Resurrection Dreams (8 page)

Shrugging, Melvin set the jar aside. It was nearly empty. He took the funnel out of her mouth. Goop poured from its spout as he cast it away. Her open mouth was full. A dark lump floated in the middle on the milky pond.

Melvin took another handful of popcorn and filled his mouth. He watched himself wink at the camera as he returned to the cart.

He studied the book again, then addressed the camera. “Three candles, midnight black.” One at a time, he lighted the wicks, dripped pools of black wax onto the body, and placed the burning candles upright in the wax. When he was done, a candle stood in the tangled hair of her pubis and the other two rose from her breasts.

Melvin bent over the book, slipped handwritten papers out from under the top page, and read aloud.

“Master of Darkness, I, your servant, do humbly beseech you. I have prepared the earthly remains of Elizabeth Crogan in the manner prescribed. She has been annointed with the blood of the bat; she has consumed the Nectar of Hizgoth; the candles of the Black Triumvirate are burning at the three corners of the luminex. Her remains are in readiness. I beseech you, send me the soul of Elizabeth Crogan that she might join me in the service of your realm.”

Melvin, listening to his voice, refilled his glass with Pepsi, took a drink, and ate more popcorn.

On the screen, he kept on reading.

Finally, he came to the end. “This I ask in the name of the Black Triumvirate.”

He stepped around the cart. Standing beside the body, he plucked the lower candle from its bed of stiff wax, and plunged it, flame first, into her mouth. The Nectar of Hizgoth spilled down her cheeks. He tossed the extinguished candle aside, then dunked each of the remaining candles into the Nectar.

Stepping behind Elizabeth’s head, he raised both arms high. Blood had soaked through the bandage on his right hand, and trickled down his wrist and forearm. He shut his eyes. He mumbled, “Come on, babe.”

He looked down at her.

Nothing.

Melvin stopped chewing his mouthful of popcorn. He leaned forward, staring at the body, half expecting its eyes to open, its head to turn. He’d been there; he knew she wouldn’t move. But he could almost see it happening.

“Come on, come on,” he said on the television.

That Melvin lowered his arms, dug a Kleenex out of his robe pocket, and mopped the dribbles of blood off his right arm and wrist. Looking up, he glared into the camera.

He bent over the corpse, thumbed up an eyelid, and gazed at the eye.

The lid stayed open when he released it.

He stepped around to the side of the table. He shook her shoulder. Her head, with its single open eye, wobbled from side to side, slopping out the white Nectar.

He bent over and pressed an ear to her chest.

His face came up. He scowled at the camera. The left side of his face was smeared with bat blood.

“Didn’t work,” he said to the camera in a calm voice. Then he yelled, “SHIT!” and hammered his fist down between her breasts. Nectar erupted from her mouth. He pounded her again and again, using both hands, crying out in pain as he punched her with his wounded hand.

Melvin scowled as he watched. He didn’t much enjoy seeing himself in the throes of his disappointment and rage and agony. He especially didn’t like the way he’d lost control. He picked up the remote and pressed the Fast-Forward button.

In fast-forward, he really looked like a lunatic punching her, shaking her, prancing around the table waving his arms as he silently shouted, cuffing her some more, rushing offscreen and reappearing with a mirror that he held under her nose, scowling at the mirror, hurling it away in disgust. As he scurried up onto the table, Melvin pushed the Stop button.

The basement laboratory vanished. On the screen, a cute gymnast in a leotard did the splits on a balance beam while she talked about the “safe, sure feeling of confidence” she got from using Lite-Days Mini-Pads.

Melvin shut the television off. He finished the Pepsi in his glass.

He turned sideways on the sofa and looked at Elizabeth Crogan sitting there next to him, leaning back against the cushions, hands folded on her lap, legs stretched out, feet propped up on the table and crossed at the ankles. She didn’t look too bad. He’d cleaned her up after last night’s experiment, had even bandaged her broken skin, applied makeup and brushed her hair.

“Still dead?” he asked.

She didn’t move. She just stared at the blank television.

“Last call for a come-back,” he said.

Nothing.

“Speak now, or forever hold your peace. I’m gonna bury you. Want me to bury you?”

Nothing.

“Okay. You had your chance.”

He took a last mouthful of popcorn. Chewing it, he slung the body onto his shoulder and headed for the garage.

Dexter was waiting for her, that morning, when Vicki passed his door. It came as no big surprise. She had dressed in a warm-up suit.

Good morning,” she said and kept on walking.

“Hold on, there.”

She turned around, but didn’t approach his door. Dexter stepped out into the corridor.

“Come here. I won’t bite.”

Maybe you won’t bite, she thought, but you’re still a creep. She took a couple of steps toward him, anyway.

He wore his faded blue robe. His hands were stuffed in its pockets. “You gonna keep going out in the dark, no matter what I say.”

“I need to get my exercise.”

“You kids always think it can’t happen to you.”

“I don’t think that at all,” Vicki told him. “But I’m not about to spend my life hiding. Besides, who’s to say I’d be safe in my room? An airplane could crash on the building.”

“That’s about as dumb a remark…”

“It’s nice that you’re concerned about my safety,” she said. She doubted that he was concerned about that. More than likely, it was just a convenient subject. All he really cared about was stopping her for a talk and a look. “I appreciate it,” she said. “But I wish you’d quit bothering me about this business. I’ve gone running in places a lot more dangerous than Ellsworth, and I’m still around to talk about it. Nothing you can say is going to change things. So how about just letting it drop? Okay? I’m in no mood for lectures at this hour in the morning.”

Dexter raised his thick eyebrows. A corner of his mouth turned up, but he didn’t look amused. “Aren’t you the feisty one.”

“I don’t appreciate getting hassled by you every time I try to go out.”

“Hassled? I’m just giving you some friendly advice. You want hassle, just wait till some lunatic throws you down in the dark while you’re out there running your little butt off, and sticks his peter in you.”

Heat rushed to Vicki’s face. She felt her heart slamming. “That’s what you’d like to do, isn’t it?”

Dexter’s face darkened. “You don’t talk to me that way.”

“I’ll talk to you any way I please.”

He grinned, baring his upper teeth. “You been taking smart-mouth lessons from your pal, Ass?”

She went rigid and glared at him. “I’m outa here. You can rent your damned apartment to somebody else.”

“Hey, now, you can’t…”

“Just watch.” She whirled away from him and headed for the lobby.

“Bitch!”

She pushed through the door and rushed for the sidewalk.

After her stretching exercise near the end of the block, she ran. The running quieted her outrage. She decided that the blow up with Dexter had been a good thing. She might have stayed on at the apartment, otherwise, and tried to put up with him. Moving would be a drag, but not nearly as bad as suffering more encounters with that son of a bitch. She would make some calls from the office, later on. With any luck, she’d be able to find a new place today. Move out in a few days. The last of Dexter Pollock.

When she reached Central Street, she headed north and ran through the park. But starting down the slope toward the beach, she looked toward the playground equipment. Someone was sitting on one of the swings.

The guy from yesterday?

Just a vague shape in the darkness, but he seemed to be about the same size as the man who had watched her from the slide.

What’s he doing, waiting for me?

First Pollock, now this guy.

Sorry to disappoint you, mister.

Wary of slipping again on the dewy grass, Vicki waited until she reached the bottom of the slope. There, she turned to the left and ran toward the sidewalk.

You ought to be flattered, she thought, that he came back this morning. Yeah? Who says that’s why he did it? He was in the park yesterday without knowing I’d show up. Maybe he just likes to sit over there and watch the sunrise.

But he would’ve said something if I’d tried to run by.

What’s so bad about that?

He didn’t seem like such a bad guy. He might even be very nice.

You’ll never know if you don’t give him a chance.

Not today, folks. Not after Dexter.

Though she felt a little guilty about it, she didn’t turn around and go back to the stranger. She reached the sidewalk bordering Central, and kept running north.

She wondered if he’d noticed her on the slope, seen her turn away and known the change of course was for no other reason than to avoid an encounter with him. She hoped not. He might think she was afraid of him, or simply stuck up.

It’s not that, she thought as if apologizing to him, explaining herself. It has nothing to do with you. You seem like a nice guy. I’m just in a foul mood, that’s all.

If he’s there tomorrow…?

Cross that bridge when we come to it.

The sky was growing pale as Vicki ran past the junction where Central ended just north of town and became River Road. The sidewalk ended with Central. Usually, she turned around here and headed back for the apartment. Not today. She was in no hurry to return and possibly face Dexter again.

She stayed close to the edge of the road and listened for traffic, ready to bolt onto the dirt shoulder if she should hear a car coming up behind her.

There were only a few homes out this way, mostly cottages close to the shore with private docks in the rear. When the road curved away from the river, the homes vanished. Vicki felt as if she were alone on a woodland trail. A paved trail, but shadowed by trees and silent except for the forest sounds of birds and insects and leaves rustling in the breeze. The sweet, warm aromas seemed even more wonderful than those from the bakery on Central Street.

Vicki felt great. But hot. Thanks to Dexter. She should’ve been wearing her lightweight shorts and T-shirt, not this warm-up suit. She hadn’t even thought to put the jacket and pants on over her regular outfit. Once she was clear of Dexter, she could’ve dumped the warm-ups behind some bushes near the stoop. She wished she’d thought of that. But she came out wearing only a bra and panties under the heavy clothes.

The road was deserted, so she slid her zipper down almost to her waist. Air poured in, cooling the sweat on her chest and belly. Much better.

She considered leaving the road. The forest had plenty of footpaths, and she used to know all of them like friends. She could find a place to leave her warm-ups.

Right, and run in your undies.

The idea was tempting, but she turned it down. After all, what if she met somebody on the trails? Slim chance of that, but she didn’t want to risk it.

Even dressed, it might not be such a hot idea to go into the woods alone.

She rounded a bend in the road. Her stomach went tight. Ahead was the bridge over Laurel Creek. In her jarring vision, she saw the low stone wall that Steve Kraft had hit. Her mind filled with images of Darlene in the wheelchair, Melvin clamping the jumper cables to her thumbs, Darlene tumbling onto the back of the principal and her head dropping onto the razor wire. Then her nightmare version swarmed in: Have you saved yourself for me? and I’ll give you life everlasting; the worm in Darlene’s eye; the teeth of the cable clamps biting into the girl’s nipples and how she bloomed smoke and rose from the chair and went into the cheerleader routine that ended in a leap with her head falling off; the head rolling toward Vicki, rolling.

God, I shouldn’t have come out this way.

She turned her back to the bridge and ran from it.

After Elsie Johnson left the office, Vicki had a free hour before the next scheduled appointment. She opened the Ellsworth Outlook to the classified section and began searching for an apartment. She found three ads that looked promising, and made two calls before Thelma knocked and poked her head in. “Melvin Dobbs just walked in,” she said. “He doesn’t have an appointment, but he’d like to see you. Apparently, he’s injured his hand.”

Melvin.

“Is Charlie back from his house call?”

“Afraid not. Would you like me to tell him you’re busy?”

“No, that wouldn’t be right. I’ll see him.”

Thelma shut the door.

Vicki stood up. Her legs felt a little shaky. Maybe because of the longer run this morning, maybe because she dreaded facing Melvin. She couldn’t blame her goosebumps on the run. Rubbing her arms, she stepped to the office door. She removed her white jacket from its hanger, put it on over her sundress, and buttoned its front.

I should’ve stayed in bed today, she thought.

Entering the corridor, she saw that the door of Examination Room B was shut. That’s where Thelma would’ve put Melvin. She hesitated in front of the door.

The more I see of him, she told herself, the less he’ll spook me.

She wasn’t sure she believed that. After all, it was seeing him at the gas station that apparently triggered her fresh round of nightmares.

She opened the door and stepped into the room. Melvin was seated, shoulders hunched and legs dangling, on the end of the paper-covered examination table. He looked as if he’d dressed up for the occasion. Instead of his gaudy shirt and shorts, he wore a blue dress shirt and slacks. His right hand, resting on his thigh, was wrapped with gauze and adhesive tape.

“Good morning, Melvin.” Her voice sounded steady. “You have a problem with your hand?”

He squeezed an eye half-shut and bobbed his head. He raised the hand toward her. “It got bit.”

“Oh? You have a run-in with a dog?”