Blood Soaked and Contagious (15 page)

“Do I have to tell you, Mister Diplomat, that if you leave town before I am finished with you that I will personally order INTERPOL to arse rape you before they bring you back to me?”

“Fine. Just make sure they’re French so I can lampoon them properly. Do I have to repeat my request to have these shackles off?”

Inspector Andrews had reached DEFCON Seethe. With a flushed face, angry Wombat, and depleted uranium gaze, he unlocked the cuffs. I stayed stock-still. It was a tense moment, full of the potential for me to have my blowhole violated in a Scottish jail cell. All my fabulous memories of the lovely country (sweet people, undead bisexuals from Cafe Brutus, smooth beer, and intense whisky) would be ruined by such an end.

After stowing the cuffs away in his trench coat, he flicked his card onto the bed between my knees. “I expect that you will be calling me if anything comes to mind, Mister Diplomat.”

“I have no doubt I will see you many times before my stay in Scotland is at an end, Inspector ‘I Can Strain Krill With My Upper Lip.’” The look I received for that remark, had I been free of narcotics, would have caused my large intestine to expel itself out my ass in order to escape prior to the messy death that was promised. As it stood, I simply gave him the “Mona Lisa Lime Juice Smile;” just a hint of mirth, a gallon of bitterness, and a dash of spite, mixed with contempt and served cold.

At that point, he spun on his heel and marched out of the room. The man had an impressive march. Decades before, if he had marched like that at a demonstration in Germany, there would have been applause, cries of “Ja! Ja! Ja!” and the SS would have adopted it as their Official Walk of Teutonic Overlordship.

Overall, I kinda liked him.

Three weeks, seven interviews with the police, a short fistfight, and six bottles of inexpensive Safeway Isla Whisky later, I was on a flight back to the US.

Jeffry “Wombat” Andrews and I stayed in touch for a while after that, until things really began to hit the fan a year later.

I put down Baj’s letter after reading and rereading it countless times, and the emptiness inside me did nothing but gape wider. I debated just getting down on the floor and giving up completely. There were enough weapons in easy reach, so it wouldn’t have been at all difficult, except for the messy shit left behind.

Getting up from the desk was torture, but I didn’t care. I deserved it. So much for the Bad-Ass Freelance Zombie Exterminator, brought down by the sad reality that he loves people and wants to be loved. With some effort, I got down to my sleeping bag, and I just stayed there.

At some point or another, I fell asleep, dreamed some things best not mentioned in the light of day, and woke up again. In between the cycles of sleeping and waking were hours and hours of feasting on the finest self-hatred to be found anywhere. After the first day, I stopped eating.

After the second day, I stopped getting up to use my bucket. There wasn’t anything left in my system that needed to come out so urgently that it couldn’t be ignored, or there just wasn’t anything that needed an exit. I didn’t much care either way. It was all I could do just to roll over and take the pressure off the shoulder I’d been lying on.

The day after that, there was a seriously large thunderstorm. Being on the top floor of a building with a metal roof is like being on the inside of a steel drum in the Caribbean, but without the rum and bikinis. Every time the sky cracked with a peal of thunder, I shivered.

It seemed like a very long storm. The noise came from everywhere and felt like it crept into my body like the beating of Poe’s “Tell Tale Heart.” Boom. Boom. Boom. The noise came in through my ears, flashed in my eyes, and shivered me with existential angst. I was still too cowardly to die, and I always have been.

During the storm, my arm and back started to itch. I’d always been told that the itchy feeling meant you were starting to heal up in earnest. Curiosity got the better of me, and I unwrapped my forearm as I lay there on the sleeping bag.

Pretty bruise colors. Neat sutures closed the claw holes, and I mused on the fact that I had scars in similar locations on the other arm. A matched set.

Jayashri kept so much of herself secret, it took months before I found out she was a surgeon before the world went to hell. Looking at the precision of the sutures, I could imagine her delicate hands looping around, pulling me back together with nylon thread and a sharply curved needle. She’d saved my life, and I’d failed to protect her and her husband.

There was more thunder and lightning and it gave me chills. I never noticed footfalls on the steps up to my space, or even the door opening over by the desk. Perhaps I didn’t notice because I didn’t want to believe anyone would bother with me after everything Shawn and I had said. 

“Francis? Frank?”

My heart rate was already strange from the crashing and strobe light of the storm, but it went off the chart when I heard my full name. No one calls me “Francis” because I ask them not to use it.

I tried to roll around quickly but there was not an ounce of strength left in me. I wanted to see who it was, because there are only two people I allow to use my full name without glowering at them. In my mind, either one of those people appearing in my living space was astronomically unlikely. I hadn’t seen or heard from my mother in well over a year, so that left only one person it could be. 

“Go away, Jayashri.”

“I have left you alone for the past four days. As a medical professional, that is an uncomfortable length of time to be out of touch with your patient.” She knelt down at the far end of my sleeping bag. “Certain people suggested I let you come to your senses, and you would reappear soon enough.”

“Four days?”

“Yes. Four days.”

It hadn’t felt like four days. Three at the most, at least that I could remember. “I’m sorry, I... ” I couldn’t finish my thought.

“Let me see your arm, now that you’ve taken the bandages off.” I turned to her, completely mute, and offered her my arm.

“Grip my fingers. Good. Turn your forearm to the left. Good, now, to the right. Is there any pain?”

I shook my head no. My brain and voice were not working. I wasn’t sure who could hate me more, myself or this wonderful person I had failed so completely.

“Now, please lie down on your stomach. I want to remove the bandages on your back and see how you are healing.” She put her hands on my shoulders and helped me ease over onto my front. Her hands were warm and not unkind. “Good. I’m sorry about this, but you know how surgical tape feels when you remove it. I will do my best to be gentle.”

I heard her snap on latex gloves. They had appeared out of nowhere, giving me just a bit more reason to believe she was magical. She was also honest; surgical tape is only one step removed from duct tape in how nasty it feels to have it pulled off your skin.

The bandages across my back must have been keeping me warm, because I got a serious case of the chills when she folded it back to inspect her work. She made quiet positive noises, so I wasn’t as worried as I might have been otherwise. There was a moment of sharp pain that made me gasp and try to turn around.

Her hand on my shoulder checked my movement. “Don’t worry. That was a piece of shrapnel I was not able to remove the other day. It was kind enough to work its way to the surface, and I just gave it a little assistance.” She put pressure on that spot with her other hand and let my shoulder go.

“Here. Look at this,” she reached around and dropped something in my hand.

It was a bloody curve of dark-colored metal.

I really couldn’t do much more than nod. There simply weren’t any words in me. My chest was tight and it felt as though there was an elephant trunk wrapped around my neck. Thinking about an untold number of these things slamming into me gave me a feeling of lightheadedness that was distinctly uncomfortable, as if I needed another set of sensations to process.

“I think you are going to have many interesting scars to go with your story. The good news is you appear to be healing very well; at least, your body is.” She was silent for a moment and the elephant trunk tightened, as if it knew more words could come out of her mouth that would leave me helpless. “I want to apologize for something, if you can listen to that right now. Do you think you would be able to?”

Dumbstruck, I nodded yes.

“I had to shave your back in order to get the shrapnel out and put the sutures in.”

“Noooooo.”

“Yes. You are going to itch very badly when it starts to grow back.”

“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh nooooooooooo.”

My voice was small and full of real horror at the thought of my skin trying to crawl off between itching from sutures and then from the regeneration of my Rear Man-Pelt. It had begun to look like the universe was quite clear on the karmic repercussions of my mistakes: suffering with the physical discomfort of the healing and hair regrowth processes.

Jayashri laughed and gave me a pat on the shoulder. “You know, Frank, if you had a girlfriend, I am sure you could persuade her to scratch your back.”

“I don’t think there are many prospects.”

More laughter. “I think you sell yourself short. There are plenty of women who find a masculine zombie hunter, who happens to have a heart of gold, to be quite a catch.”

That did it. There is a certain something about a person being kind to you when you’re hurting so badly you can’t even think straight. For all intents and purposes, she undid the tight wrapping I’d secured around my emotions. I wished, like many times before, that I were one of those people who wept silently. But I don’t. I sob.

Somehow, she managed to get the bandage back up while I tried to contort myself into a fetal ball with my face buried in the pillow. I couldn’t speak and was only barely able to breathe through the tsunami of my own emotions. She wrapped her arms around my shoulders and gently tilted me against her lap. Again, more kindness. Worse, it was compassion from the person who should hold the most against me.

It burned like magnesium, and the water running off my face didn’t do a thing to put it out.

You lose track of time when your emotions are running roughshod over you. The magnesium burned out after a while, leaving me limp against Jayashri’s leg, breathing hoarsely.

“I told Bajali not to give that letter to you, but he was not of a mind to listen to me. I have seen the friendship the two of you share and have been envious of it.” She stroked my hair, in exactly the way my mother never had. “You bring out the best in one another. Do you know that? You may not be able to hear this with your heart right now, but I do not hate you, nor does anyone, for the decision my husband made.”

“Shhhhh.” It just hissed out of me.

“Why?”

“Because, I’ll just start crying again if you keep that up.” My voice was small again.

“My dear friend, one tear or hundreds more mean very little to a woman in damp pants.” She patted my head again. “I heard about your argument with Shawn, and he told me he was sure you would feel as though everything was your fault. He is very worried for you, you should know.”

I nodded. I was afraid I’d start spraying from my tear ducts if I actually spoke.

“We had the community meeting after I was sure you were out of danger. Bajali had already made his decision, and because it is my duty as his wife, I must support him. No one was able to change his mind.”

With a heave, I flopped over onto my side, so I could see her face. I’m sure I looked like a human dog that was waiting to have his belly rubbed. Thankfully, she didn’t rub my tummy. It would have been... very strange.

“He shouldn’t have gone. I could have stopped him.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head, “you could not have. My husband must follow his path and do what he feels is best in order to defend what he loves. Do not think for a moment I am happy about any of this. I am simply aware that my feelings are my own and that Bajali must do as he sees fit.”

“But—”

She waved her hand, silencing me.

“There is no point in stopping someone who believes and has faith that they are walking on the right path. Could anyone have prevented you from running to rescue the children? I think not.”

She had a point, and it was a big one. I just wanted to argue so I could feel like I had some control over the world and the safety of people I care about. I imagined, as a doctor, she could understand that drive to protect people under her care. Then again, perhaps she had learned there were things that went beyond anyone’s control and was more able to accept it.

“Jaya, I don’t know what to do.”

“The first thing you will do is something over which you have no control. You have to allow your body some time to heal. You are not a superhero, even if you wish you could be.”

“That’s not what I meant.” I was stumbling over words that didn’t want to make it from my brain to my mouth without turning into lumpy oatmeal. “I don’t know if I should leave or not. I’ve cost all of you so much.”

The gentle music of her voice did not change, but the look in her eyes did. It was like how copper is soft and malleable until you’ve worked it enough. Then it is hard and unbendable. Jayashri’s eyes lost their softness.