Get Zombie: 8-Book Set (47 page)

“One moment,” I said. “Before you open that, I have
to press this button.”

Which I did.

“Security.”

Carl reached out to me.

“No! No!” he begged. “It's not what you think. I
just want to show you some brains.”

I got up and was gonna kick him out of my office, when...he leaned
forward, and a butcher's knife fell out of his jacket. He picked it
up and looked up at me like a confused child. I was paralyzed with
fright. Hazel – my secretary – opened the door.

“Did you just say 'security'?”

I waved her away.

“Go away. I was just joking.”

I wondered if she could see the fear in my eyes. What I really meant
to say was, “HELP ME! GET ME OUT OF HERE! 911! CALL FOR HELP!
CALL THE COPS! JESUS GOD! THIS MAN IS INSANE!”

But Hazel just smiled and said, “Yes, doctor. Have fun.”

Carl was talking again, but his
words just sounded like gibberish to me. I couldn't focus. I kept
imagining that butcher's knife slamming into my face. I kept seeing
Fran behind my eyes, at my funeral, hugging me, kissing me, weeping.
I'd never kiss those lips again. And the lovemaking! All those fine,
sexy nights – never again. This was it. Bye. I always knew it
would end this way. I could see the headlines: “Psychologist
Dies Via Crazed Patient. Anyone Else Not Surprised?” I was
biting on my tongue and tasted blood. Sweat fell from my face and
spotted my pants.
God, hear me now!
I thought.
I demand a miracle. I
deserve
a miracle. I've been good. Protect me. HELP ME. Where are your
angels? Damn you!

All the while, Carl just looked at me in a funny way.

“This drug in my hand...it controlled me,” he said. “It
made me come here for some reason. I don't understand. It's
mysterious.”

He licked the drug.

I reached out to him.

“Please, as your doctor, I beg you. Don't eat that brain.”

He made his eyes really big and said, “Too late!” and ate
the thing like a mad beast. It was a messy sight. Carl stood there
gripping his head, spinning around like a top, complaining about
life. And then a weird thing happened....I saw myself in that
spinning blur, and that other version was laughing at me and wore toy
devil horns. Carl stopped spinning and stared – looking like a
madman: Eyes veiny, mouth leaking, nostrils blowing up, hunched over
like a football player ready to run.

“
Yesss, this baby brain drug
has made me into a true genius. Life is so clear now! I can read
hearts.” He stared at me. “I can read
your
heart, Phil. Yesss....You messed up real good, didn't you?”

“What was that?” I felt Death crawling up my leg,
whatever that meant. I had to get out of there. Jumping out the
window seemed like a good idea. Carl sniffed.

“You...killed someone.”

“What? No. I didn't....” It sounded like I was begging.
It was pathetic.

Carl sniffed again.

“
Yes! I can smell something
rotten
. You killed
someone. Killed her real good, too! Someone you once loved. You
turned your back on her – killed her love. What?” He
thought for a second. “Carmen, was it??? You bastard! You
deserve to die, and you know it....”

I started backing up toward the window.

He followed.

“Well...don't worry, man. I'll help you out. Free of charge.
You can thank me...IN HELL.”

He came at me, screaming with his knife slicing through the air,
“Yaaaarrgghhh!”

I raised my arms over my face.

“Jesus! No! I'm innocent!”

The knife went into my arm and hit bone. (Strange – I didn't
feel a damn thing.) I fell down with Carl on me. He tried to yank the
blade out, and he did, and blood flew out like a hose and covered his
face. I was impressed by the amount. Carl stood up.

“My eyes! I'm blind! Waaaaaaaaah!”

I jumped up and punched him in the head and took his knife and cut
into his neck. I was working on pure Adrenaline – hacking away.
I had my eyes shut tight. When I was done, I backed away and wiped
the gore from my face. Carl...he got up and just...stood there. He
sighed, and his head nodded backwards, and all his life came out of
his neck like a fountain...arms shaking, palms opening and closing
like he was being electrocuted. Now here's something interesting: A
puff of smoke flew out and went into the ceiling. Not only that, but
I think it was in the shape of an angry face. Was I drunk?

Gadzooks....

Carl began to stink. Blood kept shooting out of his neck and pooled
at his feet. It was like something out of a Japanese cartoon.

I walked around the curious sight and examined him. His head dangled
by a thread of skin – eyes looking left and right. I think he
was dead....

I opened the door and poked my head out.

“Hazel.”

She looked over her desk.

“Yes?”

“You can come in now,” I said. “Bring a mop. And
some cops. Something crazy just happened.”

Fifteen minutes later, my office was filled with cops, all asking me
questions and whatnot. Carl was still standing there – blood
still rocketing out from his neck. A cop pushed him over. He fell
onto a gurney and was wheeled away. A doctor wearing a white coat
with a silver, circle thing on his forehead shined a penlight in my
eyes and took my pulse. No, I didn't call Fran. I didn't want to
bother her. Didn't want to be irritating.

When I got home, reporters were all over the driveway like rats,
shoving cameras and microphones in my face. I shoved my way through,
and I think I might've accidentally elbowed someone in the head.

Fran was inside, waiting for me. She looked none too happy and was
holding a newspaper in her hand.

“What the hell is this all about?” she demanded. “You
killed someone?”

I kept staring at the newspaper.

“How did they put it out so soon???”

“
They didn't,” she said.
“I printed it all from the internet. All twenty pages. I'm
horrified! Do you know what this
means
?”

“Well, I....”

“
You're out of the job, idiot!
You think people are gonna want to go to a shrink that killed his
patient? No! It's foolish....You damn idiot! Did you really have to
kill
him?”

“Well, I....”

“Answer me!”

“
He did have a
knife
.”

“That's no excuse,” she said. “If I had been in
your shoes, I would've defended myself and knocked him out cold –
not kill the guy like an idiot. Idiot, meaning YOU. Arrrrgghhh! This
is so frustrating!”

Fran walked around the place, thinking, pacing, staring at her shoes.

“You messed me up,” she said.

I wanted to hold her, hug her, comfort her.

“
Baby, I'm sorry. Forgive me.
He had a
knife
.”
I held in my weeping. Wanted to show her I was a real man – a
strong
man. I reached into my pockets and showed her all this jewelry I
bought for her.

“Look what I bought for you, master. I spent everything to buy
you these wonderfully expensive, shiny things. All for you! See how
much I love you?”

She picked up a stereo and threw it at me.

“Away with you! You're too poor for me! Now I have to support
both of us! This is insanity....This isn't living....I'm gonna have
to work longer hours now. Shit! You devil! Scram! Beat it! I never
wanna see you again!”

She started throwing plates at me.
That's when I figured it was time to run the hell out of there. She
needed time to cool off. She didn't really mean any of those
distasteful things. Couples fight. This was normal.
Just
let her cool off a bit,
I
thought.
Everything will be all right. Ahh, love! Such a
funny thing....

I knew what I had to do. I had to buy her more jewelry.

That would make things right again.

That would do it.

FRAN

I threw those plates at Phil,
hitting him in the back of the head multiple times. I slammed the
door shut and melted to my ass, arms around my knees, weeping like a
baby, rocking back and forth, banging the back of my head against the
door sometimes for dramatic effect. At one point, I even sucked on my
thumb. Life was over. I wanted to kill myself. I didn't wanna be a
vet – never did. It just seemed like an easy job to make a few
bucks. But now I had to work even
harder
.
Maybe (gasp!) find another damn, boring-ass job.

Someone help meeeeee.
Working
my life away – poor – depressed – sick and tired of
being sick and tired....That isn't living.

My drug wasn't selling well. People
were complaining. People were ending up in the hospital, waking up in
wheelchairs with tubes in their faces. No. I'd have to get
real
.
Maybe even be a cashier. Maybe even go back to school. Maybe both. I
couldn't stop crying. Wasn't I fixed? Didn't my drug fix me? Maybe I
just needed more? I ran to the basement and opened a secret door and
walked into my lab. All sorts of lights blinked red and blue and
yellow. My personal robot rolled up.

“How may I assist you, master?”

I pushed it away.

“Leave me be,” I said. “I have problems.”

It saluted. “As you wish, my queen.”

I opened a freezer and took out a brain and defrosted it and ate it.

Nothing.

No what???

Only one answer....

The universe was against me – enjoyed seeing me miserable. The
universe got off on it! I walked to the chalkboard and drew outer
space and the stars and all the planets, and then I drew myself
inside of Earth. I drew a giant foot stepping on Earth, on me. And
then I went crazy – I made all these confusing lines and shapes
and just went completely nuts. I kicked the chalkboard over and
screamed and fell to my knees and wept. I had no control. I was being
stepped on. I was being forced to live by someone else's rules. I
felt like a slave....

My heart was talking to me.

Go to church,
it said.
Trust
me. Happiness awaits you.

I needed to see Father Lolligal. I needed to talk to him. I needed
peace.

He could help me.

It was his job.

I walked back upstairs and picked up the jewelry Phil bought me. I
put them on and modeled in front of a full size mirror.

“Such pretty things,” I said. “I look good.”

I took a shower and thought of Lolligal....

When I got to the church, I saw a
peculiar car parked out front. It was painted gold. I asked a
passing, crying nun whose it was, and she said it was Lolligal's. I
didn't realize he was so well off. His service must've been going
real good. Now
here
was a real man! A wealthy man of mind, spirit, and wallet....I
wondered how much money he had, and if he was married. Hopefully, he
didn't have any kids. I didn't want them stealing my dreams. Ha ha
ha....

I walked in.

People were all praying for the same thing. “Please, God,”
said a Samoan woman, “please give me a lot of money.” An
old Chinese man prayed, “Please, God, make me rich. I'll be
happy once I have a lot of money.” A young white man prayed,
“Please, God, help me win the lottery.” He was on his
bare knees – pants rolled up. Must've been holding that
position for hours, because his knees were bleeding. In fact, all
those people were kneeling. A nun walked around, soaking the blood up
with a mop. Cats were all over the place. Many were wrestling around
and fighting over scraps of meat. A nun ran after them, waving around
a broom, trying to shoo them away. The odor of rancid flesh was in
the air. It was acidic....I walked into the confessional and knocked
on the wall.

A tired voice answered.

“WHAT? Who is it? Can't a priest get some sleep around here???”

“I'm sorry,” I said. “Maybe I should come back
later.”

“Fran?” His voice perked up. “Wait. I'm sorry. I
just had a bad day.”

“Maybe you should go home early and chill. Maybe talk to your
wife about these problems?”

“
I'm not married. Can't. Not
after being
ordained.”

Exactly what I wanted to hear.

“You can vent to me,” I said. “I'm all ears.”

He sighed.

“You don't know what it's like. People coming to you all the
time, telling you gross things. Can't people keep their problems to
themselves??? I'm sorry. That was nasty. I don't mean to be such a
jerk. I'm just...exhausted.”

“Seems like people are taking advantage of you.”

“
They are! But it's not like I
can say 'beat it'. This is my
job
.
I'm sacrificing myself to these people. Sacrificing my time, my
sanity.” He paused. “You know...sometimes when people
tell me certain disturbing things, I feel like I'm infected. I feel
like a sponge. I'm afraid I'm turning into these people.”

“You need a break, Lolligal.”

He looked at me. “What is that wonderful scent? Smells like the
beach.”

“That my perfume. I found it on the ground. Do you like it?”

“You smell very good today.”

I smiled.

“
Thank you.” He was
making moves on me. He was interested. Any fool could see that. In a
way, I knew I already had him. My mind was painting away the plan:
Dinner, polite comments, agreeing to his views, laughing at this
jokes. Then came the occasional light touch – on the shoulder,
on the leg. You know how it works.
Hahaha (touch his leg)
.
Yes, obvious stuff. But if my gut was right, it wouldn't matter to
him. I could pull off all the cliched tricks in the book, and he'd
still go along with it. This guy was lonely; I could smell it. He
needed breasts to cry on. He needed love. I was gonna give it to him,
including my body....