by Adrian Birch
DEAD IN BED
By Bailey Simms
The Complete First Book
Created by Adrian Birch
The following material was discovered on an abandoned blog. It had been hosted by a teen under the name “Bailey Simms,” though little is known about the author’s actual identity.
Among Ms. Simms’s blog posts was a completed serialized novel entitled “Dead in Bed.” Interspersed within the novel’s segments, updates described events in the author’s life from the winter of 2013 until the spring of 2015. At that point, the posts abruptly stopped.
The blog has since been shut down. Its contents, however, have been retrieved and reproduced as the series DEAD IN BED by Bailey Simms. None of the blog’s original material has been altered.
Table of Contents
Part 1: Fifty Shades of Gangrene
Part 2: Stiff
Part 3: Going Down Six Feet Under
Part 4: Milk and Honey
Part 5: Don’t Catch the Plague
Part 6: Whetted Appetites
Part 7: Sick
About the Author
Copyright
December 27th, 2013
1:34 p.m.
First Post!
Okay, here I go. My first blog post. Deep breath…
So, hi, everyone! Or, I guess I should say: hi, absolutely no one! Because I’m sure exactly zero people are actually going to read this blog, and I’m pretty much just going to be shouting into the deep, dark abyss of the internet. But whatever. I don’t care. If I don’t force myself to start a blog and post segments of my novel to it every week or so, I know I’ll never actually write it. And I really want to write this novel. Doing it means a lot to me. That’s why I’ve decided to publically commit to it in this post.
In case someone actually does end up following this, thank you SO MUCH for reading! Seriously. You’re awesome and I love you! Please ignore the fact that I don’t even know you. You’re reading my blog, so I love you anyway despite that major flaw in our relationship. If you have any questions, follow me on Twitter (@BaileySimms) and tweet me or direct message me there. Best way to reach me. I’ll totally respond.
Anyway, the very first installment of my novel is coming in the next update! It’s going to be called Dead in Bed. So stay tuned.
xxBailey
January 5th, 2014
11:49 p.m.
Part 1
Fifty Shades of Gangrene
I woke up in a motel room I’d never seen. No matter how hard I thought about it, I had no memory of how I got there or what happened the night before.
There were beer bottles all over the bedside table, not to mention a completely empty eighth of Jack Daniels. What looked like some kind of fancy, foreign wine bottle—also drained—was filled with cigarette butts. The TV, one of those old, boxy sets, had fallen back against the wall, and in the corner an armchair lay on its side. Feathers were everywhere; one of the pillows was torn open.
I was pretty sure I was alone.
No one was in bed with me. When I leaned over to check the floor I saw only more feathers and beer bottles scattered across the carpet—along with my clothes. All of them. My jeans were in a pile against the wall with my underwear still bunched inside. My bra hung over the one armchair that was still standing.
It wasn’t until that moment that I realized I was totally naked.
And I’d definitely had sex.
I was sore, and not just a little. I hadn’t felt like this since Shawn and I went at it like rabbits during my senior year of high school.
But we hadn’t had sex in months—well, not as far as I could remember, anyway.
I tried not to think about the fact that there was no good reason I would’ve needed to check into a motel if I’d been with my husband. I'm only twenty-four, but I live in a really small town where just about everyone gets married before they're twenty, like I did. It's just what people do around here.
I looked at the mess around me. I'd been with Shawn plenty long enough to know that he definitely didn’t drink wine. Not even whiskey, really.
And yet, despite my fear about whatever it was I’d done the night before, and despite my apparent blackout, and the pervasive smell of stale cigarettes, and some other smell I noticed now—something faintly rancid—I felt, well…great.
It was as if I’d been sleeping for days and had woken up completely refreshed. I didn’t have the slightest headache. I didn't feel a hint of nausea. When I stood up, I practically leapt out of bed. I pulled on my pants feeling like I had enough energy to race straight up the face of a cliff.
But I still couldn’t remember anything.
Other than the bottles everywhere, there was no evidence that someone else had been with me in the room. The only clothes I found on the floor were mine, and the bathroom was empty. The only thing in the minibar fridge, weirdly, was an empty gallon milk container.
I looked under the bed and checked my pockets, but I couldn’t find my phone. Had I lost it, or had someone stolen it? I had no idea.
Outside, it was a beautiful day—but when I stepped into what I recognized as the parking lot of the Starlight Motel, I realized it wasn’t morning. The sun was starting to set. Apparently I’d slept all day.
Now that I was out in the fresh air, things started to come back to me about the events of the night before.
I remembered what I'd found at the high school with my brother-in-law. I remembered how I’d helped carry it, even. I remembered the stench, and how afterward I couldn’t quite wash off the smell. I wondered if maybe it was the same scent I'd smelled inside the motel room.
I also remembered why my car was nowhere to be seen. I live in Muldoon, Colorado, and if you haven’t heard of it, you’re basically like everybody else in the world who isn’t from Muldoon. It’s so small, we don’t even have a stoplight. The only exciting thing that ever happens is the annual fair. The kids sell their livestock, there’s a carnival and a rodeo, and everyone has an excuse to be drunk pretty much all weekend.
I do the books at this trucking company whose office is right across from the fairgrounds. I usually park in the lot there, and when I got off work early yesterday there was this huge bus blocking my car. It was emblazoned with a massive Bryce Tripp logo. He was supposed to be this up-and-coming country star, but, honestly, I hadn’t heard of him until a few days ago. I mean, how big could he be if he was giving a concert at the Muldoon fair? The people in charge of his bus must have been waiting to get into the rodeo grounds where his concert would take place, but I couldn’t find the driver anywhere. I couldn’t even reach my husband—the cell towers must’ve already been jammed thanks to everyone arriving from out of town.
So I’d asked my boss for a ride home. I remember now. I figured I’d worry about my car later. I didn’t really need it anyway because Ian, my brother-in-law, was going to give Shawn and me a ride to the fair that night so we could drink, and then he would bring us home later.
That had been the plan, anyway.
But now I was at the Starlight Motel, alone, without a car or a phone, and still no memory at all of how I got there.
* * *
I tried to go back and piece together everything that had happened the previous day as best as I could.
First, I remembered that when my boss dropped me at home. Shawn was already there, watching TV as usual. The couch is pretty much the only place he spends time lately when he isn’t at work. He has a shift at the mill, which I know can be exhausting, but it'd been months since we’d gone out. And lately he’d started saying he didn’t want me to go out with any of my friend
s alone. One of the reasons I’d been looking forward to the fair for weeks was because Shawn wouldn’t have any choice but to get off his ass and go somewhere. I’d been hoping that maybe we could have a little fun again, for once.
“I’m getting in the shower,” I called out, competing with the blare of Sports Center. “Ian’s gonna be here in an hour, remember?”
After a moment, Shawn yelled back.
“Tonight? We’ll go tomorrow," he said. "No one really shows up until Saturday anyway.”
I should have seen this coming. If my husband never wanted to go out at all anymore, why did I think he would ever go out for two nights in a row without complaining? I’d thought things would be different during the fair, but I guess I’d been wrong.
I tried not to sound too irritated. “Everyone always goes tonight.” I leaned into the living room and found myself talking to the back of my husband’s head. He was only twenty-six, but his hair was already beginning to thin. “All your friends are going. And mine. Morgan’s already there; she’s waiting for me. And Ian’s driving all the way back during the middle of Tyler’s football game just to give us a ride. It would be weird if you didn’t go.”
Before Shawn could respond, I stepped into the bathroom and turned on the shower. I hoped that by putting myself out of earshot, he would give up and agree to just go without a fight.
While I undressed, I forced myself to look at the mirror. I’d definitely put on a little weight since high school, but not as much as Shawn had after his accident. But I looked okay, I decided. Nothing like Morgan, who’d somehow stayed as skinny as she was at sixteen, but at least I looked okay.
While the water warmed up, I started considering what my night out would be like if Shawn did just stay at home. I didn’t really mean to let my mind wander in that direction, but it did. I thought about getting the chance to ride into town with Ian alone. I thought about taking shots with Morgan, just the two of us. Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing after all if Shawn didn’t come. In the middle of washing my hair, I actually seriously considered persuading him to stay home.
But by the time I got out of the shower, I could hear him changing out of his work clothes and decided not to say anything. I couldn’t. Not after I’d already talked him into going. I’d feel too guilty. Besides, it would probably be good for us to get drunk together.
Ian pulled up to the house just as I was finishing my makeup. I had on a new low-cut top I’d bought just for the fair and my tightest pair of jeans. Maybe it wasn’t exactly what they were wearing in Denver these days, but not bad for the Muldoon fair.
I could tell my brother-in-law was in a hurry to drop us off and catch the end of the high school football game before heading over to the fair grounds himself, but he was too polite to say so. As we came out of the house, Ian sauntered over to Shawn and slapped his shoulder, all with his truck idling in the driveway.
“Hey, buddy, you all ready for tonight?”
“Yup,” Shawn said. As always, Shawn was a little quiet—Ian intimidated him. “Ready to go.”
“Hiya, sis!” Ian gave me a quick hug, then just as quickly let me go and hopped back into his pickup.
Ian was in a good mood. On the way over he told us that Tyler got a touchdown, and besides being happy that his son had played well, he was looking forward to being out at the fair tonight, too. I could tell.
“You sure you’re okay not drinking?” I asked him. “I’m glad I’m not the one stuck driving.”
I was grateful Ian had offered to give us a ride, but the truth is I also liked how Ian got after a couple drinks. He’d been a medic in Iraq, and now he worked as an EMT at our tiny, local hospital. When he got back from the war, I used to worry he’d break down or something if he drank, but he never did. Mostly he’d just get less serious and his sense of humor would come out. I’d laugh at his wry jokes, and he always laughed along with me his kind and warmly boyish way.
He’s actually really attractive—way more attractive than Shawn. Sometimes I think my sister doesn’t even realize it.
“Who says I can’t have a beer?” Ian winked at me. “It’s fair time. I’ll nurse one for a little while.” He nudged Shawn’s arm. “Just don’t tell Danielle.”
I was pretty sure Ian really wouldn’t have more than one drink; I don’t think I know anyone who’s more responsible. Besides, if he did, my sister would find out one way or another and kill him.
I was about to ask whether he was planning on letting Haley, his youngest, stay up late at the carnival, but then his phone rang.
The gruff, semi-garbled voice on the speakerphone must have been a hospital dispatcher. “Ian, you there at the school?” the voice asked.
“Just left,” Ian said.
“I guess someone had a fall in the girl’s locker room or something. Bernice was real worked up about it, but she got cut off before she could give me the details. Could you check it out? Ambulance is still stuck here at the hospital.”
Ian switched off the speaker and brought the phone to his ear. “Yeah, I’ll be there in a couple minutes.”
He hung up.
“You don’t mind if we make a little detour, do you? It’s probably nothing, but I gotta check it out.”
“That’s all right,” I said.
In truth I was feeling selfish and a little disappointed that Ian couldn’t just drop us off at the fairgrounds. What kind of town only has one ambulance? Ian’s SUV must’ve been the sole backup.
Ian pulled right up to the door of the girl’s locker room. The second half of the football game had already started. I could hear the hum of the crowd over at the field, but the gym was deserted. Shawn stepped easily from the pickup with his medical bag in hand, but—in old high school habit—he was hesitant about going into the girls’ locker room. I found that kind of sadly funny, as if he were still just a kid.
Ian hurried to the door. “Come on in, if you want,” he told us. “We’re a little understaffed.” He laughed. “Maybe you could give me a hand, if I need it.”
I hadn’t stepped into the locker room for years. Bernice Whipple, my old P.E. teacher, was even there in her office. It was like she lived there.
“Hey, Mrs. Whipple.” I gave her my best version of a friendly wave, but she didn’t even register my presence.
She was distraught, expressionless. She went right for Ian, grabbed his jacket, and then led him toward the showers.
“Here,” she said, whispering. “Here. It’s here.”
I followed behind, trying to stay out of the way.
When I first saw what was on the tile floor—the same place I’d stood showering a hundred times in high school—I thought maybe some kid was playing a joke, trying to scare the cheerleaders or something.
There were shards glass all over the shower, and, right above, one of the big frosted windows had been broken.
And lying amidst the broken glass was a person.
There wasn’t any blood. Just a naked body lying face down. It wasn’t a high schooler at all, but a grown man, his bare ass in the air, his skin unnaturally pale from head to foot.
He was very obviously not alive.
I’d never seen a dead body before—not ever—but I was sure no living person could lie that perfectly still.
This definitely wasn’t what Ian had expected when he’d invited us in. He rushed to the body and knelt beside it. In what seemed like one motion, he opened his medical bag and snapped on a blue latex glove. He pinched one of the body’s wrists, gently—checking for a pulse, I guess—and then pressed two fingers to the body’s throat. I had the feeling he wouldn’t find anything.
He must not have found what he needed because he put on the other glove, grabbed one of the shoulders, and turned the whole body over. It jostled onto its back and lay face up.
I don’t think I recognized whoever it was, but the face was so sunken and gray I couldn’t be sure. To me, it looked like someone who had been dead for a long time…weeks, maybe. But I gue
ss I don’t know anything about how bodies decay—the cheerleaders must have used the locker room only a couple of hours earlier, and the body couldn’t have been in the shower then.I’d been so distracted by the deteriorated face, that it took me a moment to notice what Ian was staring at.
Well, him and everyone else. Mrs. Whipple let out this long-winded weeping sound and started to cry.
The dead man was missing his penis. Where it should have been was just this short, fleshy stump. The wound was raggedly scabbed over and looked infected.
Ian glanced at me, obviously regretting that he’d let Shawn and me come in here with him, but now there wasn’t anything he could do about it. He returned his attention to the body, maybe not entirely sure what to do next.
I was so stunned that I didn’t even feel sick, not even when I saw what was below the missing penis: two baseball-size spheres of tightly swollen flesh. They were the testicles, puffed up unnaturally and darkened to a deep, blackish purple, like a pair of giant, toxic mushrooms.
I could hear Shawn breathing heavily behind me. I worried he was about to pass out.
"Holy fuck," he whispered.
In the middle of all of this, Ian’s phone rang. He fumbled to answer it.
He listened. “Yeah, it’s here,” he said. I could tell it was the hospital dispatcher again. “Now you tell me,” Ian said, exasperated, then he paused. “Right now?” Another pause. “That’s not how we do things. I don’t care who—” He stopped and listened again. After a minute, he reluctantly said, “Well…I guess. I guess if that’s what they say. I don’t know. I’ll do what I can. Jesus.”
Ian stood and turned away from us. For a moment he just held his wrist to his head, apparently trying to figure out what to do. Outside in the distance, the football game’s final buzzer sounded over the loudspeakers.
“Shit.”
Finally Ian turned toward us.