One Foot in the Grave: An Almost Zombie Tale (6 page)

“I believe it was Sherlock Holmes who said, ‘When you have eliminated the possible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.’”

“You’re quoting an opium addict, Mom. You know that, right?” And a completely made-up character, but I’m not going to argue
that
point with her.

“That doesn’t make him wrong,” she snaps.

I close my eyes. “Okay, you win.”

She immediately backs off. This is how our conversations go, though. She quotes an obscure source to cement her point of view and I give in to her ‘greater wisdom.’ Never mind that, in this case, she’s absolutely right. “Have you tried calling Andrew yet?”

“Why would I call him? He’s the one who caused this.”

“How does a human turn another human into a half-zombie?”

I was wondering when she’d get around to asking
that
question. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Andrew isn’t human, Mom.”

“But he’s such a
nice
boy. I mean…except for the zombie turning part.”

“Mom. He’s a vampire. I have no idea what happened, but he bit me and I woke up like this.” I kind of wave my arms around.

“Then we definitely need to find him. What’s his address?”

“I…no, Mom. This isn’t your problem, it’s mine.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Isis. If it’s your problem, it’s my problem.” She yawns. “Darn jet lag. I need to get some sleep. Are you up for coffee later?”

Oh, how I wish. I start to answer her, but the corner of my mouth tears open.

“Damnit,” I swear, and then cringe.

“Isis Blue! Don’t you dare swear in front of me!” Mom points her index finger at me while she chews me out.

“Yes, ma’am.” I fall back on old habits even though I can feel the hairline tear in my cheek widening. “Ummm…Mom?” I interrupt her. “I need some crazy glue.”

“…swearing is the Devil’s…What?” She breaks off to stare at me.

“Yeah. It’s in the top drawer in the china hutch, left side. Crazy glue. Please.”

“Oh my…word, Isis, your cheek!” She rushes to the hutch and does as I ask. Good to know that even under the weirdest circumstances imaginable, Mom’s great in a crisis.

I reach out to take the glue from her, but she doesn’t let it go. “No, I’ll do it.” Her hand shakes. I find myself wondering whether I’ll have a half-smile like Heath Ledger’s Joker when she’s done, but I don’t complain. All things considered, her attitude’s been great.

“There, all done.” She hands me the glue. “I’m sorry it’s messy, but I’m not used to this sort of thing.”

“It’s okay, Mom,” I say. “I’m just glad you stayed.”

“When I should have run screaming, you mean?” Mom smiles at me. “You’re my daughter. What else am I supposed to do?”

It’s a good question and one I’m pretty sure I don’t have the answer to. Not yet, anyway.

Nine:

The Hunt Begins.

I wake up, stretching my arms high above my head. Is it tomorrow? I turn my bleary eyes to the clock and double check. Yup. It’s tomorrow. Ugh. That means the date with Daniel is tonight. As if last night’s fun with Mom wasn’t enough, now I have what I never imagined I’d have again. A date with a vampire. It’s the title of the worst campy movie ever. I sigh and roll to the edge of the bed, where I sit up and feel the glued cut on my cheek. Thankfully, it’s holding, because I’m not up for having Frankenstein screws in my face. I already feel freakish enough.

I stumble to the bathroom and splash cold water on my face. I grab my bathrobe off the back of the door, put it on, and slide my arms into the soft, fuzzy sleeves before belting it closed. The part of me that’s human longs for bacon and eggs for breakfast, or even sausage gravy with biscuits. But the zombie part demands raw piggy brains. Again. So I shuffle my way into the kitchen, awake but not functioning at 100%. Kind of zombie-like, if I do say so myself. I’m so tired of brains. I wonder if there are such things as zombie doctors…like voodoo doctors, but for the undead, and if they can help me eat ‘real’ food. After all, I’m still half human.

“Morning, Isis!”

My mom is just a bit too chipper for my taste. “Hi, Mom, what’re you doing up?”

“
Trying
to get back on a normal sleep schedule.” She pours herself a cup of amazing smelling coffee and a tsunami wave of jealousy washes over me. I want coffee. “Besides,” she continues, “you’ve got nothing in the ‘fridge except brains, and I’m simply not up for eating those. Ever.”

I sigh and tie my hair into a swift knot before reaching into the ‘fridge and grabbing one of the many covered Tupperwares. I don’t blame her one bit. Sitting down at the table, I open my brains and stare into the bowl, trying to summon the energy to eat.

“Do you want to go grocery shopping with me?”

Ugh. I so
don’t
. “Ummm…not really, Mom. The smell of food kind of makes me queasy.”

My mom makes lightning fast decisions, I’ll give her that. “Then I need to buy you your own ‘fridge; one of those dorm sized ones should work great for your bedroom.”

“Seriously? You’ll do that?”

“On one condition,” she says.

I stab my fork into the plastic container and get around three squiggles of brains onto the tines. “Which is?”

“Get off your rear and call Andrew. Get his address so we can go pay him a visit later today…tonight. I don’t want him to explode before I get a chance to kill him.”

I love my mom. I really do. “I can’t tonight, Mom. I’ve got…a date.”

She frowns. “All this is happening and you’re going out on a
date
? Isis, what’s wrong with you?”

“I’m half alive, but I can’t eat. I’m half dead and I’m starting to decompose. What could possibly be wrong?”

“A lot less snip would be appreciated, young lady. Now tell me about this date. Who’s it with, where’d you meet, and when will I get to meet him?”

“His name is Daniel, I met him at church, and I’m not sure. He’s…shy.”

The ringing phone cuts our conversation short, for which I’m extremely grateful. Mom reaches it before I do.

“Monroe residence, Marilinn speaking.” There’s a pause. “Yes, may I tell her who’s calling?” She holds one hand over the mouthpiece. “It’s someone named Lydia.”

I replace my fork with the phone, wondering how she got our number. Then again, I firmly believe she’s a Salem Witch, so it was probably easy-peasy.

“I’m heading out to the store.” Mom mouths at me. “Is there anything you need?”

“Extra volume shampoo and conditioner.” I say. “Lots and lots of conditioner.” My hair’s becoming drier and drier. Maybe my body’s stopped producing the oils it needs to stay healthy? I blame zombiedom.

As soon as my mom leaves the apartment, I speak into the mouthpiece. “Hello?”

“Isis, it’s Lydia. Daniel told me you’d need a gown for tonight, and I might have just the thing in your size.”

“I wear a small,” I say, positive she has nothing in my size.

“It used to belong to my daughter, but she’s since outgrown it. Why don’t you come by my house around six tonight and we’ll make sure it fits. I’m at 4263 Hagwood Circle. Do you know where that is?”

It’s not too far from me, actually. I nod, then remember I’m on the phone. “I’ll be there tonight. Ummm…thanks.”

“Sure thing. See you then.”

I put the phone down. I’m not going to call Andrew. One: I already know his address and two: all that’ll do is give him the chance to deflect my questions. The best course of action is to confront him face to face. I glance at the microwave. The light green numbers blink 12:30 p.m. He’s probably at home. Maybe he’s even still asleep in his coffin, if vampire legend holds true. If I hurry, I can get to his house before he wakes up. I push away from the table and head for my bedroom. I’m not horribly worried about what to wear, so I just throw on a pair of holey jeans and a shirt that unfortunately says ‘Brainzzzzz…it’s what’s for breakfast, lunch
and
dinner!’ with a picture of a cartoon zombie chowing down on a defenseless teddy bear. I grab my keys and pepper spray off my nightstand and head down to the apartment garage.

I love my car. It’s not anything special, but it runs. It’s a bright blue ’74 Volkswagen Beetle, which is a tribute to my oh-so-wonderful hippie upbringing. It even has a huge flower painted on the driver’s side door; an orange carnation. I climb inside and crank the engine. It turns over immediately, thanks to my mom’s utter paranoia about car maintenance. I stick it in first, pull out of the garage and into traffic. Andrew’s house isn’t far from me, which was great when we were dating. Now…I’m not so sure. At least I can get over talking to him quick. It’ll be like ripping off a Band-Aid; it’ll hurt for a second, and then be over.

I make a left-hand turn into Andrew’s neighborhood and navigate the small streets until I reach his house, where I park the Bug and idle. I’m not ready to get out and confront him. I have no idea what to say. ‘Hey, Andrew, guess what? You turned me into a monster and, oh by the way, you
suck
?’ Hmmm…probably not. I don’t even know
how
he did it; just that it happened. Maybe it was just a freaky accident and he has no idea. It’s possible. Maybe I don’t have to kill him, after all. I open the door and get out. A curtain flickers open, then shuts again, so I know someone’s home. My heart’s beating like a trip-hammer. I straighten my shoulders. It’s time.

The guy who answers the door definitely isn’t who I’m looking for. He looks exactly like a transplant from a California surfer movie and not a bit like Andrew. Which makes sense, considering he’s not my ex.

“Yeah, can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Andrew,” I say. “Is he home?”

“Wow, he hasn’t been here in, like, forever.” He yawns.

“He didn’t leave a forwarding address or anything? I find that pretty hard to believe.”

“Dude, seriously, I don’t know where Andrew is. He left, like, a week ago.” He scratches at his ear. “He might be at Jennette’s. Maybe.”

I glare at him. “I don’t know Jennette.” She must be the next girlfriend and, as angry as I am at Andrew, I’m kind of pissed he replaced me so fast, too.

“Well, I don’t know what else to tell you. He’s not here.”

I stifle my frustration. “Do you know if he’s coming back anytime soon?”

“I doubt it,” the guy says. “He was pretty freaked out, actually. Paid up his portion of the rent, grabbed some of his stuff and bolted.”

Great. Terrific. Now what am I supposed to do? I turn to leave.

“Wait; is your name Queen, or something? You’re his girl, right?”

I turn back. “I
was
his girl, yeah. Why?”

“He left something for you. Hold on a sec.” He shuts the door in my face. Nice. It doesn’t take long before the door opens again and surfer dude shoves an envelope at me.

I take it out of reflex more than out of any real desire to see what’s in it. “Did he say anything?”

The guy shrugs. “Just something like ‘if she comes by, give her this’.”

He’s so full of information, I can hardly stand it. I wait for him to say something else, but he just stares at me. I guess I have to walk away first. “Thanks.”

“See ya.” The door slams shut and that, as they say, is that. I walk back to the Bug, climb inside, and stare at the envelope. I have no idea why Andrew would write me, or what he could possibly have to say. But it feels like more than one sheet of paper, so whatever it is, it’ll probably be worth reading. Maybe. I flip it over, open it, and take the two sheets of stationary out.

‘Isis,’ it begins, ‘I wish I could take back what I did to you. Not because I’m ashamed of trying it, but because it didn’t succeed.’ I almost crumple up the letter right then and there, but my curiosity gets the better of me and I keep reading. ‘I wanted us to be together, and that was the only way I could think of to make it happen. Any harm I may have caused you wasn’t at all my intent.’ I’m not quite sure how he might have thought turning me into a vampire wouldn’t be harming me, but I can feel my anger at him seeping away ‘I’m sure by now you’ve figured out what I am. Normal boyfriends don’t bite their girlfriends. At least, not like,’ I flip the page over. It’s blank, so I turn to the last page in the envelope. ‘I did. I know telling you now I didn’t want to be alone anymore won’t help you forgive me, but I hope you do anyway. ~Andrew.’

Crap. How am I supposed to kill him now that he’s asked for my forgiveness? Won’t doing that make
me
into the monster?

Ten:

Breakdown, it’s all Right.

I turn the ignition over and head home. The entire venture only took around an hour, so that leaves me with five and a half hours to burn, and nothing on my agenda. Or so I believe until I walk into the apartment and hear the low hum of voices coming from the kitchen.

“I met one of your new friends at the grocery store. Come in and say hello.” My mom says.

My brain starts whirling around. Who could she possibly have met? “I’m kind of tired. I was just going to head to my room and take a nap.” I’m not particularly tired, but I don’t much feel like socializing, either.

“Don’t be rude. Come in here.”

I sigh. So much for that deflection working. “All right.”

Our kitchen is tiny. Like, there’s room for a table and a couple of chairs, but that’s pretty much it. I guess it’s a typical apartment kitchen, but I don’t know. The last place we lived was a commune, which has its own concept of space. My mom is sitting at one of the chairs, and Lydia’s planted in the other.

“I thought I was going to meet you at your house,” I say.

“Fate had a different idea,” she says matter-of-factly. “Unfortunately, I don’t have your gown with me, so you can come get it early.”

“How did you know that’s my mom?” I’m not going anywhere with her until I know how she found my mom in a grocery store.

“I scryed for her.”

“You used
magic
on me?” My mom, on the other hand, doesn’t sound creeped out at all. It’s obvious she’s fascinated by the idea, which is pretty disturbing.

Lydia nods. “Only a tiny bit. Magic is practice and discipline and study and using it takes almost more energy than it’s worth.”

My mom nods as though that’s the most natural answer in the world. I just kind of twitch one shoulder upward. “So why do I have to go with you, again?”