaded door hanging open.

Have you ever known a cracked door to spell anything but trouble? I wished we hadn’t snuck into the Passages Hospice Center, ’cause look where that got me. Now we were faced with what I hoped wasn’t another murder, or three.

I pulled into an empty spot a few doors away.

“Wait here. Gil and I will go check it out and see what’s happening.”

“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“I realize that. It’s more so I won’t be tempted to toss you in harm’s way.”

“Oh. That’s pleasant. Thank you.” She eyed her nails and then motioned behind us at the Volkswagen. Darryl and Randy stumbled out and joined us in the investigation.

I plodded down the walkway, followed by the two goons. Gil took the rear.
¹⁵⁰
At the doorway we stopped. “Wendy? Scott? Honey?” I called.

No sound. But then, a grunt.

I pushed the door the rest of the way open to see a battered Scott dragging himself across the carpet, eyes black and swollen closed and a trail of blood leading from each pant leg.

“Oh shit.” I ran in and knelt beside him. “Don’t move. Jesus.”

“Mama,” he said. So not endearing, I can tell you. “Maaa.”

The blood poured from two gashes above his feet. Severed tendons dangled from the openings and his feet flopped at weird angles. All I could think was: those better heal, wolfman, because I won’t be carting you around in a wagon to social events. Callous, perhaps. But, in my defense, a handicap really doesn’t go with my wardrobe. Seriously, he’s a werewolf and he’ll heal. Get over it.

“Get those beds back on the ground and get him comfortable. Gil, check the bathroom and that goddamned closet. Make sure we’re alone.”

The two goons helped their former coworker onto the mattress. He screamed as one of the guys tried to position his feet. I sat at the head of the bed and brushed the damp curls from his forehead.

“What the hell happened, man?”

“That family. They’re bad. So bad.”

He drifted into a pseudo-sleep that didn’t seem to break when I slapped his cheeks.

“He’s in the healing sleep,” one of the guys said.

I looked up. It was the black one, Randy.
¹⁵¹

“He’ll be out for hours while those wounds and muscles stitch themselves up and heal.”

“Great.” I stood and wheeled around at Gil. “Now all we have to go on is that the family did this and they’re ‘bad.’ Where are Wendy and Honey, for Christ’s sake?”

Gil stood next to the dresser lifting a Juicy Couture bag resembling Wendy’s. He unzipped it and pulled out a handful of Twix miniatures, the husks of several wrappers spilled out on the floor. “Does this answer your question?”

“Oh shit. Kidnapped.” Do I need to tell you Wendy wouldn’t go anywhere without her stash, let alone her hobo bag? Those bastards took them. This was it. This was what the mystics were talking about. They were going to kill Honey. But why take Wendy? “Why would they do that?” I asked aloud. “I mean do they enjoy the smell of diarrhea?”