I began the lengthy process of sifting through the pile in front of me. The groan that escaped my lips didn’t wake Jon. Poor guy. How could he sleep like that, all weird in a chair instead of in a proper bed? I was fairly sure chiropractors in Mexico were few and far between. I tried to figure out a method to the madness for reading. I didn’t feel like I was accomplishing much, but at least it filled the time. After searching for forever, I thought I found some items that might be relevant to me and began reading.
The first text I read from was awful. Total snoozefest. Now I remembered why I hated studying in college. I stood corrected. It wasn’t awful. It was abysmal. The person penning this should have been shot. No wait, that was too nice. Someone should force him to listen to a reading of this monstrosity. The words would daunt the SAT, and the text rivaled the Sahara in dryness. Sheesh.
I flicked through the pages anyway. Maybe there was something more my speed in this tome. Like a summary or some groovy pictures. What in the world was there a book about ancient peoples doing without photographs? Artists renderings? If nothing else, snap a photo of some people digging in the ground. Low on excitement? Do a bit of breaking up the humdrum.
Giving up on that book, I moved on. I could waste my time on some other nine-zillion page book, thank you. One that didn’t make me want to claw my eyeballs out with a spork. Jon must have been certifiable for reading something like that. Then again, he did decide to attempt to resurrect someone from the dead based on some writings that were five hundred years old. I think we passed certifiable long ago.
The next thing I looked at was a notebook filled with Jon’s scrawl. I know, I should’ve felt some sort of guilt for snooping, right? Hey, it wasn’t like it was his most secret diary. No schoolyard crushes or whining because a bully robbed him of milk money. Not even any dirty sketches to pass away the boredom inflicted upon one’s self by hideous dusty bricks passing for books.
Deciphering Jon’s handwriting should’ve been paid work. I squinted, turned the book from side to side, and even debated turning it upside down. When I got back to the States, I definitely needed to buy him a personal recorder to thank him for his efforts. What he needed was an assistant to write for him.
I slowly got used to the way he formed his letters, if forming letters was what you wanted to call his handwriting, I began to make out more and more words. His notes followed a stream of consciousness guaranteed to spark a migraine.
Piecing together the events leading up to my resurrection wasn’t hard, if I used patience translating everything from scrawl to geek to English. Unfortunately for me, more questions came up from my reading than were answered. Nice. Looked like me and Jon-boy needed to have more chat time. Wonder if he could at least provide some coffee. A good latte would make up for this.
Thinking of my favorite yummy drink from Starbucks for a minute, I realized something: I wasn’t thirsty. In this oppressive environment, how was I not thirsty? For that matter, I wasn’t hungry, and I didn’t need to visit the little hottie’s room.
It’d been hours, more than a day’s worth, since I’d eaten or had a drink. And let me tell you, the cruise food was beyond scrumptious but hideously fattening. If I’d known breakfast would be my last meal, I probably would have made time for it and gorged myself in manners simply vile for civil company. The snap at the top of my shorts may have popped open, but at least I would have died with a happy belly. What did nearly two days with no food or drink mean? Or no bathroom needs?
Oh well, there’s always bathroom needs. A girl’s gotta look her best at all times. But you know what I mean by bathroom needs. I paused in my own thoughts and realized I had not taken a look in a mirror since I woke up in my living nightmare.
I moved the notebook out of my lap and stood up. Jon’s scraggly stubble showed signs he generally kept himself groomed. An earthquake and spending a day raising moi from the dead really didn’t aid in his ability to shave. Once he took care of that ten-hours-past-five-o-clock shadow, I bet he’d be hot.
Oh wait, I’m not thinking about him, I’m thinking about me. What do I look like, that’s what’s important!
It only took five minutes of tripping over the crap scattered across the floor to find what passed for a bathroom. It made me instantly grateful for no nature calling my name. Egads, scratch Montezuma’s Revenge being a stomach ailment. This was it, right here. The bathroom of one Jon ‘the Raiser of the Dead’ Daniels. It was time to breathe through my mouth to keep the stench from entering my nostrils and gagging me.
A broken bottle sat on the back of the sink. And by ‘sink,’ I meant a little bowl on a pedestal. I could see the rusty pipes leading to the toilet and the sink. I tried not to look towards the toilet for fear of finding the monster causing the hideous odor. Instead, I looked into the mirror shard and gulped. I should have left well enough alone. Oh, don’t get me wrong, everything was intact. I didn’t have any giant gashes marring my face. But the grime! Oh, lords the grime! And my hair! I needed a brush and some shampoo, conditioner, mousse, and my flat iron to tame the snarly rat’s nest on top of my head.
I opened my mouth and pulled back my lips, reassuring myself that my dental work was intact (and not horribly mutated by new non-alive status). I checked myself over as best I could in the cramped bathroom. Didn’t look like anything was amiss, though my clothes definitely needed to be chucked. Blast it. I really liked this outfit. And I didn’t think I would be finding a Macy’s or Saks anywhere nearby. This was a little far off 5th Avenue.
What was I going to do? No makeup, no brush, no clothes. No way could I be seen looking like this! Even in the back end of nowhere, Mexico. I would scare little children. Then again, if they knew what I was, shouldn’t they be scared? It kind of scared me.
Nothing more I could do standing around in the bathroom staring at my ghastly reflection. I needed to get back to what I was doing. I was just turning to go back into the main room of the house when there was a loud knock.
“Señor Juan? Señor Juan?” The voice on the other side of the door sounded suspiciously female to me. I wasn’t sure I wanted to get into the middle of any possible domestic squabble. I froze, debating answering the door and kicking Jon outta his not-so-comfy seat.
The knob turned and the door opened with me standing frozen, looking like I’d gone for quite the romp to hell in a hand basket. Glancing at Jon, who looked the same, I tried to wake him up with willpower alone. Too bad groovy psychic powers didn’t come with this whole life after death shindig.
“Señor Juan?” A young Hispanic woman entered just as Jon woke up, snorting on a light snore.
“What?”
Boy did he sound groggy when he woke up. Kind of cute, too. Lucky for me I was behind him and didn’t have to worry about unsightly drool ruining the nice picture in my head. Sometimes that was nice.
The woman looked at him and then at me. Taking us both in, her mouth formed a little ‘o’. Oh boy.
c
chapter eight
“Leahonia?”
Jon’s voice sounded groggy. I saw him lift his hands to his eyes, probably to rub the sleep from them. The way he sawed those logs, I’d take any bet that his eyes felt like they were glued shut.
“Señor Juan, I no mean to…” the woman said, stumbling over her words a bit before trailing off.
“It’s okay. What time is it?” He seemed to wake up quick, even stood up without issue. He also had no trouble navigating the mess in the small room, crossing it in no time to where Leahonia stood. I remained in place rather than risk drawing attention to myself by stumbling on something.
“It’s lunchtime, Señor. I bring you lunch and you laundry.”
Seriously? She brought him lunch and she did his laundry? What on Earth was I standing in the middle of?
“I not know you have… company.”
I didn’t like the way her eyes slid to me. I leveled a cool gaze on her. My basic game plan for situations such as this was cool and aloof. Lo
ok uninterested and gave no responses to people, and they’d leave you alone. Half of what people did, they did it hoping for a reaction. Besides, when you knew you lead the polls in hotness, it was easy to relax in mixed company.
Juan, er Jon, took something the new arrival had just outside the door. He turned and I saw a large basket of folded clothes. Huh, she really did his laundry and hand delivered them. That was service for you. Service that you got from someone you were close to. I fought the urge to arch an eyebrow.
His eyes flickered, glancing around the room. He was out of his ever-lovin' mind if he thought that basket was going anywhere in there. Not if he wanted the contents to stay intact. Maybe he should get Leahonia to clean up so he would have a place for special deliveries. He stood there holding the basket rather impotently.
“Thanks,” he mumbled. I didn't know how I could hear, let alone understand him. “Um, sorry, I forgot what day it was. Uh…”
The woman rolled her eyes. Eh, not surprised. Something told me that she dealt with this sort of absentmindedness from Jon often. It gave me more information though, like she came by at regular intervals. What did that mean?
“Señor Juan, I clean kitchen now or you want me wait till,” she paused and looked my way again, “company leaves?”
Oh gods in heaven, clean! For the love of everything in Mexico, clean this dump! Don’t stop at the kitchen!
I wished I had my purse; I’d shove every last dollar and peso I could find at her if it meant she’d stick around and bring some order to this poor shack.
“Uh, um,” Jon looked my way as well and rubbed his jaw. I knew instantly what went through his head. The same thing that would go through mine: time to weigh the pros and cons of this woman hanging around cleaning things up.
Sure, this place was a dump, and needed her ministrations like no tomorrow, but then again, he might not want her to take a guess at his most recent hobby of raising the dead. It could cause some confusion and then, of course, there was the screaming factor. Would Leahonia dig the idea of hanging out mere feet from the walking dead?
I think the scales weighed in favor of cleaning. Sorry, but terrorizing someone seemed rather inconsequential when you compared it to the state of this crazy place. Just me.
Not sure where Jon weighed in on this, I studied him hoping for a clue, but he just stood there like some kind of dope. Nice. Maybe two women in his house blew his little nerd mind. There was a reason why geeks didn’t get the girl, I guess. More than their brain could process.
“Jon?” I needed a big stick to poke this guy. Maybe he was a turtle in a previous life. Just plodding along or hiding in his shell.
His attention snapped to me. Quickly, he turned back to Leahonia. “Um, okay. I haven’t been here the last few days, but it could use some work I’m sure.”
Oh, I was sure. This guy needed help. Then again, if this gal came and cleaned with any regularity, she was falling down on her job. Or she needed to come more. I was kind of thinking she needed to take over even where she wasn’t invited. Drastic times called for drastic measures.
They stood in place for a few moments until she cleared her throat.
“Pardon, Señor Juan?”
“I’m sorry.” He shuffled about in the classic dance of awkward apology before finally realizing that he could just come back towards me to move out of Leahonia’s way. He went back to his seat, nodding in its direction. Okie dokie, I can go sit back down. What else was I gonna do anyway? I definitely wasn’t going to go help Leahonia unearth what was apparently supposed to be a kitchen. I was barely functional at cleaning my apartment, which stayed clean mostly because I never ate there. If I did, it tended more towards the takeaway variety. When you lived out of Styrofoam cartons and used plastic silverware, your kitchen stayed remarkably clean. Good tip I’d pass on to Jon, if he lived close enough to such luxuries. Too bad for him.
Carefully, I made my way back to my seat. By some small measure of luck, I managed to not knock anything over on my way. I guess it wasn’t so hard moving around hoarder-topia. Don’t get me wrong, I was fully in support of good organizational practices, but I supposed it wasn’t near as bad to live in as I imagined. Then again, I knew what I was like in the middle of the night. I’d probably kill myself (again) trying to navigate this place in the dark and half asleep. Maybe that was the key to Jon’s ability to waking up quickly. It was a survival tactic.
While waiting for me, Jon juggled the basket of laundry from Leahonia. He finally used a foot to move some things to the side on the floor near his seat and placed the basket there. I watched, but amazingly nothing fell over.
Jon waited for me to sit before sitting himself. What a gentleman. Where was that gentlemanly nature when he was copping some feels? I didn’t even want to contemplate what he did to my corpse. Yikes.
He leaned forward in his seat, elbows on his knees and rested his face in the palms of his hands. He must still be tired. He cleared his throat and looked up. “Sorry I was just tired. Are you okay?”
I felt great. Better and better by the minute really. I couldn’t remember a time when I felt this good. Just wished my appearance matched how good I felt. A shiver went through me at the thought of my reflection in the mirror. “I’m fine. Just wishing that I could, you know, change clothes and stuff.”
“Not tired then?”
“Nope.” I hadn’t felt this awake in years. Probably since before I met my good friends Jack and Absolut. I don’t think I’d slept eight hours straight since learning the great art of partying. A party sounded really good about now. A night of dancing at the clubs. I was up for it. I was just itchy with desire to get moving. Sitting around the piles of dusty books was obviously getting to me.
“Hmmm.” He fidgeted for a few moments. I let him think about things while drumming my fingers on my leg. “Well, okay. Uh… Well…”
And I’d thought we’d made some progress. Tongue-tied again already?
“Yes?” He looked embarrassed.
“I gotta admit, I don’t really know what to do next. Guess I’ve always been better at research than theoretical lab stuff.”
“Really,” I droned. Given his amount of social ineptitude, I wondered how he’d survive in real world settings, let alone in a lab. I wondered if the sarcasm dripping from my voice even registered with him. The notebook I’d leafed through earlier still rested where I left it. I picked it up and offered it to him. “I hope you don’t mind. I was trying to figure things out and looked at this.”
“Um, no, that’s okay.” He took the book from me and I offered him the large (hideously boring) book, too. “You looked at this?”
His incredulous look made me wonder if he found it just as dull as I did. “Yeah, I looked. I didn’t do much else, it was awful.”
“It is a bit dry. I only open it for pure research. Thank God there’s an index in it. I think I’d pull my hair out if I had to actually read it for any length of time.”
Oh good, it wasn’t just me. But how sad was it when someone in the field the book centered around said the book was bad? Sheesh, that’s one for the Amazon ratings - negative one zillion stars.
“Your stuff didn’t really help any. I don’t know anything more than when I woke up after… everything. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not ungrateful, but maybe you shoulda done some more research before doing the whizzbang action or whatever.”
“Maybe, but you know sometimes circumstances just… happen.”
“Like random earthquakes giving you the perfect chance?”
“Well, yeah. I don’t know. I just got caught up in the moment.”
Oh, like a girl hadn’t heard that line before. Or used that line before. Yeah, right. Caught up in the moment my big toe. Men really liked to recycle lines. The sad thing was they were dumb enough to think we women didn’t catch on.
“Really? I think most people would have been too busy doing the duck and cover for fear of earthquake damage to be all 'caught up in the moment'. You?
You think, ‘Hey what if I just totally take advantage of this-”
He cut me off. “Hey, cut me a break. I really don’t know what possessed me. I guess I wasn’t really thinking, just reacting.”
Reacting to what? Probably Little Jon, knowing how men are. Eh, not like it would be the first time a guy had that reaction around me.
"Okay, okay. So, I looked through this stuff hoping to get some kind of answers to what you did or what happened to me. I got a big fat nada.”
“It's still hard to believe it worked. But it has and here we are.”
“Yeah. Wherever that is,” I sighed. My topsy turvy life summed up. I lowered my voice and leaned in closer to Jon. “And who is she?”
His eyes flicked to Leahonia and back to me. He continued in the same hushed tone, “My maid. She comes in once a week and takes care of things here. In case you couldn’t tell, I’m a bit disorderly.”
A bit? Understatement of the Year had an award waiting with his name on it. I snickered. “Well, that’s nice.”
Though I wasn’t surprised with what I’d heard about Mexico and the job market.
“I guess. She takes care of things that I forget about. Like eating or doing my laundry or taking care of the kitchen.”
“You should think about having her take care of things in here, too. Maybe you could rediscover the floor.”
He looked around. "But I wouldn’t be able to find anything.”
He could find things? I’d believe it when I saw it. “Right. What next? See if I can leap tall buildings in a single bound? How do you plan to determine how much your whatsiwhosit did to me? Aside from me being your lab rat.”
“That's about it. We're just trying to determine anything out of the ordinary off the bat, which would be great.”
Great for him, but I was the one needing to deal with it in life or death or whatever. “Yeah like what? I don’t know what you’re looking for.”
“That makes two of us,” he chuckled. Maybe he could find the humor since he wasn't the dead girl.
Juan of the Dead Page 6