Body of Immorality (32 page)

Ah! Sublimity!
Red Joe thought.
The perfect end to all perfect things…

Red Joe giggled, thinking how grand it would be to open the door. He’d look out with his ruby-colored face, red eyes, blood spilling from his mouth. He’d reach out and plead in his most bemoaning voice:

“
Help me, please! God!”

Were his teeth red, too?

Of course, the hallway, the apartment below…Charlie hadn’t thought of that.

Red Joe didn’t reply. Enjoying the theatrical display, he put his hands in the air, twirling through the absurdity like a ballerina.

You’ve got so much love,
he thought.

“
Are you gonna open the door or not, Tenebrook? It’s pouring down my walls! It’s a fucking mess down there! Tenebrook?”
Dos pounded on the door again. “
I’m getting the manager, Tenebrook!”

Red Joe smiled.

You do that,
he thought.
You get the manager, and soon, all will be well. All will be bliss and heaven, comfort and stars. Universal sunshine, galaxies made of clay. Bring your friends. Bring your knives. It’s just a slipshod, roundabout way we’ve cut ourselves.

There was more to this than simple salvation. Nothing hurt him anymore; nothing panged his ears or made him want to cry. Nothing was that deadly. He had enough ageless time and beauty before him now.

Crimson Avenger, my bleeding ass,
he thought.
You’re the King in Red!

*

Coincidentally, Amy brought officers, Walsh and Jolves to the apartment at the exact moment Todd Dos retrieved the landlord, Mr. Fyuesterman. All five of them met on the ground floor.

“What the hell is
that?”
Jolves exclaimed. He was a young rookie, still harassed by his fellow officers.

“I don’t know how you couldn’t notice something like this,” Dos said to Mr. Fyuesterman. “What do you do, sleep all day? I’m not paying this month’s rent, either, not with
this
crap.”

Fyuesterman looked on with vacant eyes. He was clearly troubled, a man dying to find reason in the unreasonable.

Amy White looked worried and horrified. Something was terribly wrong, she knew. She’d been trying to contact Charlie by phone, but the line was disconnected. His truck was still parked behind the building. As often as she came by, he never answered.

Walsh and Jolves had been reluctant, even rude to her. He was probably avoiding her, they’d said, and if he was that spineless, he wasn’t worth the trouble.
Please,
she’d begged. If she hadn’t found them sitting in their patrol car down the street eating burgers and fries, she might not have gotten
anyone
to help.

Reluctantly, the five of them stood at the bottom of the stairs now. A thick mass of blood spilled down the steps, pooling around their feet. Their faces were identical: shocked, bewildering expressions of disbelief, horror, and revulsion.

“That can’t be what I think it is,” Walsh said, but he knew otherwise. The smell was powerfully acrid. The color, unmistakable.

Jolves acknowledged Walsh and nodded, distracted by the long, slender legs of Amy White.

“If that’s blood, then I’m John Lennon,” Jolves said.

“Sure
looks
like blood,” Walsh said, ignoring Jolves.

“Well, are we gonna stand here and admire the scenery,” Dos said. “Or are we going up?”

Both officers ignored him.

“Maybe you should wait by the patrol car,” Walsh advised Amy.

The look she delivered said otherwise.

“All right then,” Walsh said. “I guess nobody minds getting their feet wet.”

They started up the stairs, eyeing the blood. Todd Dos said something to Mr. Fyuesterman who hadn’t spoken the entire time. Mr. Fyusterman was in a trance.

“It just
can’t
be blood,” Jolves said.

Amy White let out a groan.

*

How many parts do we dare play?
he thought.

Charlie Tenebrook had officially left the building. Red Joe hadn’t heard from, talked to, or acknowledged the poor sod. Red Joe had taken over.

“Just stand aside, stand aside,” he said. “Who’s got that musical number?
Lights, please.”

Charlie had to accept the situation eventually. What choice did he have?

Just a bleeding man here,
Red Joe thought.
Just kinda bleeding a little. Just kinda not running out of blood, either.

“Mommy,” he said. “I think I cut myself
reeeal
bad.”

Don’t you worry, baby. It’s just a minor wound, baby.

“They don’t make band-aids big enough for this!”

Red Joe cackled in delight.

Thousands of voices surged in and out of his head, but he had nothing to worry about. The fight of some angry young man, presumably Charlie Tenebrook, was still in there, hammering on the walls of Red Joe’s consciousness:

“I’ve seen enough, and I want
out!
You
tricked
me! This wasn’t how it was supposed to
go!”

Red Joe admired the attempt, but he ignored Charlie, and basked in the scarlet sunshine.

The wound had snaked up his arm beyond his shoulder. It dove down the middle of his chest, heading for his naval.

Just stitch the damn thing up,
he thought.
That’s all you have to do. Just stitch it up, and I’ll stop bleeding.

Red Joe cackled maniacally.

He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it before. Or had he? Had he known he would bleed through the thread, making more wounds with the needle?

What about the hair,
he thought?

We’ll get a rug for it.

The fingernails?

Gloves.

The nose? The mouth? The ears?

We’ll buy a Halloween mask.

And uh…what about…
you
know?

We’ll buy diapers. We’ll be fine before the sun comes up!

Red Joe (or was that Charlie Tenebrook?) didn’t believe it, but
something
had to happen. At the rate he was bleeding and
not
running out of blood, something had to give sooner or later.

Another knock issued from the door, something that wasn’t Amy, or the shrill of Todd Dos.

“Mr. Tenebrook?” a man called. “Mr. Tenebrook? This is Officer Walsh of the Denver Police Department. Are you having some trouble in there?”

Red Joe laughed. Now, that
was
funny!

No, he wasn’t having any trouble. How could Walsh
say
such a thing? He just couldn’t run out of blood. To some, that might be a blessing. To Charlie Tenebrook—now Red Joe—it was quite the dilemma.

Red Joe, just
look
what you’ve done to the place,
he thought.
You ought to be
ashamed
of yourself.

“I thought it was a rather nice touch myself,” he answered.

“Mr. Tenebrook?” Walsh, a sound man of authority bellowed. “If you’re in there, will you please confirm? Don’t make us break down the door!”

“Simple shades to this light and harmony, doc! There’s no place like home!” he said, loud enough for them to hear. “Man! What a
beautiful
day!”

Surprising him, another voice sounded, one that—hurriedly—brought back the life he had.

“
Charlie?”

The humor went out of him. Charlie Tenebrook, in a flash, came to the foreground.

Amy?

The blood deepened noticeably. The red walls closed in, ready to collapse.

Red Joe’s thoughts reeled. He looked for a place to hide, to escape. The window was behind him, but he was four floors up.

“Amy!” he said. “Don’t come in, sweety! Let me tidy up the place first! It’s a real mess in here!”

Red Joe replaced Charlie and giggled.

“Damn, Charlie, I
knew
you had it in you!” Red Joe said. “It’s good to see you coming to life!”

“Mr. Tenebrook,
please
open the door!” Walsh said.

Rage consumed him! How could they let her come up? Didn’t they have any
sense?
Suddenly, he had more fury for the officers than he thought himself capable. Part of him was even concerned for Charlie Tenebrook.

“
How could you let her come up here?”
Red Joe shrieked. “
Didn’t your mother teach you
anything?
Break it down then, you fucking sows! If you can stop the flood! If you can keep yourselves strong against the dam! If you got what it fucking takes! Break! It! DOWN!”

Red Joe’s mad, reddened fury matched the blood. After all, he was still on Tenebrook’s side.

In the hallway, Officer Walsh did as Red Joe instructed.

*

Gunfire sounded, demolishing the doorknob. The dead-bolt showered into splinters of wood. Someone tried to push the door open, but the depth and power of the blood pushed it shut again.

Red Joe laughed uproariously.

Again, the door was forced open, cutting through the gore. It spilled out into the hallway. Red Joe saw the youngest cop he’d ever seen, pockmarked with acne, battling the flow.

Suddenly, two officers were visible. It made sense. The young face did not match the voice he’d heard.

The blood tugged at Red Joes’s legs, gushing into the hallway. It forced him to take a step toward the door. He caught a glimpse of Mr. Fyuesterman and Todd Dos staring at him with round, white eyes of horror.

The door opened wider, the younger cop battling the flood. Amy’s horrified face stared at him. Her jaw dropped, and their eyes locked. Her hands went to her mouth in shock. She paled noticeably, but did not scream. An intense, boiling rage overcame Red Joe when he looked at her.

“
How
could
you?”
Red Joe shrieked at the officers. His voice was slippery, rough at the same time, like a bad gargle. “
How could you bring her up here, you fucking sows!”

Red Joe, again, locked his scarlet orbs on Amy White.

She used to be a dandelion. Just as breakable,
he thought.
Just as fragile. What is she now? Where is that pretty little girl?

Was Red Joe letting Charlie have a final say?

“
Goddamnit, Amy!”
he shrieked. “
Run! Get out of here before it’s too late!”

Amy did
not
run, of course. She was paralyzed. She and Mr. Fyuesterman braced themselves against the opposite wall, battling the flood. Walsh slipped and fell but managed to steady himself by hanging onto the door as Jolves was doing.

The door was open wide now. The flow leaving the apartment kept it open instead of closed. Todd Dos had not braced himself against the flood as the others had done. Despite the size of the man—and the current—he lost his footing, and disappeared somewhere down the hallway.

“
Amy! Run!”
Red Joe shrieked.

Amy stood, hands braced against the opposite wall, unable to take her eyes off the scarlet monster. The look she delivered was a dagger in Charlie’s heart.

So much for the engagement ring. Living together, marriage…

Walsh, Jolves, and Mr. Fyuesterman, mimed Amy’s disbelieving expression. They, quite simply, failed to comprehend…

The river of blood gushed from Charlie’s apartment, tugging at everyone’s legs. In the midst, Red Joe (Charlie Tenebrook)—this strange, scarlet nightmare—continued to shriek and wail. He screamed at the officers, telling them what stupid sows they were.

For Red Joe, the wound in his chest came to life, returning with an intolerable itch. He couldn’t ignore it any longer.

Reaching up, he gripped each side of the vertical gash, and proceeded to pull his chest apart. A surge of blood gushed from his torso. Red Joe shrieked in agony, exposing his shimmering insides. He turned his head toward the ceiling. A turbulent arc spilled from his chest and he wailed in pain.

This is my life’s end, my eternal work,
Red Joe thought.
My poetic justice, the crimson conclusion. Ladies and gentleman, goodnight, and thank you for coming, but the show is over.

He managed to smile before his body liquefied. He tried to bow but fell just short.

Instead, he disintegrated into a bloody mass. The last of Charlie Tenebrook sank into an abysmal horror—and like Todd Dos—disappeared somewhere down the hallway…

*

It was too much. She couldn’t think straight. She couldn’t believe what had happened, that
this
had happened, that it happened to
her—
to
him—
her Charlie Tenebrook.

She’d made frequent trips to the plant over the last several days to see if Charlie was there, trying to prove to herself it was an illusion, a bad dream, as if her presence would perform a miracle and make him reappear again. The way she remembered. She’d imagined it all, she told herself. The nightmare
hadn’t
been real. Charlie was alive. She’d see him any minute! He’d call her on the phone…

She tried not to think about it, but how could she not? How could she not think about the river of blood, the scarlet monster, and his solid, demonic red eyes, shrieking at her: “
Goddamnit, Amy! Run!”
—giving her fitful dreams, repeated nightmares night after night?

Her life, she knew, would never be the same.

Their relationship had been going so well. Everything about him, about her—their life—had been perfect. Charlie had been thinking of proposing. She knew it. He’d hinted at it several times.

If only she could forget, get it out of her mind. She tried telling herself it
wasn’t
Charlie, but something else, some
one
else. She’d wake up any minute! Someone would grab her by the shoulder and
wake her up!
Please, God, wake her
up!

When it was over, someone—Officer Jolves, she thought—said something ridiculous like: “We’re gonna have to get someone to clean this up.”

She couldn’t count the times people asked her about the blood.

Where did it come from? Was her Charlie nothing more than a wack-o, deranged killer? Did he keep gore in the refrigerator by the gallon?