The Creeping Dead: A Zombie Novel (22 page)

Mama Sophia smiled appreciatively and envisioned ripping the nurse’s throat open with her teeth.

Chapter 12

Friday

When Mario went to the sixth floor with Marie to bring Mama Sophia home, he found an attractive young woman sitting with her.

“Oh, I’m sorry to interrupt,” said Mario.

The woman stood and faced him, smiling, only this smile was different from the forced smile of Renee the social worker. “You must be Mario.” She extended her hand. “I’m Dr. Bigelow, your mother’s psychologist.”

Mario was taken off guard, but he quickly shook her hand and smiled. “Yes, Dr. Bigelow. This is my wife, Marie.”

Marie nodded without smiling, looking absolutely defeated.

“So, I hear you’re taking Sophia home today.”

“Yes, I am. How long have you been meeting with my mother?”

“I only met with her a couple of times, since the incident.”

“And she talks to you?”

“Sure. She’s told me all about you, your wife, and your two children…Salvatore and Alessandra.”

Marie rolled her eyes from behind Mario. She could only imagine what that old witch must’ve told this shrink in the confidentiality of their sessions. She just wanted to collect the old bag and go.

“Yes, they’re looking forward to spending some time with Nana,” Mario said. “I must say, I’m impressed. Ma doesn’t open up much to anyone, and that’s me included. You must be very good at what you do.”

“Well, she’s a sweet lady,” replied Tara. “She made it easy.”

Both Mario and Marie gawked at Tara. Even Mario, who loved his Ma more than life itself, would never refer to her as ‘sweet.’

Tara turned to Mama Sophia and put a hand gently on her shoulder. “I wish you luck, Sophia. You have a good family. They’re going to take good care of you.”

Mama Sophia looked from her son to Marie, and holding her gaze on Marie, put her hand on top of Tara’s and squeezed it, smiling warmly. Marie was waiting for her face to crack.

Mama Sophia wanted to tell this nice doctor what she had growing inside of her, making her sicker by the hour, but there was no time and she was certain this psychologist had no understanding or appreciation for the evil eye. Besides, if she did, she might not let Mama Sophia leave. No, Mama Sophia would handle it through prayer once she was home with her son. Nothing several novenas wouldn’t cure.

“You’re a good doctor. Bless you.”

Mario shook his head in disbelief. “Thank you for helping my Ma, Dr. Bigelow. Well, all right, Ma. It’s time to go.”

Mama Sophia released Tara’s hand, pulled her walker close, and stood. She took one last look around at her room and made a sweeping gesture with her hand under her chin, bidding the room good riddance.

She squeezed Tara’s hand one last time, as if to intimate
present company excluded
, and followed her son and his wife out of the room. Tara stood aside as she watched Mama Sophia leave with Mario and Marie.

The room was now empty for the time being.

***

Mama Sophia sat in her son’s house, on the couch in the living room. Mario was making a fuss over her as Marie stood, leaning in the doorway, surrendered to this new reality.

Mario had already put her coat away in the closet and had placed an afghan over her lap.

“Mario, it’s ninety degrees out,” nagged Marie.

“Not in this house with the air conditioning on full blast.” He turned on the television and handed his mother the remote.

“There you go, Ma. Do you want something to drink? Are you hungry?”

“Thirsty.”

“Hon, would you get Ma something to drink?”

The look on Marie’s face indicated that she didn’t appreciate being ordered around, particularly to serve Mama Sophia, which made the experience all the more sweet to Mama Sophia.

However, Marie did as she was told and went into the kitchen. With this unholy parasite in her house, she now had to choose her battles carefully.

She returned with a glass of ice water and handed it to Mama Sophia, who received it stoically.

Marie fantasized about poisoning the water. She pictured in her mind’s eye Mama Sophia sipping from the glass. After a moment, she dropped the glass on the rug and clutched her throat. Marie, in her private reverie, played stupid, rushing to clean up the spill, pretending nothing was wrong when she knew damned well what was wrong.

“Marie…”

And then Mama Sophia’s eyes bulged out of her head…

“Marie. Hon? Are you all right?”

Mario’s voice brought her back to reality, and the concerned expression on his face made her aware that she was smiling, quite impishly she was sure.

“I’m just glad Mama Sophia’s all right. The kids are going to be excited when they come home.”

Mama Sophia met Marie’s wicked grin with her own. She pictured sinking her teeth into Marie’s throat, clawing at her skin, shredding it under her nails, blood oozing up like Puttanesca sauce.
Puttana!
Her stomach twisted with a hunger that would not be satisfied with anything other than this woman’s flesh.

Mario saw his mother unconsciously pat her stomach. “Hon, why don’t you make some gravy with meat tonight? I’m sure Ma hasn’t had a decent meal in quite a while.”

“Sure thing. The kids’ll be home from school soon. I’m going to go for a walk and leave you two alone to catch up a bit. When I get back, I’ll start making dinner.”

“Sounds good, hon.”

“Yes,” said Mama Sophia. “it’ll help you lose weight. That’s good.”

Marie bit her tongue to the brink of drawing blood. She smiled and grabbed her MP3 player and earbuds by the front door. She needed to get the fuck out of there—and fast—to clear her head or she was going to say something she would surely regret.

She stepped outside and closed the front door behind her. She strode up the path, opened the gate, hit play on her MP3, and made her way to the boardwalk.

She angry walked, pumping her legs until her muscles felt like they’d pull right off her bones, breathing heavily. The old crone was in her house ten minutes, and she was already pushing her buttons.

She knew she had to regain her composure. She was about to pass the Jolly Roger when she saw Billy standing in front smoking a cigarette. He looked up and saw her, his face lighting up.

She intended to jog on past, ignoring any greeting he sent her way, but there was a part of her that made her jog over to him. It was a resentful part of her, a part that was now growing out of its compartment.

She stopped in front of him. “Hey, Billy.”

“Howdy, Marie. How’ve you been?”

Fuck Mario.
“Not so good.”
Bait the hook.

“No? That’s a shame. Anything I can help with?”

I can’t believe he invited that old witch into our house. Into our marriage.
Marie started to cry hot tears.

Billy reached out and put his hand on her shoulder. “What’s wrong, darlin’? Don’t cry.”

Hook.

“It’s Mario. He-he brought his mother home…to live with us.”

“Oh, really? Well, so what?”

“She hates me. She always has. She’s done nothing but caused trouble in our marriage.”

Line.

“Oh, I’m sure he’s just looking out for his mom. Guys like Mario are real mama’s boys.” A backhanded compliment if she ever heard one.

“He knew how I felt about her and what she did to us. We-we…we almost got divorced over it.” Marie sniffled and whimpered a little. “And now she’s back, and I just don’t think I can take it anymore.”

Billy slid next to her and put his arm around her. “It’s all right. Listen, why don’t you come in and have a drink with me. My treat. Talk to ol’ Billy about it.”

Sinker.

She feigned hesitation. “Okay. I guess one drink won’t hurt.”

Billy took her by the hand and led her into the Jolly Roger. She allowed herself to be led, not exactly sure why she was allowing it.

Billy and Marie sat down at the bar and ordered a couple of pints, and the mental gymnastics began, like a junkie making desperate justifications as she was about to relapse after a long period of sobriety. What was the harm in one drink? She wouldn’t let it go any further than that.

Marie was pissed with Mario. A little harmless flirting and a free drink seemed to be a punishment to fit the crime at the moment.

Marie began to explain to Billy that there was many a night when Marie was up crying and arguing with Mario, hashing out doubts and resentment planted by that vile, hateful woman.

“I threatened to leave and take Sal with me to my parents unless he stood up to Mama Sophia and, as our couples’ therapist had put it,
enforce appropriate boundaries
.”

“Jesus, I had no idea you guys were in marriage counseling. See, this is why I’ll never get married.”

Marie ignored the remark. This was about her. “It was time to man up, I told him. I told him to tell his mother that if she wasn’t going to respect his wife, their family, and their home, she was no longer welcome. I shouldn’t have had to tell him this.” She wiped her eyes on her arm. “Not if he really loved me.”

“Well, it’s his mom,” said Billy, trying not to look too eager to take her side. “But I get it. He had his own family and had to let go. Move on. Grow up.” He even winced at that last part’s irony. Even
his
hypocrisy had limits.

“Well, Mario said he loved me. I told him to prove it, and he did. He told Mama Sophia, exactly like he said he would. This only pissed her off, but in the end, I had something she didn’t, our son, Sal.”

“That’s right. She wasn’t just breaking you two up. Now she was breaking up a family.”

Marie nodded and took a long draw off her cool pint. “She knew that if she pushed any further that it would alienate Mario, so she backed off. Reluctantly. She didn’t want to lose Mario, and she didn’t want to lose contact with her grandson in the process.”

“Well played, darlin’.”

“Then, two years later, I had become pregnant with Alessandra.”

“Checkmate.”

“This kept her at bay for a while. She didn’t like it, but she had no choice. Then she started having falling episodes while she was alone in her house. Mario would go to visit, and she had black and blue marks on her legs and arms.

“When he spoke to her, she was forgetting things. I told him she was probably doing it for attention, but he didn’t think so. He said you couldn’t argue with the bruises.”

Billy took a swig of his beer. “You don’t think she was crazy enough to give herself the bruises, do you?”

“Crazy, no. Motivated, yes. She saw how he reacted, getting upset and fawning all over her. She saw the opportunity. She started playing the frail old lady, poor old Mama Sophia. “

“Holy shit. This lady’s twisted.”

“Billy, you have no idea. Soon, Mario was spending less and less time with me and the kids and more and more time checking on Mama Sophia.”

“So, what’d you do?”

“I told him I saw what was happening. That she was manipulating him to get back at me. And then it happened, what I was dreading was coming.”

“What’s that?”

“He told her he wanted her to move in. None of the other family wanted anything to do with her, and for good reason. He said it was his responsibility as her eldest son.”

“So what did you say?”

“I told him that our house was too small. That didn’t work. I told him that it would be too much work. Mario had the balls to suggest that I stay home from the store to take care of her.”

“Some fucking nerve,” said Billy, ever the sympathetic ear.

“I told him to forget it. No fucking way.”

“Two more beers, Joe,” Billy called to the bartender, pointing at their almost empty glasses.

Marie was so caught up in her story, a runaway freight train fueled by outrage and bitterness, she didn’t protest. “Besides, in the off-season I was committed to my father’s restaurant. So, Mario said he’d take care of her.”

“So, did he?”

“I told him that if she set foot in our house, I’d divorce him and take the children.”

“Good for you.” He slid a twenty across the bar as the bartender replaced their pints. “Did it work?”

“Damned right, it did. He pissed and moaned about it to the bitter end, but he caved in. I even helped him find a nice nursing home to put her in. As nice as those places come, anyway.”

“Wow. That was easy.”

“Not really. He was bitter about it, and it came up in every argument, how I made him put his poor mother in a home.”

“I bet she didn’t go quietly,” Billy snorted.

“She didn’t, but she had played up the whole senility angle so much that even Mario started to think it was a good idea. She had committed to that role, and there was no going back then.”

“Do you really think she was faking it?”