Marshall's Park, The Complete Series . 01-2014

by Lisa Worrall

  “Because he won’t think it’s authentic otherwise.” Finn tipped Aiden a wink and pointed his fork at him. “You, my darlin’, are gonna come down with a mysterious virus, that you caught from me after I was bitten by the park’s new monkey. And, of course, I’ll need Chris to stay with you while I get you some medication at the late night pharmacy.”

  “What?”

  “It’s okay,” Finn said around the whole potato he’d stuffed into his mouth. “You only have to lie there and look sick. Maybe cough a little. You’ll be fine.”

  “You have thought about this way too much.” Aiden was astounded.

  “You got bit, Finn? Is there blood? Can I see?”

  Finn shook his head, chuckling at the bloodthirsty glee in Kaylee’s voice. “No, honey. I didn’t get bitten, I’m just planning a little Halloween treat for Chris.” He laughed out loud at her disappointment at the lack of drama and then turned his attention back to Aiden. “So, are you with me?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  Finn whooped with excitement, his grin threatening to split his face. “This is going to be epic.”

  I

  Chris frowned. He really didn’t want to open his eyes, but it was trick or treat time and there was no way he was going to be late for work. Not on the most fun day of the year. Well, fun when you were a ten year old boy trapped in a man’s body. Probably not quite so much for all his ‘victims’, but it was Halloween for God’s sake. If you weren’t expecting a prank to hit you out of left field, you were just asking for trouble. As far as he was concerned, anyway.

  He threw back the sheets and clambered out of bed. After he’d stretched every muscle he owned and yawned wide enough to swallow his own head, he scratched his scalp with one hand and his balls with the other. What? It’s not like he used the same hand. He gave his armpit a quick sniff and decided that a shower was the first port of call, followed by a stop-off at McDonald’s for breakfast on the way to the park.

  Chris sighed as he wandered into the bathroom and turned on the shower. That was one of the myriad of things he found himself missing about having Finn around—his pancakes. Finn made the best blueberry pancakes he’d ever tasted; the very thought of which was making him drool. He stepped beneath the spray of hot water and lifted his face, hoping the heat would wake him up part of the way before the coffee he planned on getting could do the rest.

  He quickly washed, working up a lather with his favorite shower gel and then rinsed himself clean. After wrapping himself in a towel and securing it firmly around his waist, Chris wandered back into his bedroom to consider his wardrobe. What’s it gonna be today? Khaki shorts with the park T-shirt? Or should I rebel against type and wear the khaki shorts with the park T-shirt. Yep. He nodded and pulled out a pair of shorts. Khaki shorts with the park T-shirt it is then. Chris dried off and got dressed as fast as humanly possible. If he didn’t get a wriggle on he’d be late and there was no way he was bypassing his coffee hit to be punctual.

  The front door slammed behind him and he jogged down the stairs to the parking lot. He cursed as the engine spluttered on the first turn of the key but didn’t catch. C’mon, baby, not today. The Monty show was going to be epic today and if he was late Finn would kill him. Especially as the doofus had been a giant, whiney pain in the ass yesterday. They’d had a new addition to the monkey house, a capuchin called Dexter, who’d taken a dislike to Finn and bitten him. It had barely pierced the skin, but to hear Finn tell it, you’d think the teeny, tiny monkey had taken his arm off at the elbow. He turned the key and pumped the gas, mentally fist-pumping the air when the engine roared into life. Chris shook his head, his lips curving in a wry smile. He’d lay money on the big girl crying about it today, too. If he did, Chris was not going to let a chance to rib him about it go by.

  By the time Chris reached the park, he was already halfway to pissed. The traffic had been ridiculous and it also seemed as though everyone else in LA had decided to go to the McDonald’s drive-thru this morning. Monty’s first show was in twenty minutes and he had to help get Finn into his suit. Not to mention he was now going to have to speed-fill the trick and treat bags for the kids. He ignored the niggling little voice in his ear—that sounded way too much like Finn—telling him he should have prepared them yesterday. He’d thought about it for about two seconds then decided spending the evening with Katie curled up against him was a hell of a lot more interesting than throwing candy into little plastic bags. Besides, would those stressed-out parents really thank him for adding to their little darlings’ sugar rush?

  When he walked into the locker room behind the stage Finn was already wearing half a Monty and picking at the bandage on his hand. “Mornin’, Princess,” Chris drawled, dropping his bag onto the bench. “How’s your boo-boo?” Finn looked up and, as he shook his hair from his face, Chris frowned at the dark circles beneath his friend’s eyes. “Woah, dude. You look like shit.”

  “Thanks,” Finn replied, sarcasm dripping from the word, his voice husky and cracked.

  “You feelin’ okay?” Chris asked.

  “I feel exactly how I look—like shit,” Finn replied. “My head is pounding, I wanna barf and everything hurts, thanks for asking.”

  “Wow, if I’d known you were going to be this much fun I’d have called in sick myself,” Chris mumbled as he opened the huge tub of candy and began to throw a handful into a pile of plastic baggies.

  “Shut up,” Finn groaned in response. “I want to get this over with and get home. Greg is going to come in early and cover for me. Aiden called just before you got here, he’s spent the last hour with his head in the toilet. Whatever I’ve got, he’s got it, too.” Finn sighed heavily. “Which probably means Kaylee and Patti are going to get it.”

  “Just don’t give it to me,” Chris said, pointing a warning finger at him.

  “Shut up and keep bagging.”

  The show went off without a hitch, per usual, ending with the kids rushing the stage and practically diving into the huge pumpkin cauldron for their candy treats. Chris frowned as Finn all but fell through the curtain and into the locker room, and quickly jumped down after him.

  “Dude? Are you okay?” Chris pulled off Monty’s head and his gaze widened. Finn was burning up, his hair matted with sweat. “Jesus, Finn. That’s it, I’m canceling the photo-ops and taking you home.”

  “No,” Finn protested with a wave of his hand. “I’ll be fine. Don’t want… to disappoint… the kids. After photos… please?”

  Chris looked into the pathetic excuse for puppy eyes Finn was giving him and sighed heavily. “Okay,” he drew out the word. He wiped Finn’s face with a clean towel, forced a bottle of water to his lips until he was satisfied Finn had taken on board enough fluid, then re-fitted Monty’s head before helping Finn back out to the area where they took the photographs. “I swear, man. Straight home after this. If you die, Aiden’s gonna go ape-shit.”

  Chris kept a close eye on Finn during the photographs. The man was hardly ever sick. He seemed to be managing the photo session, so Chris began to breathe a little easier. In fact, it wasn’t until he was guiding Finn back to the locker room and he felt most of Finn’s weight against him, that he realized just how sick Finn was.

  Inside the locker room, he eased Finn down onto the bench and then pulled Monty’s head off. The sweat was literally dripping off him and Chris’ stomach lurched. He pressed the back of his hand against Finn’s forehead and hissed through his teeth. “Man, you’re burning up. That’s it, we’re leaving. You need to be in bed.” This time Finn didn’t complain, and Chris got the feeling he was just happy to have made it through the show without disappointing the kids. As much as Chris loved working with the kids—if he’d felt as bad as Finn looked, he wasn’t sure he would have been as dedicated.

  Chris helped Finn out of his costume, trying not to get too close to the rather unappealing scent of his friend’s breath. A vague recollection of his mother telling him that’s how she could tell if he
was sick as a child. Apparently, “Your breath used to smell like a baboon’s butt!” If that adage were true, Finn was either really, really sick, or he had actually eaten a baboon’s butt.

  He led Finn across the concourse, his arm around his waist, and raised his hand to Alfie the hot-dog vendor as they passed his stall. Chris flinched when he was pinned by Alfie’s less than impressed gaze. Hasn’t he gotten over it yet? Jeez it was just a little hot sauce. He frowned, puzzled. Alfie had the same dark circles and sallow complexion as Finn. Aww, crap. I’m gonna get it, aren’t I? He sighed heavily and turned his attention back to making sure Finn didn’t fall over and break a limb to add to his misery. If I do, you are waitin’ on me hand and frickin’ foot, buddy. Finn smiled weakly at him, as if he knew what Chris was thinking. Good, forewarned is forearmed, so don’t complain when you’re putting vapor rub on my chest!

  Chris decided to take his car. Although trying to stuff Finn into his Mini Cooper was like trying to keep two dogs in a bathtub—every time he shoved a bit of him in, another bit fell out. With all of Finn finally tucked inside, Chris slammed the passenger door and then trotted around the car to slide in behind the wheel. Finn moaned quietly beside him. “You just relax, dude. But do not, I repeat, do not barf in my car.”

  Luckily the ride back to Finn’s was fairly free of traffic and when he pulled onto the drive, he heaved a grateful sigh that his car was vomit-less. He turned off the engine and clambered out of the car, and slammed the door behind him. Finn was a lot easier to get out of the car than he had been to get in. All Chris did was open the door and the moron fell out onto the drive. By the time he’d gotten Finn up the front step, Chris was sweating almost as much as Finn, and he leaned heavily on the door bell, while Finn leaned heavily on him. “Dude, quit breathing on me. It smells like Pepé Le Pew died in your mouth.”

  “I’m gonna die,” Finn groaned. “Hurts to breathe.”

  Chris pulled a face as Finn pressed his face against Chris’ neck. Man, he’s hot! “You are not gonna die. Ow!” He felt the scrape of Finn’s teeth against his skin. “Dude! Personal bubble! What the fuck are you doing?” He pushed Finn upright and rested him against the door frame. “Aiden, open up before your girlfriend tries to hump my leg!”

  Chris was contemplating trying to push Finn through the letterbox when the door finally opened and Aiden glared at him through a watery gaze. “Jesus,” Chris hissed. “You look worse than he does.” He gripped Finn around the waist and urged him over the threshold and into the hall. “Come on, Ugly Sisters, I guess I get to be Cinderella tonight.” He rolled his eyes. “Yay, I can cross that off my bucket list.” He rolled his eyes again. His repartee was obviously wasted on these bozos. These disgustingly sick, stinky bozos.

  “That’s it,” Chris announced, pushing Aiden toward the stairs, and dragging Finn behind him. “Bed, both of you, then I’m going to the drug store to get something… anything, to make you two look more alive than dead. Like an extreme makeover.” They climbed the stairs at a snail’s pace. “If that doesn’t work, I’ll write your names on your foreheads, so we know who’s who.” Finn’s grunt was echoed by Aiden and Chris shook his head and mumbled, “Tough crowd.”

  Chris bundled the two of them into bed, side by side. “Where’s Patti and Kaylee?”

  “Store… sleep… over,” was Aiden’s mumbled response.

  Sincerely hoping it was Patti at the store and Kaylee at the sleepover, not the other way round, Chris put his hands on his hips and stared down at the two ailing men. What the fuck am I s’posed to do now? Right, drug store. Need drugs—lots of ‘em.

  “Okay, guys. You hang tight. I’m gonna go to the drug store and see what little cocktail I can get the pharmacist to cook up for ya.” Chris paused at the bedroom door. “I won’t be long. Oh, by the way, control yourselves. I don’t want to come home and find you sucking each other’s faces off.”

  The drug store was a ten minute ride away, and Chris had to wend his way through the late afternoon traffic. But when he arrived at the little row of shops, he managed to get a space right outside. He climbed out and locked the car behind him. There was a homeless guy picking through some trash, and a few wandering shoppers, but he didn’t see anyone else around. He trotted into the store and approached the desk. The woman behind the counter smiled brightly at him.

  “How can I help you?” Her voice was saccharine sweet.

  “Uh, my friend’s pretty sick. He’s got a fever, nausea, says everything aches, looks like sh—sorry—crap,” Chris said, throwing her an apologetic smile. “His partner’s got it, too, so I’m thinking it’s some kind of virus. Have you got anything for that?”

  “Sounds like the stomach flu,” she replied. “Tylenol to reduce their fever, and some of these to keep them hydrated.” She picked a couple of boxes off the shelves behind her and put them on the counter. “Other than that, I’m afraid they’re just going to have to ride it out. There’s a lot of it going around.”

  Chris paid for the items, thanked her and rushed back out to the car. The traffic on the way back was a little thicker and it took longer to get to the house. As he pulled up, he heaved a sigh of relief at the light spilling from the living-room window. Great. Patti’s back.

  He steered the car onto the drive and waved at Mr. Woodberry, Aiden’s next door neighbor as he braked to a stop. Chris frowned at the lack of response from the old guy, who was usually so friendly he’d put Mr. Rogers to shame. He was staring, entranced, at the large oak in his front yard.

  “Hey! Mr. Woodberry, you okay?” Chris called out to him, and the older man turned his head. An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of Chris’ stomach. Mr. Woodberry was as white as a sheet, his gray hair mussed and circles around his eyes so dark, they looked sunken in his face. What the fuck? Mr. Woodberry began to walk toward Aiden’s property, his thin lips pulled back to show teeth slightly yellowed by years of nicotine abuse. Chris swallowed hard. There was a low snuffling noise coming from the man, carried on the breeze. Is he growling? He watched, stunned, as the man grew closer, his gait odd and stilted. Chris was snapped out of his trance-like state when Mr. Woodberry’s path was stopped by the row of bushes that separated the two houses. Not that Mr. Woodberry seemed to notice as his feet were still moving. “What the fuck?” Chris mumbled, banging on the front door—which swung open on its hinges with an eerie creak.

  “And again, what the fuck?” He glanced over his shoulder at Mr. Woodberry trying to walk through a bush, a vacant expression on his face and practically leapt over the threshold, slamming the door behind him. He leaned against the varnished wood and drew in a deep lungful of air. “For God’s sake, Bishop, get a grip.” He shook his head and strode down the hall to the kitchen. “Pat—?” The kitchen was empty, although Patti had obviously been there, evident from the two food-filled paper bags on the table. “Okay, this is gettin’ weird,” he mumbled aloud, turned on his heel and headed for the living-room. That was empty, too. Where the hell is she?

  Chris’ foot was on the first stair when he heard the scratching. His body froze—apart from his head which turned from side to side like it was plugged into the mains—what was that? “Hello?” he said softly, almost flying out of his skin when he heard it again.

  What the hell are you waiting for? You’re not the blonde bimbo with the big boobs! Get the fuck out of there!

  He usually ignored his inner voice’s ramblings—mostly because his inner voice was usually stoned—but this time it had a point. His hand was on the front door handle when the scratching became a knock and he heard his name. Damnit—I nearly made it! His hand slowly dropped to his side and he turned around, heavy footfall sounding above his head as he did so. Great—who fell over—Peter Pan or Tinkerbell? He was almost tempted to go and check which one when he heard his name again—from the hall closet.

  “Chris?”

  That was Patti’s voice. Why the hell is she in the closet? Chris ran to the closet and opened it, his gaze widening at th
e sight of Patti, her beige slacks darkened by splodges of red and her arm held close to her chest. Chris helped her out and guided her to a chair in the kitchen. “Jesus, Patti, what the hell happened? Is that a bite?”

  “Chris,” her voice trembled. “Oh, Chris. Thank God. You’ve got to help me.”

  Chris squatted in front of her. “Are you okay?” He pulled back the torn sleeve of her blouse. “Woah.” The flesh was torn and he could see teeth marks as though someone, or something had taken a chunk out of her arm. “Patti, what happened here?”

  “It was Finn,” Patti rasped, her gaze wide. “I came home and he was in the kitchen. He had this strange look on his face, rage filled, it didn’t even look like him and he… he… attacked me. I called for Aiden, but he didn’t answer. Then I heard a dog barking and Finn let me go and went out the back door.” Chris brushed her usually perfectly quaffed hair from her eyes. “I heard noises upstairs and I hid in the hall closet. I was in there for about ten minutes when you came in.”

  Chris’ head began to spin as it tried to process the information Patti had imparted. Everything was starting to make sense. The bite on Finn’s hand. The way Finn and Aiden looked—and Alfie—Oh my God, Alfie, too! And Mr. Woodberry. Finn had probably infected them. This was all Finn’s doing. Well, the monkey that bit Finn’s doing. But Finn was definitely patient zero. Fuck. Stupid asshole! Some best friend he turned out to be! He’s not supposed to get bit first! I’m gonna enjoy cutting his freakishly large head off!

  “Oh God.”

  Patti’s voice was barely above a whisper but it was filled with enough fear to grab Chris’ attention. He looked up at her face and swallowed hard. Her wide-eyed gaze was zeroed in on something, or someone, behind him. The last thing he wanted to do was turn around, especially when whatever it was started a low pitched growling that rumbled from deep within its chest. Mentally pushing his heart back into his ribcage from where it had lodged itself in his throat, Chris slowly turned his head.