Plan 9- Official Movie Novelization

by Matthew Warner

  In the bathroom, he appraised himself in the mirror: the long gray beard, the Dracula collar standing taller than his balding head. He practiced his scary faces, saying “boo” and “blah” and baring his yellow teeth. Maybe he should wear the plastic vampire fangs. He was about to fetch them when the sight of his own eyes stopped him and drew him back. They were too sad and out of place.

  “Counterfeit,” he whispered to Elizabeth. “They’ll know.”

  Do it anyway, darling. It’s for the children. You can give this last gift to them.

  “But it’s just wasting time. Procrastinating.”

  Elizabeth said nothing else as he dumped a bag of Snickers bars into a bowl and took station by the door. It wasn’t dark yet, but already he saw a few costumed children walking down the sidewalk. A parent kept pace in a car.

  He didn’t feel like doing this, but Elizabeth was insistent. It’s for the children, Grandpa.

  “Well, if you want it so badly, then you stand here and do it.”

  I wish I could. I’m already dressed for it, you know.

  She referred to what she now wore in her grave. She had always liked her sexy black cocktail dress with the plunging neckline and long skirt, but she hadn’t worn it in twenty years. Claimed she was too old, despite the fact she’d retained a slim figure and her long hair still had so much more pepper than salt. Elizabeth had aged gracefully, her age only apparent in the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth, while he’d deteriorated into a hunched-over scarecrow. And yet she still wouldn’t wear her favorite dress anymore.

  You can bury me in it, she’d said one morning many years ago as she arranged flowers.

  Odd how those conversations come back when somebody dies. When his mother passed away, he’d been a young man, newly moved into this house with his bride. The minister had asked if his mother had any favorite hymns he would like to hear at the funeral. He’d recalled a long ago conversation with her about song selections at her grave. “How Great Thou Art,” he told the minister. The choir director had sung an a capella rendition so moving that Elizabeth had wept. He still remembered the sight of her, so pretty as she sat on a folding chair beside his mother’s grave, dabbing at her eyes with an embroidered white handkerchief his mother had given her. Elizabeth on that day had been eight months pregnant with their son, the one now in prison and whose only good deed in life had been to give them Lucy.

  There hadn’t been a viewing of Elizabeth’s body because embalming was another frill he’d foregone to save money. Which meant there was no one to see her in her favorite, slightly age-inappropriate dress. It was the least he could do for her.

  The chime of the doorbell wrenched him out of his memories. He opened the door to find two trick-or-treaters waiting on the doorstep: two Korean children, no more than five years old. So precious and innocent. A brother and sister, by the looks of them. The boy wore a monkey suit. The girl wore a white dress and tiara. A princess.

  Grandpa raised his hands like claws. “Boo!”

  The children screamed and ran away.

  This surprised him. Usually, they just laughed and asked for their candy.

  He looked up at the frowning mother standing at the curb. “Sorry,” he mouthed and retreated back into the foyer.

  He turned off the outside light to discourage further visitors. This wasn’t going to work. They all knew something wasn’t right.

  It was a nice try, darling.

  “I’m sorry. It’s just not the same without you.”

  Why don’t you sit in your rocker and wait for Lucy to come home?

  “No. She won’t be home tonight.”

  Besides which, Lucy’s presence would only have served his further procrastination. Oh, he was disappointed she’d gone to work, sure he was. She’d been good company these last few days since Elizabeth’s death. But he knew she was going stir-crazy. The atmosphere of the house was all the more oppressive because neither of them had had the heart to throw out the decaying flowers. He understood why she had to get away for the night. And it was just as well she wasn’t here.

  For this.

  His knees creaked painfully as he knelt beside the bannister at the top of the stairs. Before him in a neat coil lay the orange extension cord he used for the hedge clippers in the summer. He tied the end of it to one of the banister’s vertical spokes. He used a bowline knot with a Yosemite tie-off. It was good to know all that mountain climbing he did in his youth counted for something. Then he repeatedly looped the cord in a figure eight between two of the spokes until the remaining slack was only a few feet long. On the free end, he tied a simple slip knot. This he pushed through the banister so that it dangled into the foyer below.

  It was still an attractive foyer, after all these years. Lucy had begun repainting it for them on weekends, starting by stripping off the old floral-print wallpaper. As he stood on the leather ottoman below the banister, his heightened perspective put him at eye level with a strip of newly exposed wall. Blue. When had this room ever been blue? He tried to remember the beginning of their marriage, when they moved in, but it was too long ago. He liked the hue; it could be an interesting contrast from the old look. But there was no point in leaving a suicide note just for that. Lucy could paint things however she wanted after he was gone.

  Stop procrastinating, you old fool.

  He didn’t know whose voice that was, his own or Elizabeth’s. Maybe she was eager for him to join her.

  “I’m coming, sweetheart.”

  He pulled the looped extension cord around his neck. The slip knot would tighten itself, so he stepped off the ottoman and pushed it away with his feet.

  The pressure was uncomfortable, but he didn’t have to endure it for long. It only took a few seconds for the world to darken and implode. Fighting him, his body tried once to inhale, and when that didn’t work, his feet kicked for something to stand on.

  Death remained black for the rest of the afternoon and early evening. But then it flashed blue again, a brighter blue than the strip of exposed paint in the foyer. An electric blue. A blue that tasted of sulfur and blood.

  He liked that color as well.

  This time, when his feet couldn’t reach the floor, he reached up to the cord over his head. Getting a good grip, far stronger than anything he’d managed in decades, he began to climb.

  Chapter 5

  Paula

  He’s coming home, he’s coming home, he’s coming home.

  First, it was only a note on the calendar: October 31. “Jeff Home.”

  Then, it was a happy task on the shopping list: candles, filet mignon, extra bubble bath, edible massage oil. She’d struggled with the last item, condoms, debating whether “Jeff Home” day was the right time to express her desire to get pregnant. But Jeff might not have appreciated that off the bat, so she went ahead and bought them.

  Finally, today, it was a mantra—he’s coming home, he’s coming home—and as the magic hour neared, it became an obsessive reverberation in her body, a constant emotional clanging.

  She was so distracted that the head pharmacist sent her home early. Not unkindly, the older woman said, “Paula, you’re no good to me today. You’re mixing the pills wrong. That’s not safe for our patients.”

  “I’m so sorry. Really, I just—”

  And then she dropped the prescription she was preparing. Little white capsules spilled across the countertop.

  “You’re right. I’ll go home. I’m so sorry.”

  “Stop apologizing. I was in love once, too, you know.”

  So, here she was, standing in front of her full-length mirror, trying on one piece of lingerie after another. From outside came the happy cries of trick-or-treaters passing by the house, occasionally with a parent’s slow-moving car following along. She’d turned off her porch light, sending the signal she didn’t want visitors, so she could concentrate on getting ready.

  Should she jump his bones the moment he walked through the door, rubbing her generous breasts in his f
ace the way he liked, or should she tease him a little? She could pose in the doorway to the living room, wrapped in her tiny silk robe, no light on except for a candle. She would then disappear into the hallway, leaving him to follow a trail of rose petals to the bedroom.

  Desperate times and desperate women called for desperate measures.

  “Oh, stop it.” She put down the bra she was holding up against herself. “Just go with the red and black negligee. And be happy, for a change.”

  And she was not desperate, thank you very much. Just frustrated. Frustrated her husband hadn’t yet given up his bachelor lifestyle. When they were dating, it’d been kind of cool that her jetsetter boyfriend—that’s what she liked to call him since he was a pilot—came and went (and came and came, depending on how you looked at it) according to the whims of his job. The only thing more exotic than Jeff being a handsome airline captain would have been if he were a spy. A week on, a week off, a month on, a month off, had been fine with her in the beginning. Because when he wasn’t here, they could send each other lewd emails and pictures, have phone sex, surprise each other with lavish, long-distance gifts, and enjoy great, explosive sex each time they reunited. Jeff Trent had been the high school football star—Paula had known him only from afar back then—and he’d gone off and made his fortune with the airlines before returning to liven up her lonely, drab existence.

  Which was certainly a hell of a lot more exciting than dating her other long-term boyfriend, Paul Kelton. Jeff didn’t have to act important like Paul did when he was on or off-duty from the police department. The most exciting thing Paul ever did was haul meth junkies to jail. He’d told her so. Jeff Trent, on the other hand, flew planes, holding his passengers’ lives in his hands each time he took to the sky. Paul and Paula bored each other to death; anyone with names that similar were required to. But Jeff and Paula, that was like…

  “Ah, I almost forgot it.”

  She dashed off to the kitchen to fetch the special red-pepper chocolate they liked to lick off each other.

  . . . Like red pepper and dark chocolate. Sweet, hot, and delicious.

  So was it any wonder she dumped Paul Kelton for Jeff? She thought not.

  Anyway, that was like a lifetime ago. She was now Mrs. Jeff Trent, and if she could just get him to actually live with her here at 105 Orchard Way, with its scenic view (ha ha) of the Pinewood Gardens Cemetery, then things would be perfect.

  He’s coming home, he’s coming home, he’s coming home.

  By the time Jeff did come home, much too late, Paula had put aside the naughty board games, candles, and chocolate in favor of her dog-eared copy of How to Save Your Marriage.

  All day, he’d only sent her two texts: first to tell her he and Danny were taking off from Hartsfield-Jackson, and the second to report a safe landing at Nilbog Coastal. No calls, though, and she’d bravely resisted the temptation to call him when one hour late stretched to two. She understood the need for post-flight paperwork and inspections and whatever else pilots did, but Jesus Christ. Did he and Mac go out for a beer or something? She planned to ask him the second he was home—and then immediately discarded that plan.

  Be happy. Be happy, dammit! Stop being so insecure.

  Finally, Jeff used his key to let himself in.

  He came sauntering down the hallway. He was still wearing his white dress shirt and tie—just a day at the office—and grinning like maybe he really did have that beer with Mac.

  But at the moment, Paula didn’t care one bit. Throwing down her book, she leapt up from the couch and ran into his arms. “I missed you.”

  “Are we a bit mushy?”

  “Very mushy.”

  Laughing, Jeff picked her up—literally swept her off her feet like the newlyweds they still were. He carried her into the bedroom.

  As their clothes flew off, Paula managed to gasp, “How was your flight?”

  A strange look passed over her husband’s face. “It was fine.”

  She knew it wasn’t fine—Jeff was a terrible liar—but at the moment he was reaching into her bra and kissing a line down her neck.

  For the next half hour, she forgot all about asking more questions.

  ***

  At the start of her second orgasm, a blue wave of light passed through the bedroom.

  She thought at first someone had pulled into their driveway and it was headlight beams crossing the ceiling. But then she felt goosebumps and saw that same blue line scan across Jeff’s face before it disappeared. Her heart sped up for a moment, like the light had gunned the accelerator pedal.

  Jeff grunted, but he didn’t stop moving. Thank God he didn’t stop moving. “What was that?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t…” She groaned and closed her eyes as she finished coming. “Don’t think I care.”

  Jeff laughed and collapsed on top of her.

  ***

  “So, tell me,” she said. “The truth this time.”

  “About what?”

  They were lying in each other’s arms, enjoying the feeling of their sweat drying on their skin. The bedsheets lay in a pile at their feet. There were no more mysterious waves of light. Just the two of them, alone.

  “You know about what. Your flight. What happened?”

  “Am I that transparent?”

  She nodded and propped herself up on one elbow. She twirled a finger through his chest hair. Waited.

  Jeff sighed and told her about the meteor. “And the worst part,” he said as he finished, “is that Edith Holman left without writing a check for her fare.”

  “Screw the fare. I’m just glad you’re all right. Oh my god, Jeff.” She buried her face in his neck so he wouldn’t see she was about to cry.

  There you go. You need any more incentive to ask him to quit his job?

  On second thought, she brought her face up to ensure he could see her tears.

  “Oh, come on, baby, come on.” He pulled her into a tight embrace. “I’m all right. Everything turned out all right.”

  She reached for a tissue. “But what if it didn’t?”

  There was so much to discuss. Quitting his job. Living with her full time. Becoming parents. She didn’t know where to start—or more importantly, how to start—without sounding like a nag or a woman bent on “improving” her man. After all, Chapter One of How to Save Your Marriage was titled, “Don’t Try to Change Him.” Maybe she should listen to that advice. And before she asked him to sacrifice something, she should decide what she would give up in return; it was only fair.

  Jeff continued to whisper reassurances. He took her hand and kissed each finger in turn.

  Paula studied every line of his face, every hair of his crewcut. “I can’t live without you, you know.”

  He paused, appearing startled, before smiling. Paula liked the way it made him look. Younger, maybe. “Don’t worry. No meteor’s gonna stop me from getting back to you.”

  “It better not.” She ran one hand down his cheek, feeling the bristles of a five o’clock shadow. “Maybe I should buy a faster plane for you. You know, with all my billions. Something that can dodge meteors better.”

  “How about an F-16? I’ve always wanted one of those.”

  “Sure. With stealth technology. So you can sneak home on weekends.”

  “That sounds good. Can it have big guns on it? I like big guns.”

  Paula reached down and gave him a squeeze. “Honey, your gun is big enough.”

  Laughing, Jeff swung a leg over her. “I think it has a little ammo left in it. Do you mind?”

  ***

  There weren’t any wild flashes of blue light this time. But there was a sharp bang somewhere outside—almost like a gunshot—and then the wail of a car alarm.

  It turned out Jeff was exaggerating about the extra ammunition in his gun. He plateaued a couple minutes after they started, probably exhausted after the day he’d had. When it was clear he was only trying to please her, Paula told him it was okay just to lie down beside her and rela
x.

  He fell asleep within moments. Paula lay in her husband’s arms and listened to him snore. He would probably sleep the night through, and she planned to let him.

  As for her, her stomach was growling. She’d been too keyed up to eat while waiting for him to come home, and when he did so, they headed straight for the bedroom. She got up and put on her robe.

  Jeff opened his eyes. “Oh, good. I thought I was back in Atlanta, and that was Danny snoring in his room.”

  Paula laughed and gave his nose a playful swat. “And then you realized it was you?”

  “Yeah. By the way, you’re much better looking than Danny.”

  “You just say that because I have bigger tits than he does.”

  Jeff laughed and rolled over.

  Paula pulled back the sheet and smacked his butt. “You hungry?”

  “No, I’m with the sleepy.”

  “Well, I’m gonna make myself some eggs. If you wake up, come to the kitchen, and you can have some.”

  His eyes were closed. Happy and relaxed. “Aye aye, cap’n.” Jeff’s voice faded into a snore.

  ***

  As she cooked, she listened to the radio she kept by the cookbooks. It was the Boss Man Mike’s Flash Back Flashing Forward Oldie Cover Show on WBOG. He was playing a great old love song from the ’50s that could’ve been right out of Mama’s music collection. Mama had been amassing it in homage to Paula’s father before she joined him in the family plot at Pinewood Gardens.

  The music and food smells roused Jeff and lured him to the kitchen after all. She saw him watching her from the doorway, enjoying the show, judging by the leer on his face. Paula laughed and sang along with the music. When he embraced her from behind, she grabbed his head and brought his mouth around to hers.

  Yep, reuniting after a long absence sure beat the shit out of anything she could imagine. If she convinced him to move home full time, would they be able to keep it up?