Whistled, “Everything’s Coming Up Roses.”
He couldn’t believe his good fortune. Only two nights ago, he had resurrected the dead. Now, this. Vicki had actually invited him out for drinks.
Giving her the car had been a bright idea, after all. Though she was apparently too shy to accept such a gift, she appreciated the offer of it. This was her way of thanking him.
Melvin didn’t know how he could stand to wait for ten o’clock.
He turned his hamburger over. Grease sizzled and snapped on the skillet.
It’s not all coming up roses, he told himself. He wasn’t real happy about going into the Riverfront Bar. At that hour on a Saturday night, half the assholes in Ellsworth would be drinking in there.
Nor was he exactly delighted that Ace would be sitting in on the festivities. She wasn’t an asshole. She was okay, he supposed. Still, three’s a crowd.
If only he could be alone with Vicki, someplace private.
But this was a start. This was a great start.
Melvin draped a slab of sharp cheddar over the top of his burger, and put the lid on the skillet. While he waited for the cheese to melt, he spread mayonnaise over his bun. He picked up a knife and was about to saw off a thick slice of red onion when he thought, What am I, nuts?
Onion breath on his first date with Vicki?
No way.
Not that she’s gonna kiss me, he told himself.
But maybe she will. Who knows?
He took the lid off the skillet. The cheese had melted and run down the sides of the burger. He slid a spatula under the patty, and lifted it over to his bun. He pressed the top of the bun down on it. Then he turned off the stove, picked up his plate, and sat down at the table.
Patricia, sitting there, smiled at him and stuffed a wad of raw ground beef into her mouth. There wasn’t much left of the half pound he’d set in front of her before starting to cook the burger for himself.
Eats like an animal, he thought. Nothing but uncooked meat, and of course there was the jar of bat blood in his laboratory. She’d gulped that down the first night. He doubted that she’d had an appetite for such things before he killed her. It was like the biting, somehow connected with having been dead.
As Melvin ate his hamburger and watched her, a drop of pink juice fell from her chin, joining the other stains on the white front of her T-shirt. The spots were in the middle between her breasts.
Melvin could see the dark of her nipples through the thin shirt.
He never would’ve guessed he’d get tired of looking at a naked woman, especially one as attractive as Patricia. But there was just so much to see, and seeing it constantly—not to mention “playing” with her to the point of exhaustion—had finally started to bore him. So he’d given her the shirt this morning and told her to wear it. She obeyed.
Melvin hadn’t expected the shirt to turn him on. It was intended simply to spare him from always seeing her naked. But the way he could sort of see through it, the way it took on the shape of her breasts and moved with them, and how it almost wasn’t long enough…He found a whole new joy in watching her.
They had spent most of the day cleaning house. Patricia cleaned, Melvin supervised. House-cleaning was wonderful. It required a lot of motion: walking, reaching, bending, kneeling. The T-shirt bobbed and swayed, and rose and fell mere inches like a stage curtain controlled by a tease. He loved it. He watched, but didn’t touch. Finally, unable to stand it any longer, he went ahead and took her. On the carpet of the upstairs hall. With the vacuum cleaner still running, humming beside their heads. He made her keep the T-shirt on. He’d been in such a frenzy that he didn’t take time to tape her mouth, and she gave his shoulder a nasty bite. Worth it, though. Out of this world.
He watched Patricia stuff the last of the raw meat into her mouth. Juice dribbled down her chin, spilled onto the shirt.
She was mostly obedient except for the biting. It seemed that she simply couldn’t control it.
Can’t go on this way, he thought.
Two days, and he already had four bites on his shoulders, another on his upper left arm. Once, she’d come very close to opening his throat.
She always did it to him when he was about to go off, and too distracted to stop her. The sudden pain of the bites never failed to push him over the edge. He had incredible orgasms. They weren’t half as good the few times she didn’t bite.
In spite of that, he knew that he couldn’t go on letting Patricia sink her teeth into him every time they screwed. The pain of the wounds lasted a long time after the ecstasy was over.
And the wound worried him. In those Romero movies, a single bite from the living dead was enough to turn you into one. He tried to convince himself that was a pile of shit, but he couldn’t quite get the idea out of his head. Besides, even if that was shit, he knew for a fact that the bites weren’t doing him any good. Like Vicki had said, human saliva’s a regular cesspool of bacteria.
The antibiotics he’d been taking for the bite on his hand should help with the others, maybe keep him from getting infected, but still…
Try screwing her right after she’s eaten?
Could try it now, and see if she bites.
But he didn’t feel like it. He would be seeing Vicki in just a few more hours.
If he used the method on Vicki, would she turn out the same as Patricia? He didn’t especially want that to happen.
Too soon to tell, though.
The smart thing was to try it with a few others, see how it goes, before taking a chance with Vicki.
Maybe they can bite each other, he thought, and smiled.
Patricia smiled back. She lifted her T-shirt, baring her breasts, and used the shirt to wipe her wet lips and chin. “Do you want to play?” she asked.
“Let’s watch television.”
She nodded. She seemed to like television almost as much as playing.
They went into the living room and sat together on the couch. He gave the remote to Patricia. She spent a while changing channels, then settled for a rerun of “Gilligan’s Island.”
Melvin gazed at the show. He didn’t even try to pay attention. He imagined how it would be tonight with Vicki. Whenever his mind returned to the present, he glanced at the red numbers of the digital clock on the VCR. How could time possibly pass so slowly?
The shows changed. He fidgeted. He watched the clock.
Finally, it was eight-thirty.
He squeezed Patricia’s leg. “Stay here,” he said. “I’ve gotta take a shower.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“Stay here.”
She gave him a pouty look, then turned her eyes to the television.
Melvin went upstairs. In the bathroom, he hung his robe on the door. He stood before the mirror and watched himself remove the bandages. His hand was looking better. The swelling and inflammation had gone down. The newer bites on his arm and shoulders didn’t appear infected.
But they burned like flaming oil when the hot spray of the shower splashed onto them.
Gritting his teeth against the pain, he shampooed his hair and lathered himself with soap. He was rinsing when he glimpsed a vague, moving shape through the plastic curtain. Psycho. Goosebumps crawled up his back. The curtain skidded open and of course it was Patricia standing there, not Norman’s mother with a butcher knife.
“Damn it!” he snapped.
She lowered her head as if ashamed. “I missed you, Melvin.”
“Go downstairs.”
“Don’t you like me anymore?”
“I like you to obey me.”
She sobbed. She raised her face. Her eyes shimmered with tears.
Melvin sighed. This possessive business was almost as bad as the biting. In a way, it was nice, but…
“I’ll go,” she said. She turned away. Melvin saw the way the T-shirt curved over her buttocks. He felt a stir.
“Okay,” he said. “Come on back. Get in here, but leave your shirt on.”
She faced him, grin
ning, and stepped into the tub. Melvin slid the curtain shut. He stepped back and watched. Patricia seemed to know what he wanted. She stood beneath the spray, turning slowly. As the T-shirt became wet, it hugged her skin and became nearly transparent.
He rubbed her through the fabric. She reached up and held onto the shower arm and smiled at him through the spray. He peeled the shirt up above her breasts. The water made her skin shiny and slick. His fingertips traced the face of Ram-Chotep, the stitches cross-hatching the Mouth. She squirmed as he slid a hand between her legs. He kissed her nipples, licked them, sucked.
Before he took her, he stuffed his wash cloth into her mouth.
Shortly before ten, Vicki and Ace entered the Riverfront Bar. It was dimly lighted, hazy with cigarette smoke, noisy. People spoke loudly to be heard over the juke box blaring Waylon Jennings. Glasses and bottles clinked. Pool balls clacked together on the two tables at the far side. Beeps and jingles came from a row of electronic games.
Vicki spotted many familiar faces on her way across the floor: strange grown-up faces that resembled kids she hadn’t seen for nearly a decade, others that looked just the same as she remembered them from all those years ago, several she’d seen during her more recent visits to town, and a few she’d come to recognize during the past week. She didn’t spot Melvin. Nor could she find the man from the playground by the river. Some of the people noticed her, nodded a greeting or simply looked perplexed as if they couldn’t quite place her. Ace said “hi,” to some friends, but didn’t stop to chat.
They found a deserted booth along the wall. Vicki scooted across the seat and motioned for Ace to slide in beside her. That way, Melvin would have to sit across the table.
“Let’s try and get rid of him fast,” Ace said. “Then maybe we can scrounge up a couple of guys, get something going.”
Vicki shrugged. She was in no mood to scrounge up anyone. She didn’t like the smoke or the noise. She would just as soon leave when the meeting with Melvin ended.
A barmaid came. No one Vicki recognized. She wore blue jeans shorts and a pale blue T-shirt printed with, “I’m a Good Sport—I Scored at Ace’s.” Her shirt was the same as the one Ace wore.
“What’ll it be, gal?” she asked.
“Let’s have a pitcher of Blatz and three mugs.”
“Comin’ right up.” She rushed away.
“That’s Lucy. She’s from the Bay. Married Randy Montclair.”
The name seemed vaguely familiar to Vicki. Then she remembered. He used to pal around with Doug. Both of them, royal pains. They’d hoisted Henry into a trash bin after school, one day. And Randy was the one who gave Melvin those whacks, just a week before the Science Fair. Vicki, ticked off, had shoved him or hit him or something to make him stop. She wondered, now, if that little show of gallantry may have been what started Melvin liking her. Maybe she had Randy to thank for her present problems with the guy.
Lucy brought the pitcher and mugs to the table. Vicki paid her.
While Ace was filling the mugs, Melvin appeared.
“Greetings,” he said. He scooted over the seat until he was directly across from Vicki. He brought a sweet, cloying aroma with him as if he’d been drenched in after-shave.
“You’re looking dapper,” Ace said, and poured him a drink.
He wore a shiny Hawaiian shirt and a pink sports jacket. His black hair was slicked straight back. Maybe the smell, Vicki thought, came from hair oil.
Ace slid the mug to him. He winked at her. Then he grinned at Vicki. “You look real nice,” he said. His gaze wandered down. Vicki had worn a dark plaid blouse, longsleeved and too heavy for the weather, chosen solely to prevent Melvin from getting even a hint of what was underneath. But the way he looked at her, it might’ve been transparent. She had an urge to finger the buttons just to make sure they all were fastened. His stare made her feel squirmy. He rubbed his lips with the back of his bandaged hand.
The bandage was fresh and white, as if he’d put on a new one for the occasion as part of dressing up.
“Well,” Vicki said, “I might as well give you the keys.”
“If you’re sure.”
She took them from her purse and pushed them across the table. He put them into a pocket of his jacket.
Vicki lifted her mug. “Well, here’s looking at you.”
They all drank.
“So whatcha been doing with yourself?” Ace asked him. “Resurrected anyone lately?”
Vicki cringed.
Melvin grinned and bobbed his head. “Oh, I gave that up. They taught me better in the funny farm.”
“You sure sparked up that Science Fair,” Ace said.
“That’s what I had in mind.” He hunched over the table, leered at Ace, then at Vicki. “Like I told Vicki, I only just did it to give the finger to all the assholes.”
“Guess you managed that, all right.”
Vicki wished they would change the subject. On the other hand, she was rather glad that Ace was sparing her from having to make conversation.
“So how’d you pull it off, anyway? You sneak into the bone orchard and dig her up?”
“Sure. Took a lot of digging, too.”
“You did it at night, I guess.”
“The Wednesday before the Fair.” He seemed to enjoy talking about it. He kept grinning and nodding. “The graveyard gate was chained. I had to get through that with a hacksaw. Then I just snuck in and started digging.”
“Weren’t you scared?”
“I didn’t wanta get caught, you know. But I weren’t scared of no ghosts or stiffs, if that’s what you mean.”
“How’d you get her out of the coffin?”
Vicki rolled her eyes.
“Had a pry bar along. It was easy. The hard thing was hefting her up.”
“Dead weight,” Ace said.
“Jesus,” Vicki muttered.
Melvin chuckled. “She wasn’t just skin and bones, you know. She had a build on her.”
“Shit, yes,” Ace said. “Her tits alone must’ve weighed in at twenty pounds each.”
“I wouldn’t know about that. All I know, she was tough to lug around.”
“If you’d waited a year or two, she might’ve been easier to carry.”
Melvin laughed with a mouthful of beer and sprayed it back into his mug.
“So, did you carry her all the way home?”
“No, no. Would’ve herniated myself. What I did, I put her in the trunk of my car, then went back and filled in the hole. Didn’t want anyone catching on, you know.”
“Yeah, that would’ve ruined it.”
“Wanta hear a good one? I almost forgot her head. Yeah. See, I left it sitting on this tombstone while I worked on filling up the hole. Then my hands were full, what with the shovel and pry bar and everything. I got back in the car and drove halfway home before I remembered about her head.”
“Dumb you.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, but it was still there when I went back for it. Hadn’t walked off.”
“Or rolled,” Ace added, “as the case may be.”
“This is really revolting,” Vicki muttered.
Melvin grinned at her.
“So then you took her home with you?” Ace asked.
“Kept her in the basement. My folks, they never went down there. Then Friday night, I drove over and broke into the Center. Had my stuff all set up before sunup, and had the door open and everything by the time people started coming along to set up for the Fair.”
“You sure put a lot of effort into your project,” Ace said. “I tell you, me and Vicki didn’t go to half the trouble you did. And I bet they didn’t even give you a blue ribbon.”
“Gave me a straitjacket, that’s what they did.”
“And well-deserved, too.”
Melvin laughed. He shook his head and wiped his mouth and took another drink of beer.
“Lucy didn’t bring us any peanuts,” Ace said. With that, she got up and left.
Oh, great, Vicki t
hought. She leaves me alone with him. That wasn’t part of the deal. Hell, there was no deal. But she knows how I feel about Melvin.
Maybe that’s why she left. Figured the encounter’ll do me more good if she’s not here like a security blanket.
No, she just wants peanuts.
Vicki managed a smile. “How’s your hand doing?” she asked.
“Oh, it’s getting better. I got a real good doctor.”
“I see you changed your bandage.”
“Took a shower tonight.”
There’s a pretty picture.
“Do you ever think about that movie, Psycho, when you take a shower?”
“I try not to,” Vicki said.
“We had this gal at the funny farm, they couldn’t get her to take a shower. That’s ‘cause she saw Psycho when she was like ten years old. She’d get real ripe after about a week. Then they’d take her into the shower room, a couple of orderlies, and you’d hear her screaming.” With his left hand, Melvin picked up the pitcher. He filled his mug with beer, then poured more into Vicki’s mug. “My mother, she never took showers. She took baths. Do you like baths?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I do both.”
Great. His mind’s on bathing.
“My mother, she used to shave her legs in the tub.”
How does he know that?
He tipped his head to one side and grinned. “Do you shave in the tub?”
“That’s none of your business, Melvin.”
His grin slipped away. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to make you mad.”
“Why don’t we talk about something else?”
Where the hell is Ace?
“What did you do today?” she asked.
“Oh, cleaned house.”
“That’s a huge house. It must be a real chore, having to keep it up.”
“Oh, it’s not so bad.”
“You haven’t been working at the station?”
“Doctor’s orders. I guess I’ll go back next week, maybe. Or maybe not. I kinda like staying home.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Vicki noticed someone approaching the table. She turned her head, expecting to see Ace with a bowl of peanuts.
It was Dexter Pollock with a mug of beer.
“Mind if I sit?”
Before she could respond, Dexter slid in beside her. “That’s Ace’s seat,” she said.
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