Get Zombie: 8-Book Set (59 page)

She was smiling in an evil way, and the whole time, all I kept
thinking was,
What do you
do
for him? What is
IT???

Lynn touched my cheek with the back of her hand.

“He deserves to die, babe. He's a monster, and
you
kill
monsters. See where I'm driving at?”

“He's not a zombie, Lynn. We're talking about a living person.”

“So what? He's dead on the inside.”

“I can't kill a person.”

“What? Why??”

“I have a thing for going to Hell. I
don't
wanna go
there.”

“Who's saying you're gonna go to Hell??”

She sounded very much surprised. I tried to make it as clear as
possible to her, speaking slowly, clearly, enunciating.

“Didn't you ever read the Bible?”

Lynn folded her arms across her chest. She looked serious.

“So you're really not going to do it?”

I felt like throwing up.

“I can't do it,” I said. “
Feel
about what
you're saying.”

She was already walking away.

Did I do something wrong?
I thought.
Do I have to prove my
love by taking a man's life? The world makes no sense.

Shells called out to us.

The eggs and rice and Spam were done. Shells had already set the
little table. I sat on one end, Lynn sat on the other, and Shells sat
in the middle.

“Let us hold hands and pray,” she said.

I held her hand, then Lynn's hand. Our eyes met, and I could tell
that she was pissed off. Her hand felt strange in mine. It felt
wrong, and I wanted to let go. When Shells was done with her prayer,
we all said, “Amen,” and ate our food. Lynn smiled at the
child.

“Do you like it here with us?”

Shells smiled back, nodding with a mouth full of rice.

I wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Do you want to stay with us?”
I asked.

She swallowed and said, “Yes! I'd love it.”

Hearing it made me smile. I could see that Lynn felt the same way,
and this eased the tension between us a little. Shells played with
her food.

“Do you think you guys are wanted for kidnapping?”

I struggled to say something. The news on the TV got my attention. We
watched. People on the streets were shrieking and weeping and praying
to Jesus. Demon-possessed people ran every which-way, terrorizing the
elderly and stealing purses and automobiles and kicking yappy little
dogs. The police were shooting at three, seven, nine feet tall, nude
demons that rode on hell horses and hell pigs. The cops even used
bazookas. It was impossible. The news anchor said, “This was
the scene this morning in the rich portion of Aina Haina, which is
all of Aina Haina. Police were useless in combating these so-called
demons. An identified nun showed up and threw holy water onto the
demons, effectively scaring them off. She vanished before police
could question her. Eyewitnesses report that an unmarked van chased
her away. Governor Jade Granator issued a statement on her Facebook,
saying that these were not demons, but in fact crazy people that
escaped from Borthport Mental Institution two days ago. Hawaii
residents, however, are skeptical.”

I looked back at Shells. I tried smiling.

“Well...” I went, “...something tells me the
authorities have their hands too full at the moment to bother with
us. With a bit of luck, the police will blame everything on the
demons. The neighbors saw everything.” I looked at Lynn. “Did
anyone see you guys leave the scene?”

She thought.

“I didn't see anyone on the street. Everyone was probably
hiding under their beds, totally freaked out.” She looked at
Shells and said, “But just to be on the safe side, we should
cut and color your hair. Are you okay with that?”

Shells stared at her plate.

“I don't care. Do what you want,” she said. “I want
to erase my past. I want to start over. I want a new
life
.”

I ate my food.

“Do you want to hold a little ceremony for your dad? I can find
a shoebox or something, and we can put something inside...some kind
of item to represent him.”

“I HOPE HE'S BURNING IN HELL!” Shells said.

This blew our hair back.

Lynn leaned in.

“Why would you say such a terrible thing?”

Shells looked up at us. Her face was burning mad.

“That demon came because of
him
,” she said. “It's
all his
fault!
”

I put my hands together into the shape of a steeple and held them
against my lips. “Explain,” I said.

Shells looked at me for a long time, thinking of what to
say...remembering...digging. Her mouth trembled. Lynn stood up and
put her hands on the little girl's shoulders.

“Honey,” she said, “you don't have to say
anything,” and then to me, “How dare you. She's just a
little girl. Can't you see this is killing her?”

Shells waved her away.

“No, no. I want to. I want this all out of me. I'm exorcising
my own demons.”

I was impressed.
Tough girl,
I thought. It was fantastic.
Shells took in a deep breath.

“Dad...he was always going on about 'the angels'...about how
they were always watching us, protecting us, helping us. He was
always in that bathroom, chanting, lighting candles, casting spells
to make us rich. He always came out smelling like wet dog. Strange
thing was, we didn't even have a dog. It was always money with him.
'Don't worry, my daughter,' he used to say. 'I don't have to work
today. The rent money will come. I have friends in
high
places.' His breath was weird – like bad garbage water. As
opposed to good garbage water.

“I never brought my friends over because of him. I learned the
hard way about that one. Last year, my pal Janice wanted to come over
after school to use the bathroom right quick. After much thought, I
told her fine, go right ahead. I knew I shouldn't have let her go up
there. She saw my dad in the shower all naked with the water on super
hot, steaming up the place. He begged her to try and understand his
situation. He was trying to communicate with the angels, he said.
Janice screamed and fell down the stairs and broke her face. Her
parents wanted to take him to court, but I guess dad paid them off or
something, 'cause that court thing never happened. I was never
allowed to play with Janice again. And that was when my rage began.”

I squinted at her.

“I'm sorry. I didn't hear you. Did you say
rage
?”

“Yes,” she said. “I started getting these terrible
headaches. Sometimes I just got so mad, I punched through walls and
pulled out pipes. One morning, I found myself with a dead chicken in
my hands. It was gutted, and I had feathers in my mouth. I have no
idea what happened. Another time – I think it was a Monday –
I woke up in the middle of the night with my hands inside a semi-dead
cat. I asked my dad what happened, and he said that he made the
mistake of 'igniting' my rage by insulting my taste in pop music. I
have no memory of that fateful night. Sometimes, when I'm tired, my
blinding rage makes me forget things. And sometimes I forget about
things like physical pain, too. I remember one Sunday, at church, I
got so mad at this woman that wouldn't stop crying over her dead son,
I shoved my hand in her mouth and grabbed hold of her tongue. She bit
down on me, but I didn't care. I felt nothing! It took three fat men
to pull me off that woman. Even with my hands bleeding, I felt no
pain. They wanted to throw me out on the street. My dad stood up for
me, explaining to the church that it wasn't me doing all those nasty
things. I was possessed by
thee
Devil, or at least maybe one
of his cretins.”

Lynn looked scared.

“Oh, my God,” she said, eyes watering. “Oh, sweet
Jesus...you're so sweet.”

Shells nodded.

“One time, we went to the market, and I bit the head off a live
chicken! I didn't know what I was thinking. I just did it. Almost
like...like I was being controlled by some
outside
force. Yes.
Yes, that's the ticket....And that was when Dad put his foot down. He
was determined to help me. He called over a priest that threw holy
water all over me. The rage boiled up in me again, and I jumped on
that priest and urinated on him, out my mouth somehow. The priest was
calm. Cool. Precious. Dad, he picked me up and took me out back and
hosed me down with cold water. That usually made me all better. The
priest said sorry, but he had to go home. It was understandable. I
saw my dad at the kitchen table that night crying in his hands. Times
were hard. I felt guilty;
and so I started hating him more for
making me feel such awful things.

“
More and more
priests came, throwing water on me, but nothing changed. I was still
urinating. The priests were told to wear race car helmets when they
came over. It was for their protection – to keep them clean and
smelling real good. No one understood my pissing. I kept telling them
I was an artist. Some people used fancy paints and pencils. I was
original. You see, it all seemed so normal to me. I wasn't attacking
people and disgracing their faces, I was just being artistic.
I
could never tell if it was me talking or Shoehorn. Very confusing.

“Then one day, a nun came over, all dressed in white. Dad said
she was special – that she came alll the way from Rome. The nun
wasn't going to pour water or any liquid over me, and for that, I was
grateful. At that point in my life, I was tied to the bed and very
stink. The nun looked me over, wrote in her notebook, and told dad
that I was a real mess. Only my father could save me. Only the other
half of my
soul
could save me. The stronger side of my soul
could save me. My soul mate. Dad said that he WAS my father. But the
nun shook her head. Dad wasn't my true father. He might have been my
physical
father...but not my
spiritual
father.”

And with that said, Shells touched my hand, squeezing it.

“You are,” she said.

We were both crying.

Five minutes after Lynn went off to
work
, and Shells went off
to bed, there was a knock at the door. I was about to head into the
shower, so I had just a towel wrapped around my boney waist when I
opened the door. I looked down to see a boy looking up at me.

“Can I help you, boy?” I asked.

He frowned.

“I'm no 'boy',” he said. “I'm a midget.”

My face turned red.

“Sorry,” I said, stepping aside. “Please...step
into my office.”

He walked in with a brown bag. He had my flier in his other hand.

“My name is Kopit Kityur. I hear you hunt zombies,” he
said. “I have a job for you.”

I was relieved to hear it. I didn't want anymore exorcism gigs. I
wasn't good at it. Zombie hunting, that was something I was eager to
do. Those jobs made me feel
useful
– and that was the
point of living, no? Feeling useful?

The midget opened his bag and looked in. He seemed concerned. “I
didn't know how much to pay you....”

I raised my hand.

“Don't worry. I take what you can give. Tell me more about your
problem, Mr. Kopit.”

He nodded and turned around, talking to the window, to the Moon.

“I own a hostel in Waikiki called Mahalo House. Three days ago,
I did my alcoholic cousin, Hanns, a favor and gave him a free room.
That was a mistake. He over-drank, and I guess his liver exploded.
But that wasn't all. As we know, Mr. Boss, Waikiki is flooded with
prostitutes. They saunter around, shaking their tails for a few
bucks, tempting good Catholics and Mormons and Protestants...and my
cousin was no exception.” He shook his head, looking at his
feet. “Dammit, Hanns....I always told you, just stay away from
dem whores! Oh, noooo....” He turned to me. “Sniffing
something awful, I ran up to his room. Blood ran out from under the
door. I kicked the damn thing down and found Hanns on the floor,
naked with a big, purple bruise on the side of his stomach. His eyes
were open; and I knew he was DEAD.

“An equally naked woman was nearby, sitting on the couch. She
had a beer in one hand and a needle in another – literally
sticking out from the top of her hand, like someone stabbed her. A
cigarette was in her mouth, and it had lit her whole head on fire.
The flames were crazy, and I started to panic! I took off my shoes
and started hitting her with them. Luckily, I was able to put the
damn thing out before she burned the whole place down. Damn
whores....I just don't understand them. The room was then filled with
a strange sound, and I looked up and saw a mini, cloudy sky on the
ceiling. It turned clockwise...made a popping sound. Things were in
them – weird things...weird lights...weird moaning. I saw
demon-faces. They flew out and went into Hanns and his prostitute.
Their bodies twitched, like they had stuck their fingers in an
outlet, and they stood up....They walked towards me, arms out, eyes
red as gunshot wounds, tongues flapping in their mouths....They came
right at me!”

The midget fell to his knees.

“It was horrible....” he said. “I ran out of there.
This is bad for business, Mr. Boss. You can see that, can't you?
Please....Help me.”

“Hmm,” I said. “Are they still in there?”

He thought for a second, standing up and dusting himself.

“I think so. YES. I remember now that I locked the door behind
me.” He held my hand. “That hostel was handed down to me
by my father. I loved him very much. He built his business during the
20's. He trusted me. I have to treat it well. I can't
fail
him.”

I walked him to the front door.

“I understand,” I said. “What's the address?”

He smiled and told me, reaching in his pocket for some keys.

Before I left, I woke Shells up and told her I had to go to work.

She said she understood...and for me to be careful.