After two hours of riding through the woods, I crawled out from a dirty-brown lake and realized I was in the nude. Where were my clothes? When did I take them off? Didn't matter. I was in ecstasy!
And then I was running through the woods and laughing – laughing at the top of my lungs. Eventually, I started screaming. I was releasing all those emotional toxins.
At nighttime, those forest animals fed me all sorts of things: Berries, leaves, bark, and other things of nature. I had the bright idea of maybe cooking the berries, and a lightning bolt shot from the sky and hit the ground right at my feet, into a pile of wood, and a huge fire started. We all cooked our various foods. My deer friend turned to me and asked if I wanted meat this time around. I said I did, and he ran off behind a tree. He came back after a minute and spat flesh into my mouth. I chewed and swallowed as politely as I could. I didn't question it.
Then I started getting a strange feeling in my belly...a strange hunger. I wanted brains. But not just any brains. Baby brains.
I knew then that I was crazy.
I needed that damn drug. I had to get off of it. I got embarrassed and ran off. My animal friends called out to me – all bleeping and honking – and ran after me, concerned about me, but I was just too ashamed to show my face. I was a drug addict. I was a loser. I didn't deserve friends. I didn't deserve love....Not until I cleaned myself up. I climbed a tree and sat on a branch. Of course! That was it! I thought. After I clean myself up. It made perfect sense. First get off the baby drug, then the alcohol drug, then the coffee drug, then get a job, then get rich and famous. The meaning of life was clear. I had to turn myself into a success. I climbed down and told the animals my plan. They thought it was a wise decision, and they wished me well and said they would do all they could to help me on my way.
As I stared out at the Honolulu lights way in the distance, I said to myself, “I can do this. I can get clean. I have the power. I can be normal again. I can make something of myself. I can make a difference. I can be important. I can matter to someone....I can find a new love.”
And as I said that last part out loud, something in me clicked.
Something in me didn't really believe.
Maybe didn't wanna believe.
LOLLIGAL
I was at work when that butcher, Carl, came into my confessional. We spoke on the phone earlier that day. He didn't have much money, but he said that if I gave him the service – inject his love ghost into someone he had the hots for (some old teacher he once had) – he'd give me a free month's worth of meat. I took him back into the white room and performed the big suck on him. After the operation, he went outside and gave me an oily, dripping, brown box of various meats. He said that, as a bonus, he threw in a cow's head. I accepted his deal. See, I owed him a favor anyway. Carl once stopped a bunch of football players from beating up my daughter. Good kid, that Carl. Always handy with his butcher's knife....
Walking back into the church, a line of ten cats followed me. I gave them some sausages and sent them on their way.
In my office, I gathered my crew – the nuns and my UFO pilot – and gave them their share of meat. They were all very grateful, but meat wasn't going to pay the bills, so I went over to my safe and took out a big bag of money with a dollar sign on it. I handed out the bills. As everyone smiled and counted their pay, I said, “Now let's hurry up and get ready. We have another job to do.”
Everyone walked out.
Except for my UFO pilot – Jody.
She was crying.
“Lolligal, I need more money,” she said. “My mother...her medical bills keep going up.”
I sat her down.
“Is it the medicine?”
She sniffed. “It's her eye drops! One month they're $20, and the next month they're $60.”
“And now?”
“$200....” she said.
I was horrified.
“Jesus Lord God. I am horrified.”
“Indeed,” she said. “She needs those eye drops. Without them, she says it feels like her eyes are being dipped in acid. She actually just ran out of them eye drops. Mom's been crying all the time for the past week. Why, just the other day, she was cooking bacon when blood started falling from her eyes! Oh, no....Please, please help me. I know I shouldn't ask for more money. I don't want that Pope to do anything weird to you....”
I put my hand on her head and smiled.
“Don't you worry,” I said. “I can handle him.”
I gave her more money from the bag.
“Besides,” I said, “as long as we keep this between me and you, nothing 'bad' will happen.”
We hugged, and I walked her out.
Jody.
Ah....Such a sweet kid. Reminded me of my daughter Jem. And it wasn't the first time I took a little money from that bag. Nah. I was taking some out every now and then and sending it off to Jem to help pay for her college. You have any idea how much a semester costs in this day and age? It's evil. She called me up one day, weeping, jobless, not knowing how to pay for her schooling. She needed help. And I had all that extra money. A little skimming wouldn't hurt. Who would ever know??? This so-called Pope that came by sometimes to pick up his money? It's not like he was psychic. He'd never find out. His boss would never find out. Not that I ever met the guy. I didn't even know his boss's name. All I know is that Mr. Pope here picks the money up and takes it to him via his Pope van. My crew came up with a funny thing – took to calling this Pope guy the “Gangster Pope”.
He was the one that recruited us all; taught us everything. He said that the procedure came from an ancient time, and that Attila the Hun and Hitler and Genghis Khan all used it to take over the hearts of their soldiers – made them all fall in love with him. This mysterious Pope was the one that put me in charge. Said that all we had to do was play along. Fly around and give people love. Everything would work out swimmingly for everyone. We'd all be rich.
I put the bag of money back in the safe.
I wish I could give you more, Jem.
When night came, we all gathered outside behind the church and watched as Jody landed the UFO down in front of us. The rest of my crew all wore their silver suits and were putting on their alien masks. I carried a glass box containing Carl's love ghost. It flew around, banging into the sides of the box, screaming, wanting freedom. We walked into the UFO, and Jody took us sky high.
We had something like twenty damn jobs to do....Twenty ghosts to pump into people. I got exhausted just thinking about the work. Carl wanted us to put his love ghost into an older woman named Tina Lety.
We hovered the UFO over her house and saw her watering her flowers. She looked up and screamed. Jody pressed a red button and a ray of light shot down and hit Tina, freezing her in her tracks. The UFO landed, and we got out and took her inside. I injected Carl's ghost into her heart. She was awake, of course. That was important. We wanted her to see us. She had to be looking at aliens. That was the trick. That was always the trick.
Later, we knocked her out and stood her back up on her lawn, running hose in her hand, watering those flowers.
One down; nineteen to go.
I was getting tired of doing it. Uninspiring. How many years had I been doing that job? Too many. At first it was exciting, but after years and years, you want out. Time for a change. Time for something else. Time to learn how to play darts. Something. Anything new. No one is made to do the same thing over and over again. It's mental. A form of insanity. I think it was after the Jerkins job when I finally got tired of it. That damn politician. We had to make a whole town fall in love with him. Took us months....
There was a point when the guy running against Jerkins – a Susy Granto – hired us to inject HER love ghost into everyone in that town. I thought it was a bad idea, but the Gangster Pope demanded we go through with it. Susy offered a million smackers for the service, and that Pope wanted every dime.
Long story short, it was a whole mess.
People died. Their hearts
exploded. Tiny ghosts flew out of everyone – ghosts fighting ghosts in the sky. It was all-out war. That town – called St. Bergers, in Makaha – burnt down in the aftermath. Nothing remains there but piles of black stuff and cars on cinder blocks.
I had bad dreams. Usually, right after a job....Of the island of Oahu on fire. Of hands reaching out from black pits. Of kids crying and screaming. I saw myself in there with them.
I had to get out of there.
I had to get out.
PHIL
A real crazy person sauntered into my office. His name was Carl.
“Doctor, please, you have to help me!”
“What's wrong?”
“It's my brain,” he said. “It's hurting all the time.”
“Maybe you're thinking too hard.”
“No....It's the drugs.”
“That'll do it,” I said. “Stop taking drugs.”
“I can't,” he said, shaking. “I'm addicted! I'm addicted to baby brains!”
I squinted.
“Excuse me. I didn't hear you right. Did you just say 'baby brains'?”
He nodded, and then he reached back and pulled out a paper bag. It was wrapped with a shoelace. The bag dripped red stuff, and I had the funny feeling it was blood.
“One moment,” I said. “Before you open that, I have to press this button.”
Which I did.
“Security.”
Carl reached out to me.
“No! No!” he begged. “It's not what you think. I just want to show you some brains.”
I got up and was gonna kick him out of my office, when...he leaned forward, and a butcher's knife fell out of his jacket. He picked it up and looked up at me like a confused child. I was paralyzed with fright. Hazel – my secretary – opened the door.
“Did you just say 'security'?”
I waved her away.
“Go away. I was just joking.”
I wondered if she could see the fear in my eyes. What I really meant to say was, “HELP ME! GET ME OUT OF HERE! 911! CALL FOR HELP! CALL THE COPS! JESUS GOD! THIS MAN IS INSANE!”
But Hazel just smiled and said, “Yes, doctor. Have fun.”
Carl was talking again, but his words just sounded like gibberish to me. I couldn't focus. I kept imagining that butcher's knife slamming into my face. I kept seeing Fran behind my eyes, at my funeral, hugging me, kissing me, weeping. I'd never kiss those lips again. And the lovemaking! All those fine, sexy nights – never again. This was it. Bye. I always knew it would end this way. I could see the headlines: “Psychologist Dies Via Crazed Patient. Anyone Else Not Surprised?” I was biting on my tongue and tasted blood. Sweat fell from my face and spotted my pants. God, hear me now! I thought. I demand a miracle. I deserve a miracle. I've been good. Protect me. HELP ME. Where are your angels? Damn you!
All the while, Carl just looked at me in a funny way.
“This drug in my hand...it controlled me,” he said. “It made me come here for some reason. I don't understand. It's mysterious.”
He licked the drug.
I reached out to him.
“Please, as your doctor, I beg you. Don't eat that brain.”
He made his eyes really big and said, “Too late!” and ate the thing like a mad beast. It was a messy sight. Carl stood there gripping his head, spinning around like a top, complaining about life. And then a weird thing happened....I saw myself in that spinning blur, and that other version was laughing at me and wore toy devil horns. Carl stopped spinning and stared – looking like a madman: Eyes veiny, mouth leaking, nostrils blowing up, hunched over like a football player ready to run.
“Yesss, this baby brain drug has made me into a true genius. Life is so clear now! I can read hearts.” He stared at me. “I can read your heart, Phil. Yesss....You messed up real good, didn't you?”
“What was that?” I felt Death crawling up my leg, whatever that meant. I had to get out of there. Jumping out the window seemed like a good idea. Carl sniffed.
“You...killed someone.”
“What? No. I didn't....” It sounded like I was begging. It was pathetic.
Carl sniffed again.
“Yes! I can smell something rotten. You killed someone. Killed her real good, too! Someone you once loved. You turned your back on her – killed her love. What?” He thought for a second. “Carmen, was it??? You bastard! You deserve to die, and you know it....”
I started backing up toward the window.
He followed.
“Well...don't worry, man. I'll help you out. Free of charge. You can thank me...IN HELL.”
He came at me, screaming with his knife slicing through the air, “Yaaaarrgghhh!”
I raised my arms over my face.
“Jesus! No! I'm innocent!”
The knife went into my arm and hit bone. (Strange – I didn't feel a damn thing.) I fell down with Carl on me. He tried to yank the blade out, and he did, and blood flew out like a hose and covered his face. I was impressed by the amount. Carl stood up.
“My eyes! I'm blind! Waaaaaaaaah!”
I jumped up and punched him in the head and took his knife and cut into his neck. I was working on pure Adrenaline – hacking away. I had my eyes shut tight. When I was done, I backed away and wiped the gore from my face. Carl...he got up and just...stood there. He sighed, and his head nodded backwards, and all his life came out of his neck like a fountain...arms shaking, palms opening and closing like he was being electrocuted. Now here's something interesting: A puff of smoke flew out and went into the ceiling. Not only that, but I think it was in the shape of an angry face. Was I drunk?
Gadzooks....
Carl began to stink. Blood kept shooting out of his neck and pooled at his feet. It was like something out of a Japanese cartoon.
I walked around the curious sight and examined him. His head dangled by a thread of skin – eyes looking left and right. I think he was dead....
I opened the door and poked my head out.
“Hazel.”
She looked over her desk.
“Yes?”
“You can come in now,” I said. “Bring a mop. And some cops. Something crazy just happened.”
Fifteen minutes later, my office was filled with cops, all asking me questions and whatnot. Carl was still standing there – blood still rocketing out from his neck. A cop pushed him over. He fell onto a gurney and was wheeled away. A doctor wearing a white coat with a silver, circle thing on his forehead shined a penlight in my eyes and took my pulse. No, I didn't call Fran. I didn't want to bother her. Didn't want to be irritating.
When I got home, reporters were all over the driveway like rats, shoving cameras and microphones in my face. I shoved my way through, and I think I might've accidentally elbowed someone in the head.
Fran was inside, waiting for me. She looked none too happy and was holding a newspaper in her hand.
“What the hell is this all about?” she demanded. “You killed someone?”
I kept staring at the newspaper.
“How did they put it out so soon???”
“They didn't,” she said. “I printed it all from the internet. All twenty pages. I'm horrified! Do you know what this means?”
“Well, I....”
“You're out of the job, idiot! You think people are gonna want to go to a shrink that killed his patient? No! It's foolish....You damn idiot! Did you really have to kill him?”
“Well, I....”
“Answer me!”
“He did have a knife.”
“That's no excuse,” she said. “If I had been in your shoes, I would've defended myself and knocked him out cold – not kill the guy like an idiot. Idiot, meaning YOU. Arrrrgghhh! This is so frustrating!”
Fran walked around the place, thinking, pacing, staring at her shoes.
“You messed me up,” she said.
I wanted to hold her, hug her, comfort her.
“Baby, I'm sorry. Forgive me. He had a knife.” I held in my weeping. Wanted to show h
er I was a real man – a strong man. I reached into my pockets and showed her all this jewelry I bought for her.
“Look what I bought for you, master. I spent everything to buy you these wonderfully expensive, shiny things. All for you! See how much I love you?”
She picked up a stereo and threw it at me.
“Away with you! You're too poor for me! Now I have to support both of us! This is insanity....This isn't living....I'm gonna have to work longer hours now. Shit! You devil! Scram! Beat it! I never wanna see you again!”
She started throwing plates at me. That's when I figured it was time to run the hell out of there. She needed time to cool off. She didn't really mean any of those distasteful things. Couples fight. This was normal. Just let her cool off a bit, I thought. Everything will be all right. Ahh, love! Such a funny thing....
I knew what I had to do. I had to buy her more jewelry.
That would make things right again.
That would do it.
FRAN
I threw those plates at Phil, hitting him in the back of the head multiple times. I slammed the door shut and melted to my ass, arms around my knees, weeping like a baby, rocking back and forth, banging the back of my head against the door sometimes for dramatic effect. At one point, I even sucked on my thumb. Life was over. I wanted to kill myself. I didn't wanna be a vet – never did. It just seemed like an easy job to make a few bucks. But now I had to work even harder. Maybe (gasp!) find another damn, boring-ass job.
Someone help meeeeee. Working my life away – poor – depressed – sick and tired of being sick and tired....That isn't living.
My drug wasn't selling well. People were complaining. People were ending up in the hospital, waking up in wheelchairs with tubes in their faces. No. I'd have to get real. Maybe even be a cashier. Maybe even go back to school. Maybe both. I couldn't stop crying. Wasn't I fixed? Didn't my drug fix me? Maybe I just needed more? I ran to the basement and opened a secret door and walked into my lab. All sorts of lights blinked red and blue and yellow. My personal robot rolled up.
Get Zombie: 8-Book Set Page 34