Spore (18 page)

“No VHS, computerized cars, nothing’s fried anymore, and you can’t be nice to a fucking kid? Hell, I don’t even have my tats! The future is bullshit.” Paul snatched up his Chicago Bulls cap. “My luck I’ll be late for work.”

Sean followed to see him jam the hat onto his head as he stomped across the living room and out the front door.

“You might want to clean off the steps, asshole,” Paul hollered as he gave Sean the finger. Mindy, who sat with the kids watching PBS, flinched when the door slammed behind him.

Sean blew out his tension with a long, tired breath and said to Nicole, “Let’s go get that drain cleared out.”

Mindy washed breakfast dishes and tried not to listen to Sean and Mare discussing the morning’s argument in their bedroom. Apparently Mare was embarrassed over the scene, but Sean remained insistent that no one, not even his own uncle, should be allowed to touch someone else’s child.

“What the hell, Sean! Nicole was right there! It’s those damned nightmares, isn’t it?” Mare asked, her voice rising. “I don’t know how much more I can take. It’s infecting your sleep, your artwork, your—“

Mindy turned on the faucet to drown out the discussion and rinsed off her hands. Water off, she grabbed a clean dishtowel out of the drawer as she left the kitchen and continued on to Sean’s studio and the computer.

She opened Facebook only to jerk back, staring, while sick terror twisted her gut. Her message queue and post comments were flooded with threats posted from total strangers.

Die bitch.

Shoulda stayed dead.

Rape you.

Gut you.

Greedy cunt. Didn’t learn your lesson the first time.

I’ll cut U up N wait til U re-gro so I can do it again.

I’m coming and you can’t hide.

I’ll kill you slowly. Strangle you maybe. Fuck you for sure. Then wait for you to spore again and my buddy will cut you up while he fucks you up the ass. Then we’ll kill you, maybe make you bleed out, naked and strapped down. Then wait for you to come back, only we’ll make sure you spore full of nails. We’ll keep hurting you and killing you until me and my buddies are bored. Sounds fun, don’t it, bitch?

Do spore bitches scream?

“Guys?” she called out, her hands shaking.

She heard no break in their argument, so she stood and backed away from the computer. She wanted to close the browser window, to delete and block all of the horrid posts, but instead she left them there, glaring on the screen.

Is Twitter the same?
she thought.
G+? The blog? What do I do?

Mindy paused when she reached the kitchen. On the other side of the door, Mare yelled, “It’s been twenty damn years of this nonsense and it’s only getting worse. Jesus! You have to fix this, Sean, before it kills us both.”

Aw, shit,
Mindy thought, but she steeled herself and called out, “Guys?”

“What?” Sean snapped as he snatched the bedroom door open and scowled at her. Mare sat on the bed. She’d been crying and it looked like Sean had, too.

Mindy flinched. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but I got some really nasty threats and I don’t know what to do.”

Mare pushed herself to her feet. “I’ll look,” she said, squeezing past Sean. “No chance it’ll freak me out.” She wiped at her nose as she walked past Mindy and on to the studio.

“You guys okay?” Mindy asked Sean, cowering.

“I don’t know. I hope so.” He took a step forward and grasped the back of a kitchen chair before falling into it. He stared straight ahead as if he saw something he couldn’t bear to see, yet he dare not look away. “I’m so fucked up, Mindy. These nightmares. I don’t know how she puts up with me.”

Mindy glanced over her shoulder, seeing nothing but a tidy, white laundry room and its door with a full length mirror hanging on it. Nothing new or different at all.

When she looked back, Sean flinched. “Sorry I was such an ass earlier.”

She sat, slowly, without removing her gaze from his. “Was it because of your nightmares?”

“Partly,” he admitted. “I just… Aaron asked me…” He swallowed. “I have to protect them. I’m not good for much, but, damn it, I can do that. I can keep his kids safe.”

Mare returned, her face pale. “Call Todd,” she said to Sean.

He stood. “What happened? What about the cop out front?”

“No one’s there,” Mare said. “But someone painted ‘Die bitch, die!’ on the front of our house.” She swallowed back a grimace. “And there’s a dead cat, gutted on the stoop. Looks like that big, friendly tabby from down the block.”

Mindy nodded and clenched her hands between her thighs. Jeff had gutted cats before, left them as warnings against competitors and a woman who’d dared to accuse him of harassment at work. He never did the deed on his own, of course—he’d never dirty his hands with cat blood or a busted out windshield—but he had a knack for finding scum who’d be happy to deliver a terrifying message for a couple of hundred bucks. Or a bottle of cheap booze. Whatever it took to show he was in charge.

“It’s my husband,” she whispered, raising her gaze to Mare as Sean paced the kitchen and talked into the phone. “I’m so sorry you got dragged into this.”

“Right back atcha,” Mare said, hugging her.

Chapter Nineteen

Mindy sat silent in the living room as Deputy Anderson took pictures of the house and dead cat then searched the computer.

It’s all my fault,
she thought, blinking at the ceiling.
How did I ever think I could confront Jeff? How could I risk hurting these nice people?

Todd talked to Sean first, then came out to sit across from Mindy.

His questions were direct but kind, and Mindy did her best to answer them. Questions about her contact with Jeff since her sporing, questions about their marriage, about the ways Jeff sought to outflank anyone who dared to oppose his ambition. And questions about her death.

“I’ll check the court filings, rulings, and the coroner’s report from your accident,” he said. “I don’t know why it wasn’t treated as a suspicious death.”

“It wasn’t?” she asked, perplexed. “But my sister said they took him to court.” She flinched as Sean trudged by with a steaming bucket that smelled of pine cleaner, while Mare followed with brushes, sponges, and a big bottle of fingernail polish remover.
Dammit, Jeff. You just had to be an ass and make messes for other people to clean up. What’d they ever do to you?

“Civil court, most likely,” Todd said. “They rule on money and fault, not if it was actually a crime.”

“Doesn’t matter. Dani said Jeff won both times.” Mindy sighed. “He always wins.”

“If we can prove he tampered with your car, that’s murder. He won’t win unless he’s already been tried for it.”

He definitely murdered me, probably because the insurance was worth more to him.
Mindy flinched and stared at her hands. “My sister said just insurance and mom suing him.”

“I’ll check,” he assured her, “and I’ll let you know what I find. To the best of your knowledge, has he ever harmed anyone before? Physical assault? Attempted murder?”

She chewed her lip. “He’d rant about it sometimes, but he never did anything himself,” she said. “Usually he hires things done. Bribes, mostly. Intimidation. Sabotage. Whatever it takes to get his way or shore up his self image.” She took a shaky breath and said, “Now he’s coming after me, and hurting Mare and Sean to do it.”

“Everything’s going to be fine.” Todd stood. “You might want to get a restraining order, though.”

“He won’t care about that,” Mindy said, looking up at him. “To him it’s just a piece of paper.”
And papers can be bought.

“It starts the legal protection process. Starts the criminal paper trail. Also, if you file a legal complaint first, he’ll have to come here, whereas if he decides to sue you for libel, you’ll have to defend yourself wherever he is.”

“Minnesota,” she said, standing. “Nothing I said was a lie.”

“He still might sue. Get that restraining order filed. Start the legal dance here, in Boone County, on your home turf, okay?”

“Okay,” she said, nodding. “I’ve already talked with the lawyer you told Sean about.”

Todd smiled. “Then do exactly what she says. She’s good.”

“Um, why would a cop recommend a lawyer?” she asked as she walked with him to the door.

He laughed, and she found it a warm, friendly sound, the laugh of a good man enduring a tough job. “Because she’s my little sister and she can out-argue most anyone in a courtroom.” He winked. “Or anywhere else.”

He paused to shake her hand, his massive paw comforting and firm around hers. Their eyes locked for a long moment then he left, waving goodbye to Sean and Mare.

Red paint. Great.
Thankful to be free of protestors for a change, Sean climbed into the spirea bushes beside the porch and accepted a drippy scrub-sponge from Mare. “I am sorry about all this,” he said as he scrubbed tacky spray paint and tried to ignore the branches scratching his skin. At first, it looked like he was smearing more than cleaning, but the sponge rapidly became coated with paint and he handed it back to Mare.

“I really don’t think this is your fault,” she said, switching out his red-tinged sponge for a fresh one.

“Not this specifically,” he said, sopping up pink drips before they got out of reach. “I meant this in general. My nightmares, picketers, dead animals in our backyard, news crews…” He shrugged. “The whole spore mess.”

She frowned and swapped out the sponge again, rinsing the dirty one in the bucket. “If, two weeks ago, you knew it’d be like this, would you have refused to help them?”

He paused to let out a slow breath, his head hanging. “No,” he said at last. “I’d still help them.”

“Of course you would.” She offered a consoling smile. “Yes, your nightmares worry me and God knows living with a starving artist isn’t the easiest gig in town. But no matter how crazy or tough it gets,” she accepted the sponge and handed him the scrub brush, “I never, ever worry that you’ll ever be anyone but the same principled guy I fell in love with.”

Their fingers touched as he accepted the brush and she blushed, pinkness rising in her cheeks. “You will always stand for what’s just. What’s fair. Even if it goes against your own best interests. And frankly, babe, that’s damn hot.”

He smiled, holding her gaze. “Thank you. And I know you’ll always keep me sane. Plus you let me see your boobs.”

She laughed at that, deep and happy. “You do more than see them,” she said, winking.

“True, true,” he said, leaning over to kiss her despite the twigs digging into his side. “I slather ‘em with peanut butter and slide my face around in the sticky peanutty awesomeness.”

Giggling, she swatted him with a fresh sponge. “Just that once!”

“Twice,” he reminded her. “Only the second time it wasn’t peanut butter.”

“You’re a lech, Mr. Casey,” she said, grinning as he kissed her. “And a pervert of the highest order.”

“I should clean up my act then,” he said against her lips. He would have caressed her too, but his hands were a mess and he didn’t want to ruin her shirt.

“Don’t you dare.” She chuckled and ran a hand through his hair before taking another kiss.

Footsteps rumbled on the porch and Sean drew away as Todd left the house. “Get a room,” Todd teased, then glanced back to the house before continuing to his SUV.

Mindy walked onto the porch, her hands wringing together, and she paused at the steps. “I am so, so sorry about all this,” she said, her eyes downcast. “I never meant for him to—“

“It’s just paint,” Mare assured her. “I’m more upset about the poor cat than our house.”

“I should go tell them,” Mindy said, gazing down the street to watch Todd drive away. “Apologize.”

Sean scrubbed at paint embedded in the siding’s texture and wished they knew someone with a power scrubber. “Don’t bother. Gonna bury him in the backyard once I’m done with this, and he’ll surely spore in three or four days. Be right back to chasing rabbits and taunting dogs before you know it. They’ll just think he’d been out tomcatting. No reason to upset them.”

“You’re right,” Mindy said, turning away. “I’ll go start the hole.”

She’d just stepped into the house when a blue Jeep pulled up and a short woman in jeans and a button-up shirt climbed out with a clipboard and an envelope.

“This 938 Hobson?”

Mare stood. “Yes. Can I help you?”

“Are you Melinda Howard?”

Mare glanced at Sean. “Uh, no. She’s busy. Can I help you?”

The woman pulled a business card out of her pocket and held it out for Mare. “I need to speak to Melinda Howard. Please.”

Mare accepted the card and her face turned pale. “A process server? Why? What’d she do?”

“No idea, ma’am. But I need to speak to her.”

Mare glanced at Sean, who shrugged. No one had ever served papers on them before.

“I, uh… I’ll go get her,” Mare said.

Sean climbed out of the bushes while Mare fetched Mindy. The process server lingered near the steps. An awkward moment stretched long enough for their neighbor, the always delightful Earl Simmons, to come out and take a few pics of the graffiti on the house.

“Fighting with your old lady, Casey, or trying a new mode of artistic expression?” he asked, grinning.

“Neither,” Sean replied as he tossed the scrub brush into the bucket. “Those kids you stiffed last Halloween meant to get your house but wrote down the address wrong. I set ‘em straight so they’re off getting more paint and TP.”

“Uh huh. Anyone called my wife Ruby a bitch I’d shoot him,” Earl said. “Then I’d make him clean up the mess.”

Sean knelt to rinse his hands in the bucket and muttered, “Wouldn’t make her any less of a bitch.”

Mindy hustled out the front door and down the steps to the server. She’d been crying. “Mare said you needed to talk to me?”

“You’re Melinda Howard?” the server asked. “Formerly married to a Jeffrey Howard of Maple Grove, Minnesota?”

“If that’s where he is, then yeah, it’s me.” Mindy signed the clipboard before receiving an envelope, then the process server wished her a good day and left.

Hands shaking, Mindy tore open the envelope while Mare gently rubbed her shoulder and murmured words of encouragement.

“It’s not Jeff,” Mindy said, sagging as she flipped through the multi-page document. “It’s the insurance company. They’ve decided to sue him for submitting a fraudulent claim and have listed me as a co-complainant.”

“Really? That’s good, right?” Sean asked.

“Maybe.” Mindy handed Mare the papers. “They’re asking for two and a half million in damages. Jeff won’t like that.”

The zombie hunters had resumed their cheerful picketing, and Mare and Mindy had left for work, when Sean settled in front of the computer. Google still held nothing for Blooming Lotus Research Laboratories, but additional keywords began to glean results. He read about various corpse funguses and how a particular strain tended to infect Egyptian mummies. Some even speculated the ‘Mummy’s Curse’ which led many tomb robbers to a quick, unexplained death, was in fact a virulent fungal infection.

I wonder if that explains why Old Willard and some of Mare’s patients are suddenly dying,
he thought.
Can the same fungus that makes the spores also make people sick? Even kill them?

He stared at the screen.
But they all had cancer or some other chronic disease. Least all I’ve heard about
.

Curious, he checked local obituaries in the Boone paper. They usually listed maybe ten or so obituaries in a given week, usually for the very elderly and infirm, but their online listing showed nearly thirty, just for the past four days.

I’d call that an affirmative for my theory,
he thought, skimming the obits. Cancer, lots of cancer. Kidney failure. Heart disease. Parkinson’s. Emphysema. Diabetes. Most of the obituaries said they’d died suddenly, or that their chronic condition had taken an unexpected bad turn. The one news article he found on the excessive deaths concluded that they were likely due to extreme heat and humidity, so free fans and ice were available at fire and police stations across the county.

But, as he clicked through other articles in Local News, he found several reports of rapidly healing broken bones, folks bouncing back from surgery faster than expected, even one farmer who woke up to find his long-amputated hand had returned. “It’d itched like a bastard for a few days,” the fellow said. “But when I got up this morning to take my whiz, I had ‘em both!” The article included a photograph of the man holding up both hands. One looked normal, the other sort of roundish with short finger-stumps, but still definitely a hand.

Stubby’s fingers seemed to itch the other night, and Mort’s cataract had turned clear,
Sean thought, returning to Google and Bing.
It all has to be connected.

Encouraged, he dug deeper, twenty, thirty pages into the search results, seeking anything tangible about Lotus Labs.

In Bing, on the thirty-second page of links and sites, he found an archived news article, from 1983, written for a magazine he’d never heard of.
Small Town Iowa Company to Create Growth Medium for Medical Testing and Research.
The short article—complete with grainy photographs—mainly dealt with the business opportunity of custom culture media, but in one section, the owner and visionary for Lotus Blossom Lab Supplies (formerly Blooming Lotus Research Laboratories) stated:

We hope someday our mediums will do more than grow bacteria cultures. We’ve discovered a new composition that shows great promise for growing clusters of living cells, perhaps entire organs. We are quite excited at the revolutionary prospects for stem cell research, not only for modern medical uses but also organ transplant technology. Our goal is to make replacement organs safe and affordable for every patient by using their own cells to start the process.

Sean printed the article and muttered, “Stem cells? You got ‘em to grow, but didn’t stop at replicating organs, did you?”

Sean glanced at three grainy black and white images printed below the article. One showed a squat concrete building, the next a bespectacled Middle Eastern fellow with a cheery disco-era mustache, and the third a group of male technicians and female office workers.
Todd said he employed locals. Maybe some are still alive.

Sean stood and turned away from the computer, but his email dinged. He sighed then leaned over to open the newest email from Murphy.

Sean! Just got off the phone w/ B.P. They need this revamped all-spore issue ASAP (scans attached). Burn the midnight oil, drink pots of coffee, I don’t care, but get inks turned in by tomorrow. They want to go to press immediately and hit while our fire’s burning hot! Stores are clamoring for our back issues—apparently everything’s sold out these past couple of days. I’m not talking just a few shops. It’s GLOBAL, dude! As of the phone call, three copies of last month’s issue were somewhere in Australia, and a couple of singles from April and May were still at stores in the States. Otherwise every fucking issue on the planet has SOLD!!

They’d never seen anything like it, even the back issues and discount bargain crap is gone. The Pawn Forums are screaming for Ghoulie. We’re a hit! A huge fucking hit! So bite that spore shit and let’s ride this wave, buddy! They’re going back to press for more copies of this month’s issue to meet demands, tripling next month’s run, and are talking about re-issuing the back stuff in special collectors editions. Can you believe it?!? One guy even mentioned bound books or a graphic novel!!