Resurrection Dreams (28 page)

Melvin turned around, scanning the deserted waiting room. “I don’t see anyone,” he said.

“I’ve just explained to you,” Thelma said, an edge to her voice. “I’m canceling today’s appointments. As many as possible. If you’d like to come back next week…”

“I’ll just sit and wait. Maybe she can find a minute for me.”

Thelma pressed her lips together and glared at him. But she said nothing. Melvin turned away. He stepped over to an easy chair, sat down, and settled into it gently. The cushion pressed against the furrows Charlie had scratched into his back. They hurt a little, but not much. Compared to all the bites put in him during the past week, the scratches seemed like nothing more than a minor irritation.

But they itched through the bandages Patricia had applied.

He’d found her asleep when he returned from dealing with Charlie. He woke her up. She yelped with alarm and threw her arms around him. “What happened?” she blurted. “What’d he do to you?”

“Not near as much as I did to him,” Melvin said.

He told her all about it while they went into the bathroom and he shed his damp, filthy clothes. The back of his shirt was split apart. Standing behind him, Patricia ran her fingertips lightly down his scratches, making him squirm. In the mirror, he saw that his face—especially around the mouth—and neck were smeared with the same kind of black grime that had darkened his shirt and pants.

He filled the tub with hot water. He climbed in, and Patricia got in with him. Kneeling behind him, she lathered his back and rubbed it gently with a washcloth. Then, she rubbed harder. “Ow! Stop that!”

“It doesn’t want to come off very good,” she said. He told her to get the Goop from under the sink. It was a lotion that he often used after returning from work at the service station to clean car grease off his hands. She left the tub and came back with the jar. She spread the slimy lotion over his back. When she rinsed it off, she said, “It’s like magic! Let me do your front.”

She climbed out. Melvin scooted toward the rear of the tub to make room for her. She stepped in and knelt between his legs. Holding the jar in one hand, she peeled the sodden bandages off his shoulders and chest and tossed them onto the bathroom floor.

“You’re just so covered with hurts,” she said, a sorrowful look in her eyes as she gazed at his wounds.

“Thanks mostly to you,” Melvin said.

She nibbled her lower lip. “I’m sorry. I try to be good. I love you, Melvin. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I know,” he said. Something seemed to tighten inside his chest and throat. He looked at the trails of scratches remaining on Patricia’s breasts and belly from the tantrum she’d thrown last night. Because she’d missed him. Most had faded to pinkish lines. Others were dark with thin crusts of scab. He saw that the Face of Ram-Chotep seemed to be healing well except for one corner of the Mouth, which she’d opened during her rage. The bite wound on her forearm was covered with a wet bandage. “You shouldn’t hurt yourself, either,” Melvin said.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

She scooped up a mound of the white Goop with her fingers and spread it over Melvin’s face. As he watched her eyes, he wondered about the tenderness he’d lately been feeling toward her. She’s dead, he thought. She’s nothing but a goddamn zombie.

But my zombie. She loves me.

Nobody had ever loved him. Maybe his parents, but that was doubtful, the way they used to treat him. Certainly no girls had ever looked at him with anything but contempt.

Except Vicki, and now Patricia.

Vicki was the only live one who was ever nice to him. But it was pretty clear she didn’t love him.

She will, he told himself, and closed his eyes. I’ve just gotta be patient and keep being good to her.

His plans were already bringing rewards. Though Vicki made him take the car back, the gift must’ve pleased her—she’d asked him out for drinks at the Riverfront. Pretty soon, they’d be having dinners together, maybe going to the show. They would be kissing goodnight. Then, she would start asking him into the house and they’d hug and make out.

He felt Patricia bathing his face with warm water, then swirling the slippery lotion over his shoulders and chest. He imagined her hands were Vicki’s hands. Someday soon, they would be. He opened his eyes just a crack, reached out to her breasts, and caressed them, They would be Vicki’s breasts, cool and smooth and slick, the stiff nipples pushing against his palms. He felt a swelling rush of desire. If only this was Vicki. Here and now. He’d won her over, at last, and she was living with him, sharing his tub, sliding her hands over his chest, and down, wrapping her fingers around his erect penis.

“You missed me, didn’t you?” Patricia’s voice.

He opened his eyes. He had left dark hand-prints on her breasts. “I sure did.”

Her hand moved up and down beneath the water, lightly stroking him.

“Do you love me?” she asked.

“Sure I do.”

“I’m glad you got rid of Charlie. I hated him.”

“I know.”

“You won’t make any more, will you?”

“I don’t know.”

“We don’t need anyone else.”

“I don’t want nobody else but you.”

“I love you so much, Melvin.”

She’ll never stand for having Vicki around, he thought. She was jealous as hell about Charlie, and Charlie wasn’t even a gal. She’ll go apeshit when Vicki moves in.

I’ll need to get rid of her before then.

Cut off her head? Maybe that’ll work.

He felt a hollow ache inside that stole the pleasure from his groin.

Can I do that to her? he wondered. I’ll have to.

She’s dead anyway, so what does it matter?

It matters, he realized. She loves me and she’s good to me and I like her more than I’ve ever liked anyone except Vicki.

But I’ll have to get rid of her.

Melvin heard footsteps. Then a voice. Vicki’s voice. Though she spoke too softly for him to understand the words, he could see her through the sliding doors of the receptionist’s window. She was standing beside a counter back there, talking to Thelma. Beside Vicki stood an obese woman with hair like a gray helmet.

Vicki looked wonderful. Her blond hair was golden, her skin a mellow tan, her eyes clear and blue. Her doctor jacket hung open, showing the front of a blue silken blouse that was open at the throat.

Melvin’s pulse quickened.

She glanced at him, then faced Thelma again, said a few more words, and walked away. The fat woman stayed by the counter for a while. Then, she opened the door, passed through the waiting room without glancing at Melvin, and left.

Thelma got up from the desk. She walked around the end of the counter. She turned toward the door.

All right!

She opened it. “Dr. Chandler will see you now.” She held the door for Melvin, then led the way down the corridor to the same room where Vicki had treated his hand last week. “She’ll be with you in a minute,” Thelma said, and left him alone.

Melvin sat on the paper-covered examination table. He took a deep, shaky breath and let it out slowly. His heart was pounding fast. He felt trickles of sweat dribble down his sides.

Then, he heard footsteps. Not the clack of heels like Thelma wore—the whisper and squeak of rubber soles.

Vicki entered the room. Her white coat was buttoned shut, and she had closed the button at her throat.

She’s made herself nice and proper for me, Melvin thought. That’ll change. One of these days, she’ll be as eager as Patricia. I won’t be able to keep the clothes on her.

He pictured her naked. But she had the Face of Ram-Chotep carved on her torso.

No, it won’t be like that. I won’t have to do that to Vicki. She’ll be alive, and still want me.

“Good morning, Melvin,” she said. Though she didn’t smile, she didn’t look as if she’d been crying. “Are you having more trouble with your hand?”

“It’s still hurting.”

“Shall we have a look at it?”

“I think so,” he said. Last night, Patricia had applied a fresh bandage after the bath. The hand had looked good. But the hand was his excuse for being here, and he wanted Vicki to come over to him and unwrap it.

He held the hand out to her.

She approached; stopping when her thighs were almost close enough to touch his knees. With one hand, she held his hand steady. With the other, she began to peel the tape loose. She smelled clean and fresh, a little like lemons.

“I heard what happened to Dr. Gaines,” he said. She stiffened slightly, and the grip on his hand tightened. “Thelma, she says they haven’t found his body.”

“No. They haven’t.”

“I’m real sorry for you. I guess he was a good friend.”

Vicki nodded. She seemed distant, withdrawn.

“So, you’re running the clinic all on your own, now?”

“For the time being,” she said.

“That’s gonna be a lot of work. Maybe you better hire somebody to help out.”

“I imagine I’ll have to.” She unwound the last of the tape and peeled off the gauze pad. She turned his hand over, inspecting the wounds on both sides. “It’s looking a lot better,” she said.

“Yeah. Still hurts, though.”

“That’s to be expected,” she said, not looking up at him. “I’ll put a fresh dressing on it, and you can be on your way.”

“You’re acting like you want to get rid of me.”

“I’m very busy.” She stepped over to a cabinet. There, she opened the shallow metal drawer. She took out a roll of gauze and a tape dispenser. On top of the cabinet, she found scissors. She came back to him and began to bandage his hand. She worked quickly—and not very gently.

“Something wrong?” Melvin asked.

“Everything’s just peachy.”

“You mad at me, or something?”

“Mad? I wouldn’t say that.”

“What’d I do?”

She squeezed the last stip of tape into place, released his hand, and stepped back. She looked down at the scissors in her hand, then tossed them. They landed with a clatter on top of the cabinet. She stared at Melvin with narrowed eyes. “What did you do, Melvin?”

He felt heat rush to his face. “What’re you talking about?”

“You killed him, didn’t you?”

Melvin forced out a laugh. “Hey, I’m supposed to be crazy, but I don’t go around killing people. I’m into resurrection, not murder. Was into. Back when I tried to jump-start Darlene. Resurrection, not murder.” He shook his head. “That’s wild. Where’d you ever get an idea like that?”

Vicki didn’t answer him. She gazed steadily into his eyes.

“He cracked up his fuckin’ car! I didn’t have nothing to do with it!”

“Not Charlie. Dexter Pollock.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

Melvin huffed out another laugh. “Boy, you’ve got some imagination on you.”

“Do I?”

“Some nurse nailed Pollock. Everybody knows that. The cops even know who she is. Patricia something. A nurse. Geez. Me murder Pollock? That’s wild!”

“Is it?”

“Come onnn! You’re pulling my leg, right?”

A corner of Vicki’s mouth twitched.

“They say I’m crazy.”

“You can tell me, Melvin.”

“Are you nuts?”

“Maybe. Maybe I’m nuts to think you meant it, Saturday night, when you said you’d like to kill him. Maybe I’m nuts to think you hated him for what he said—what he did to me. Maybe I’m nuts to think you cared enough about me to make him pay for it.”

“Jesus,” Melvin muttered.

“Maybe I’m nuts to want to thank you.”

“Thank me?” The words came from him in a hoarse whisper.

This can’t be happening, he told himself. It’s a trick, or I’m dreaming, or…

“I suppose I am nuts,” Vicki said.

“I wanted to kill him,” Melvin told her. “I wanted to tear him to pieces. I do care about you. I…But I didn’t kill him. I shoulda, maybe, but I didn’t.”

“Then get out of here,” she said in a tight, hard voice. “And stay away from me.”

“But…”

“You either don’t trust me enough to admit it, or you were too chicken to kill the bastard for me. Get out!”

Stunned, Melvin hopped down from the table. Vicki sidestepped out of his way. When he was in the corridor, the door slammed at his back.

“I guess maybe I am nuts,” Vicki said. She stared down at her lunch, and shook her head.

“Certifiable,” Ace agreed. “Holy God in a basket, what were you thinking?”

“I don’t know. Seemed like a good idea at the time.” She lifted the top of the sesame bun off her hamburger. The broiled patty reminded her of Charlie. Wrinkling her nose, she covered it and pushed the plate away.

“Better eat,” Ace told her. “A busy gal like you, you’ve gotta keep your strength up.”

“My appetite’s shot.”

“What on earth possessed you to run off at the mouth like that?”

Vicki shrugged. “I was just feeling so tired. I figured, why not confront him with it?”

“If he did kill Pollock,” Ace said, “it wasn’t such a smart move. I don’t care how adorable he thinks you are, if he’s afraid you know too much, he might decide to…”

“Terminate me with extreme prejudice?”

“You read too many damn books, hon. If that means kill your ass, yeah. He might try something like that to save himself.” She bit into her chili dog. “He really might,” she added, her words coming out muffled.

“I know. That occurred to me.”

“Then why…?”

“By the time I thought of it, I’d already accused him. Since it was too late, then, I changed my tactics and acted as if I would’ve considered it a favor if he had killed Pollock. So he wouldn’t think I’m a threat. And also, I thought maybe I might get him to admit it. I don’t know whether he believed me or not.”

Ace swallowed her mouthful of food. She wiped chili off her lips with a napkin. “That wasn’t such a hot move, either, hon.”

“Probably not.”

“No probably. You as much as told him that he failed you by not killing the man who insulted you.”

“But he did it, Ace. I know he did. When I said I wanted to thank him for it, he got this odd look on his face.”

“He’s always got an odd look on his face.”

“He said, ‘Thank me?’ And I got the feeling he regretted denying it and was really close to confessing. He wanted my approval. He ached for it. But he just wasn’t quite convinced that I really meant what I said, so he backed off.”