The Resurrectionist

by Wrath James White

  He’d pulled off her clothes and raped her there on the floor. Then he’d dragged her onto the bed and sodomized her while her body continued to exsanguinate, cumming inside her sweet little ass as she’d bled to death. The very next day, she’d knocked on his door and he’d been certain that one of the neighbors had seen him fleeing the house. As he’d opened the door he had begun going through the details of the previous evening, trying to remember if he’d done anything to give himself away, left any evidence that might lead back to him, and simultaneously composing lies to explain them away.

  But Dale had been careful. He was sure of it. He was always careful. He had scrubbed the blood out of the carpet using bleach and detergent. He’d stripped the bed and changed the sheets, then washed the sheets in the laundry. He’d even dragged her body into the bathroom and washed the blood from her skin before putting her back into bed. There should have been no evidence that he’d ever been there. So why was she standing outside his door?

  Her husband had been with her and the look in his eyes, embarrassed, uncertain, rather than vengeful and enraged, let him know that whatever they thought they’d found was not conclusive. Her husband was still not convinced. Her eyes, on the other hand, were full of fury. Even still, he’d been surprised when she had slapped him. It was something new, something different. None of the others had slapped him. None of the others, as far as Dale knew or cared, had the slightest clue that anything had ever happened to them, except maybe for Dorothy Madigan. He’d heard that she’d killed herself just like his mother had, burned herself alive. But this woman knew, or thought she knew something. She had slapped him. She had been ready to beat the hell out of him when her husband had dragged her away, apologizing for her behavior…and now she was gone. She had not been home all night. It was driving Dale crazy.

  He’d broken into her house again last night and it had been empty. Her toothbrush and makeup case were gone along with some clothes. They had packed in a hurry and fled. That left Dale without a playmate.

  He imagined that she was at the police station giving a statement and that soon the police would come and take him away or else her gigantic ape of a husband would beat him to death. Dale paced the floor nervously, wondering what to do. He needed something to calm his nerves. Usually, that meant raping and killing someone but the only person he wanted to fuck, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen let alone actually had sex with, was missing and he didn’t know where she was or what to do about it.

  It wasn’t fair. He wasn’t hurting anyone. There was no way she could remember what he’d done to her and besides, he always brought her back. He’d always brought them back. Thou Shalt Not Kill. All except Grandma, but that hadn’t been his fault. She’d died of natural causes. And his mother had still blamed him for her death. She’d punched and slapped him because he wouldn’t bring her back. But he had never liked Grandma and without her around he had his mother all to himself. Right up until she’d set herself on fire and tried to take him with her.

  Why? Why didn’t she love me? Why doesn’t anyone understand me?

  Dale knew he was not an attractive man. He had never filled out. He looked like he were on chemotherapy. His childhood acne had never fully gone away and had left his complexion scarred and pitted. His posture was bowed with narrow shoulders that rolled inward making him look almost hunchbacked. He looked like Gollum from The Hobbit. No way he could have ever gotten a real girlfriend. No way he could have ever gotten anyone as beautiful as Sarah Lincoln. She belonged to her idiot husband with his big chest and thick, hairy arms. He got to fuck Sarah every night and what was he? A fucking blackjack dealer! What made him so much better than Dale? That’s why Dale had taken so much joy in killing him.

  Sarah’s husband was the same type of guy who’d teased Dale all of his life, the high school jock who got to fuck the homecoming queen in the back of his daddy’s car. Dale could never have gotten a woman like that to give him the time of day. That’s why God had given him this gift. It evened everything out. It allowed him to have things he wouldn’t normally be able to touch, things like Sarah Lincoln.

  Where the fuck was she?

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Sarah and Josh were at the top of the Stratosphere hotel, the tallest building in the city, strapped into a thrill ride a hundred stories, 1,081 feet, above the strip, prepared to be rocketed to the very top of the tower at forty-five miles per hour and then dropped 160 feet. She could see all the way up Las Vegas Boulevard from Sahara to St. Rose.

  “I am scared to fucking death!” Sarah called out to Josh.

  “Me too!”

  The air jets went off, propelling Sarah and her husband straight up, the sky rushing toward her, the wind whipping tears from her eyes and splaying them across her face. Sarah screamed, then laughed when she realized that Josh was screaming too. The ride paused at the top. Weightlessness. Then it began a vertical free fall almost more terrifying than the ascent. It felt as if they were falling all 1,081 feet rather than 160. The street below rushed up toward them and Sarah felt as if they would just keep falling all the way down to Las Vegas Boulevard.

  She could imagine herself and her husband shattered on the concrete and asphalt, their bones and organs spilling out from the broken sacks of flesh that had contained them and intermingling in a bloody collage of mangled meat. The ride slowed and when it neared the bottom it bounced back up. Then weightlessness again, then another bounce before it came to a halt.

  Her heart felt as if it had risen into her throat and then collapsed down into her stomach. Josh looked like he was going to throw up.

  “Oh shit.”

  It was all either of them could say.

  They left the Stratosphere and went to the Sahara to ride Speed, another air-propulsion ride that traveled at incredibly fast speeds and left her feeling as if her stomach had leaped up into her chest. From there they walked up the strip to Circus Circus. Las Vegas Boulevard was packed. Tourists were walking by staring at the hotels and not paying attention to where they were going. One of them bumped into her and Josh started to go after him. The guy began stammering out a hurried apology as Josh lunged for him.

  “It’s okay. He said he was sorry.”

  Josh relaxed slightly and they continued walking again but this time Josh walked slightly ahead of her, holding Sarah’s hand and pushing anyone out of the way who looked like they were about to bump into her. He almost knocked one kid into the street and Sarah had to restrain Josh again when the guy called him a dick.

  “Well, you were being a dick. Now, relax. I can take care of myself. It’s so crowded down here that you can’t really expect no one to bump into me and you can’t kick everyone’s ass. I don’t want you to get shot over something stupid.” Josh considered it and tried to relax. He still walked the rest of the way with one arm around Sarah’s waist and the other hand in front of them, deflecting pedestrians.

  They finally made it to Circus Circus and Sarah headed straight for the Canyon Blaster, an indoor roller coaster that was just a bit of a disappointment after riding the Big Shot and Speed but was fun nonetheless. Then they went on to ride the big roller coaster at New York-New York. Sarah’s pulse felt as if she’d just run a 10k at full sprint.

  “You ready for lunch now?”

  Sarah nodded.

  “I guess it’s a good thing we didn’t eat first.”

  “Where do you want to go?”

  “It’s either Spago or Little Buddha’s.”

  “Mmmm! Sushi.”

  “Little Buddha’s it is.”

  They made their way to the parking garage. Sarah felt so happy she was almost giddy. The past few nights had been so terrible, so unbelievably horrific, that riding roller coasters and heading over to the Palms hotel to eat sushi in a four-star restaurant felt surreal. This day felt far more dreamlike than the nightmares she’d been having.

  Little Buddha’s was a Japanese restaurant that had one of the most romantic atmospheres of any restaur
ant in Las Vegas. The décor was black and red with a twenty-foot bronze Buddha overlooking the dining area. Sarah and Josh were seated at a booth opposite the bar, which was already crammed with yuppies, models, and young club-hopping tourists as well as a few highend call girls. Even among this gathering of Las Vegas’s most beautiful, Sarah stood out.

  Wearing only a T-shirt and jeans and with her hair pulled back in an unruly ponytail, she easily shamed the heavily made-up, surgically enhanced twentysomethings in their designer dresses and their hundred-dollar hairdos. Josh was staring at her with those love-struck puppy-dog eyes that made her melt inside. He reached out and took her hand. Sarah smiled and the candlelight twinkled off the tears in her eyes.

  “I love you, Sarah.”

  “I love you too, Josh.”

  The waiter came by and took their wine order, then whisked away and came back almost instantly with a bottle of Riesling. Josh loved sweet wines and, though she loved to tease him about it, secretly, so did Sarah. They went down the sushi menu, ordering only the fanciest rolls. Josh was allergic to shellfish but in these small quantities it was relatively harmless. Between the two of them they ordered seven rolls.

  “You should have brought Benadryl with you. I ordered a bunch of rolls that have shrimp in them.”

  “Mmmm. I love tempura shrimp rolls. Besides, I have an early warning system. My lips will swell long before my throat does. As soon as I feel my lips start tingling I just back off the shrimp and start drinking a bunch of water.”

  “Well that sounds sexy. I always wanted to kiss Dizzy Gillespie.”

  “What if I told you that I looked more like Steven Tyler when I go anaphylactic?”

  “Steven Tyler in the seventies or now?”

  “Hmmm? I’m not sure. You’ll just have to let me know.”

  The first few rolls arrived and Josh went straight for the tempura shrimp roll wrapped in eel.

  As fast as the rolls came Sarah and Josh cleaned them from their plates. When they were finished they both felt as if they would burst. Sarah’s tongue still burned from the wasabi. She doused her taste buds with the last of the wine, reducing the fire in her mouth to a pleasant sting.

  The rest of the day was spent sightseeing, window-shopping, and eating. They wandered through the Forum shops at Caesar’s Palace, pausing to watch the talking Greek statues do their once-an-hour show, before wandering through Hugo Boss, Versace, and Calvin Klein. They crossed the street to the Bellagio and wandered through the Prada store and Sarah almost succeeded in talking Josh into a $900 handbag. Hours later, hungry again, they wound up at Fleur de Lis where, just as she’d promised, Sarah got Josh to try caviar for the first time.

  She ordered a two-ounce tin of beluga caviar that came with chopped shallots, egg whites, and sour cream.

  “Oh, my God. This is amazing.”

  “It’s eighty-five dollars an ounce so don’t fall in love.”

  “Too late.” Sarah smiled and winked at Josh.

  Josh chuckled and shook his head. “I guess I need to start making more money.”

  “Just stick with me, kid. I’ll take you places and show you things.”

  After dinner they drove back up the strip to The Venetian.

  “You know what I’ve always wanted to do?” Sarah asked.

  “What?”

  “Ride the gondolas. I know it’s corny but I think it would be fun.”

  “I’m down for it.”

  “I know it’s not exactly Venice but it’s the next best thing.”

  “Actually, the French Riviera is the next best thing or maybe Paris. These guys don’t even have real mustaches. I bet they don’t even speak Italian.”

  “Don’t ruin it. Let’s go. It’ll be fun.”

  “Buon giorno! Benvenuto, signore! Benvenuto, signora!”

  The gondolier welcomed them aboard. Sarah turned and winked at Josh as if to say: “See, he does speak Italian.”

  They pushed off from the little dock and began rowing toward a small walk bridge where another gondola had just passed. As they drifted out across the artificial lake, the gondolier began singing “Caro Mio Ben,” an old Italian love song.

  “Isn’t this cool? He’s got a pretty good voice, huh?”

  “Ask him if he knows any Prince.”

  “You’re funny.” Sarah smacked him on the arm, then snuggled up against him again.

  Night had fallen and the lights of the strip outshined the moon and stars. It felt like a perfect honeymoon. It was easy for Sarah to imagine that they were actually in Venice, that they weren’t in the same town they lived in every day. Sarah pulled Josh closer as she realized that the night was almost over. Tomorrow they would be going back home, back to their normal lives. Sarah hoped the nightmare was over now.

  Back at the hotel, Josh and Sarah ordered a bottle of champagne from room service and crawled into bed. They clicked through channels on the TV and then settled on a prime-time special about Barack Obama. They watched it for a while, then changed the channel to Big Love on HBO when the president began talking about the economy. They didn’t need any more bad news.

  They sipped wine and cuddled, enjoying the warmth of each other’s body. Occasionally, they kissed. Before she fell asleep, she turned on the digital recorder and slid it under the pillow.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Once again, Sarah woke up and reached under the pillow for the recorder. Josh was still sleeping, snoring a low, rumbling lion’s purr that was somehow not the least bit unpleasant. Sarah rewound the recorder and pressed play. She sat for a long moment listening to nothing but the occasional moan and snort and the sound of rustling pillows. She was just about to turn off the recorder when she heard herself scream.

  “No! No! Noooo! Oh my God! Don’t. Don’t! Helllllllp!”

  All the hairs stood up on Sarah’s skin and she sat up bolt straight in bed. Her jaw dropped and the saliva in her mouth dried up. She began to tremble all over. Her teeth chattered as a chill crawled over her. She could not move, couldn’t think.

  “AAAAAaaaaaaarghhhhhhh! NOOOoooooooooo!”

  It sounded like she was being murdered. Sarah rolled over and shook Josh awake.

  “Josh! Josh! Oh, my God. Listen! Listen. I’m not crazy!”

  Sarah shook him until his eyelids flew open and he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, trying to orient himself and give her his full attention. She held the recorder out to him, pressing it up against his ear as he struggled up from sleep. Just then she heard the unmistakable sound of Josh’s voice come over the recorder.

  “Shhhhh. Baby, you’re having a dream. Go back to sleep.”

  Sarah wilted.

  “A dream?”

  “You woke up screaming in the middle of the night. You said you were being attacked.”

  “A dream?”

  It should have been a relief but somehow it made her feel like an idiot. She tossed the covers aside, ran into the bathroom, and shut the door. This time, she didn’t make it into the shower before the tears came.

  Sarah sat in the bottom of the tub letting the water strike the top of her head and run down her face. She didn’t know how long she’d been sitting there when she slowly began to feel another emotion come over her, relief. If it was all a dream, then that meant she had not been raped. It also meant she owed the neighbor an apology. Her relief was short-lived however.

  Through the sound of the shower, Sarah heard Josh knocking on the door. They were gentle, cautious knocks, Josh checking to see if she was okay.

  “I’m all right. I just feel a little silly. I’ll be out in a minute,” Sarah called out.

  Josh knocked again.

  Sarah turned off the shower and stepped out of the tub.

  “I’ll be out in a minute.”

  “I think you need to come out now. You’ve got a call. It’s the detective.”

  Sarah wrapped a towel around her head and another around her waist. She stepped out of the bathroom and the moment she opened the door and saw
her husband’s face, she knew there was something wrong.

  “They found semen,” he said.

  Sarah’s expression asked the question that froze on her lips.

  Josh shook his head and dropped the phone into her hand.

  “It’s not mine.”

  Sarah couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She lifted the phone to her ear, still staring at Josh.

  “Hello?”

  “Mrs. Lincoln?”

  “Yes?”

  “This is Detective Trina Lassiter. I met you at the hospital on Friday.”

  “Yes?”

  “I wanted to let you know that we got the lab results back. They tested positive for seminal fluid.”

  “Wh-where? Where did they find it?”

  “Everywhere.”

  “Wh-what do you mean everywhere?”

  “Mrs. Lincoln, we found traces of semen in your rectum, in your vagina, in your mouth. It was everywhere.”

  Sarah shook her head in disbelief, her mouth still hanging open in shock, stupefied by what she was hearing.

  “D-did they test it against my husband’s?”

  “Yes, we did. Unfortunately, your husband’s semen was a negative match.”

  Sarah felt her stomach drop as if she were back on one of the roller coasters. Her vision narrowed to a pinpoint. She dropped to her knees and began regurgitating violently.

  “How is that possible? Th-they said there were no signs of rape. How is it possible? It was him! It was Dale. I know it was him.”

  Sarah picked up the phone again.

  “What about the drugs? Did they find anything in my blood?”

  “No signs of any barbiturates or narcotics. No sign of hallucinogenics either.”

  “Did they check for roofies? What about GHB or ketamine?”