DEAD(ish) (4 page)

"You're not going to let this rest, are
you?"

"Fuck, no!" she says, with a huge grin on her
face.

I shrug, and bite back a scream of pain.

"I've really got to stop doing that!" I
squeeze out.

"Awww, poor Trenty-baby... now spread
em!"

That girl's got a one-track mind.

(Mike)

I'm sitting in a spa bath with three other
people, all of us naked, all of us downing shots of vodka and
bourbon. We're all getting drunker and drunker, and friendlier and
friendlier. Linda rests her head on Geordie's shoulder and slides
her hand over his chest.

"Geordie baby, are you completely gay, or do
you swing a little?"

"OH you naughty girl!" he squeals, "I'm all
Laz's, darlin'!"

She looks over to Laz and grins, raising an
eyebrow.

"Mind if I give him a test?"

Lazarus looks at Geordie, who shrugs a little
and smiles.

"Only if I get to test out
your
hunk,
honey!"

She blows me a kiss.

"Oh, Mike's all mine... but I'm happy to lend
him out... you need his leash on?"

Lazarus whistles and Geordie giggles and I
blush.

"I think I can handle him, honey... what do
you think, sexy-legs?" he purrs, turning to me and slipping a hand
further up my leg.

I shrug and wonder what I should be doing to
stay in character. Probably keep acting shy, I think, but fuck it –
I've been wanting this piece of arse for months. I draw back a
little only to pounce, tangling his legs with mine to dunk him
underwater, with me on top of him. I pull him up against my chest,
and he spits out water and laughs.

"Linda, I think I should've asked for his
leash!"

Linda's not listening, though. She's in
mid-snog with Geordie.

A few minutes later I'm in a world of bliss
until Linda calls my name and Lazarus punches me in the groin,
straight up into my prostrate. It hurts like fucking hell and I
scream and curl into a ball, wondering why Lazarus is so suddenly
pissed with me. Then I wake up and I'm in jail again, and Linda is
standing by my bed, smirking.

"What's the matter, lover? Did I wake you
from a nice dream?"

Bitch.

(Linda)

Trent's decided to go all noble and chivalrous on
me. Hell, why do men have to DO that at the worst possible
time?

He's out of hospital, and he's barely looking after
himself, and he's determined to continue with the case. My case.
The one that nearly turned him into dead. I tried yelling at him, I
tried arguing, I tried telling him he's a bloody idiot. But he just
shrugged and said he was going to keep investigating. Stubborn
little shit.

****

(Trent)

Thank God, I'm out of the house. And better
yet, Linda is off tormenting Mike, or something. She's a nice chick
in some ways, Linda – and a pain-in-the-arse psycho chick in
others. I think maybe I liked her better when she was moping. Now
she's bustling around 'helping' me and she's got sex on the mind
despite a distinct lack of hormones, and ... god. Remember what I
said about not letting her near your trousers? Well, it's hard to
run away with a broken shoulder. You know?

I haven't yet worked up the courage to go
back to the jail – too many nasty memories. So I decide on
following up the other loose end. Lazarus and Geordie. I'm about to
grab my car keys from their nail when the reach makes my shoulder
stab painfully and it occurs to me that driving was probably on the
list of things that I shouldn't be doing that I didn't listen to. I
call a cab, grab a beer, and wait.

****

I clamber carefully out of the cab, chucking
a $20 note back to the driver.

"Thanks for being gentle, mate," I say, and
shut the door.

I glance over at Mike's place. A
second-storey window's broken. Kids, probably. I've never
understood the fascination with breaking stuff – stealing I get,
but random destruction's beyond me. I think about going to check it
out, but I couldn't be bothered right now. My shoulder's starting
to ache, and I just want a cup of coffee to wash down a painkiller
or two.

The front door of Lazarus and Geordie's place
opens, and Geordie trots out toward the mailbox. He's dressed in a
short bathrobe and, as far as I can tell, nothing else.

"GEORDIE!" I yell, waving gingerly.

He looks up and peers at me carefully, then
grins.

"Trent, baby!" he yells, "what
are
you
doing in that ridiculous sling? It makes you look pale, dearie –
positively
wan
!"

I walk across the road to him and get
air-kissed.

"Oh, my god, what
have
they done to
you?" he asks, taking in the bandages. "Come on, you need a nice
cup of coffee – you head in, I'll just grab the mail and follow.
And make yourself
comfy
, you hear?" he bellows the last bit
after me.

God, can you imagine Geordie doing
anything
covert? Ever?

I head for the lounge chairs, pausing to take
a couple of huge pills out of their foil. Horse-pills, my father
used to call them when they were this size. I sit down, and despite
my best intentions, start to relax as Geordie comes in, dumps the
mail on the counter and starts to fuss around me. He brings me a
pillow, asks me ten times if I'm comfortable enough, and finally
decides that what I really need is coffee.

"Here you are, dearie!" he grins as he hands
me the mug, "I put in lots of milk to cool it down and," he winks,
"I irished it up a little for you! Best medicine in the world!"

I take a cautious sip to wet my throat, and
nearly choke anyway. Cripes, Geordie wasn't joking about irishing
it up – there's enough bourbon in here to kill
any
pain. I
swallow the pills and wash them down with the alcoholic coffee, and
then remember the warnings about codeine and alcohol consumption.
Ah well, it's not like I was planning to drive home anyhow.

"Mike is going
nuts
," I explain to
Geordie, "Poor man is stuck in a cell with only his guilt and a
vengeful ghost haunting his arse. Oh, and getting shot at when he
ventures out, of course. Geordie, if there's
anything
you
know that might help Mike out – or might help me help Linda leave
this world for the next – would you tell me? Please?"

"Oh, poor little Mikey!" Geordie says and
downs another whiskey. He's onto his fifth, now, and starting to
look a little shaky. "Poor little Mikey deserves everything he
gets! Killing Linda like that – and he hasn't even ponied up our
share of the cash, has he? Poor little Linda, I liked that girl...
ha, if she was really poor she'd still be alive, wouldn't she,
Mikey-baby would never have barbecued her arse... oh, such a nice
arse, too!"

Luckily, I can't say a thing, I'm frozen with
horror.

"Such a juicy arse – all tender, and
beautiful with a plum sauce!" Geordie croons, looking off into the
distance. "I miss her!"

He covers his face and starts to sob.

The arseholes ate Linda!

"They ATE me? They ATE my body? That's why I
can't find my body, because it's... it's
sewerage
!"

Linda's not impressed.

"Those DICKHEADS!"

She punches my wall, and her hand goes
through without breaking anything – then she clenches her jaw and
rips electrical wiring and insulation out through a large hole when
she pulls it back out. Something fizzes, and the lights dim and go
out.

I sigh. Somehow I get the idea that telling
her to calm down wouldn't be a brilliant move.

"I'm sorry, Linda," I say helplessly.

She collapses into a little heap on the
floor, and heaves with sobs.

I kneel down next to her, and put my hand on
her shoulder in a weak attempt to comfort her, but my hand goes
straight through – she's completely insubstantial.

"Linda..."

I have
no
idea how to comfort a woman
who I can't hug, or kiss, or even touch. So I hover uselessly, a
couple of tears of my own welling out of my eyes. No one deserves
this kind of crap, but especially not Linda.

"Fuuuuuuck!" she wails.

****

Eventually she gets up, and she's got her
bottom jaw jutted out in a way that tells me I'd better only get in
her way if it's a matter of life and death – and probably not then,
either.

"I want to see them." she says.

"Laz and Geordie?"

She nods, and her bottom lip quivers a little
as she thrusts out that lower jaw just a little more.

"You want me there?" I guess, since she
hasn't popped out of view.

She nods.

I sigh, and call another cab.

****

"Why?"

Linda's standing in their lounge room,
looking lost. Looking betrayed. Geordie and Lazarus are speechless
in front of her, pole-axed by shock and guilt. It's like they knew
Linda was around, but never thought she'd find out what they'd done
to her, and never thought about what they should do if she did.

"WHY?" she demands, and starts to cry. Big,
ghostly tears well up in her eyes and roll down her cheeks.

Geordie, never one to be out-dramaed, starts
to sob.

"I'm so sorry, Lindy-love!" he chokes, "We
never meant – we didn't know – it was -"

God. All the emotion in this room makes me
want to blubber myself, or down a couple of stiff drinks. Except I
don't think that doing something as trivial as making a drink would
be a brilliant idea right now. And besides, it seems
disrespectful.

"It was
what
?"

"It was Mike," Lazarus says, looking straight
at her for the first time, "He told us what he'd done, that it was
too late, you were dead... and that you wouldn't want him to go to
prison.
We
didn't want him to go to prison. He said it was
an accident... we didn't realise til his mates came round that it
might not have been. But – we'd already..."

He falls silent, and stares at the
carpet.

"You
ate
me, you arseholes!" Linda
yells.

They nod meekly. Geordie sniffles, and digs
in his pocket for a hankie.

"We didn't know," says Lazarus, and sighs, "I
know that's not much comfort, but... we didn't know, it was just a
barbecue Mike invited us to. He told us as if it was a big joke,
that we just ate his ex-girlfr-"

He breaks off and buries his head in his
hands.

Linda is starting to look more angry than
teary.

"Do you want to make this up to me?" she
demands.

They nod slowly.

"Go to the police. Tell them everything." she
says.

"But -" starts Geordie.

"No, she's right," says Lazarus, smiling
sadly, "If we go to jail for this, we deserve it – but we owe Linda
closure, darling."

"Too fucking right!" says Linda.

"My last, grand gesture!" Geordie says in a
small voice, and stands up. He wobbles a bit as he searches his
pockets for another hankie. "We'll go, Linda – we'll tell them
everything!"

"Everything?" I query him and Linda,
wondering if she really wants the whole story to get out –
wondering if he would ever stick to it.

She nods, decisively.

"Everything!" she says, and disappears.

I call yet another cab, and shepherd the boys
into it.

"Police station, thanks."

****

"You
ate
her?" the police officer
looks shocked, appalled. The murder part of the story she listened
to without losing a smidgeon of the 'nothing you say can shock me'
look. Her look met its match, I guess.

"Yes! We ate her!" says Geordie loudly, and
bursts into tears. Again.

The police officer sighs and motions her
junior to go get more tissues. This has been a damp interview.

"Do you need a break?" she asks.

Geordie shakes his head and looks brave.

"I just want to get this over with," he
whispers, and sobs.

The junior gets back and thrusts a tissue box
at Geordie. He grabs a handful and honks loudly.

"I'm so sorry," he says, "it's just..."

The police officer nods understandingly, her
professional persona back on. The junior is looking as though he
may just run back out of the room to vomit, given an opening.

"Mr Smith – you were at the same barbecue?
You... umm... ingested the victim's body too?"

"Yes, I was – I did," Lazarus answers calmly.
His mouth is quivering, but he's refusing to cry.

"Right. And Mr French – this man, Michael
Reynolds, told you that he killed Ms Stevens?"

"Yes, he did," I say, "although he claimed it
was an accident."

She writes a bit more, then tells the
recorder that the interview is finished.

"Would you mind staying around, gentlemen?
We'll need to get individual statements, now that we have the bare
bones." she says.

We all nod, and the junior goes out to get us
each a crappy instant coffee in a foam cup.

Mike appears in court wearing a bright pink,
very tight tshirt with 'WANNABE LESBIAN' spelled out with
rhinestones. It's appalling. The addition of tight black jeans –
too tight, I suspect, as I see Mike wince and try to
surreptitiously pull them away from his groin – makes him look like
a slightly psychotic 80s reject. His hair is even puffy.

When he sees me approaching the witness
stand, his eyes widen.

"FUCKER!" I see him mouth, clear as day. Oh
well, he was going to work out the truth sooner or later.

I manage to get through my testimony without
distorting too many facts, but without mentioning paranormal
activity, either. Linda would be a bit much for these folk to
handle.

As I walk toward the door, Mike turns and
scowls at me – so I see his face when they call the next witness,
Lazarus. He pales, and for the first time he looks
scared
. I
think he's just realised that he's going down.