Better Off Undead

by Martin H. Greenberg

  “What does that mean?’’ Oliver asked. “And why can’t I open my eyes?’’

  “I told you,’’ Zachary’s disheartened voice said. “They’re not your eyes. They’re Mario’s.’’

  “But if Cowboy’s right,’’ Ike said, “and we’re complete, then Mario should be able to open his eyes. C’mon, Fancy Boy. Try.’’

  Oliver felt like he should hold his breath in anticipation, and it was only then that he realized he wasn’t breathing. As soon as that thought hit him, he began desperately to try.

  “Stop it,’’ Mario yelped. “I can’t do two things at once!’’

  “But I’m not breathing,’’ Oliver said in a panic.

  “You’re dead, bonehead, of course you’re not breathing,’’ Ike snapped. “I thought you guys said he was the intelligent part. Are all lawyers such idiots?’’

  “Shut up, Ike.’’ Brett Jamieson sounded just as commanding as he did when he played John Banning, Bounty Hunter. “Oliver has no idea what’s going on; of course he’s upset. We all were at first, remember? We need to get him up to speed.’’ In his “good cop’’ voice, he said, “Oliver, how much do you actually remember? Do you remember Cordelia?’’

  Cordelia! That was her name. And she’d been spectacular. Oliver had had trouble believing she was really interested in him.

  “I was at a fundraiser,’’ he said. “I was seated next to the mayor’s wife.’’

  “Melba?’’ Mario asked. “Melba Davison?’’

  “Yes,’’ Oliver said. “You know her?’

  “Every little black root, Ollie, every little black root on her head.”

  “Mrs. Davison isn’t a natural blonde?’’ Oliver said.

  “Oh, hell no,’’ Mario said. “I was her stylist for five years. She may be blonde on top, but that’s the only place. Was this the museum fundraiser?’’

  “Yes.’’

  “How did she look? I can’t imagine who she’s going to now; she always said she’d rather go bald than change salons. Was it up, or did she wear it down?’’

  “Mario, no one here besides you gives one fat flying anything about how the mayor’s baggy wife wore her hair last night,’’ Ike broke in. “Except maybe Brett, and we are just not going there. Would you please shut up and let him tell Oliver what’s going on?’’

  “Fine. Whatever.’’ Mario fell silent, but Oliver could feel his resentment.

  “Thank you, Ike. So, Oliver, you were at the dinner. You met Cordelia. Dr. Cordelia Rogers. And she came on to you like a ton of bricks, yes?’’

  “Well . . . yes,’’ Oliver admitted.

  “And she suggested, perhaps, that you leave the fundraiser early, maybe have a nightcap at her place?’’

  “Yes,’’ Oliver said. “How did you know?’’

  “She picked me up at the opening of the Shakespeare in the Round series. My agent made me go, said it would be good for my image.’’

  Ike laughed. “If only he could see you now, huh? John Banning, badass Bounty hunter!’’

  “Shut up,’’ Brett said. “She picked you up in a bar, Cranefield.’’

  “I was performing,’’ Ike shot back. “I work for my money, Jamieson.’’

  “What do you do?’’ Oliver asked. “Are you a bouncer?’’ He wanted to kick himself for getting sucked into this hallucinatory conversation, but he was sure if he tried, they’d only tell him his feet belonged to the faggy hairdresser.

  “I’m not a fag, Ollie. Suggest that again, and I’ll kick your ass from here to next week. And you’re right, they are my feet, so I can do it.’’

  “Yeah, but it’s your ass you’d be kicking as well, Fancy Boy,’’ Ethan said, laughing. “But I’d purely love to see you try.’’

  “I’m sorry,’’ Oliver said. Now I’m apologizing. “Okay. So this knockout, Dr. Cordelia. She picked up all of you? You all know her?’’

  A chorus of assents came.

  “So what happens next? I remember offering to get a cab, but she said—’’

  “She said, ’No, don’t bother, I have a car.’ And then she took you to her place and poured you a glass of champagne, yes?’’

  “Hey, I didn’t get no champagne,’’ Ethan complained.

  “Dom Perignon,’’ said Oliver, feeling a bit smug. “And that’s the last thing I remember. She did drug me, didn’t she?’’

  “She did, indeed,’’ Zachary said with a sigh. “And then she cut your head open and removed part of your brain.’’

  “She did what?’’ Oliver screeched.

  “Well, it’s the perfect man thing, ain’t it?’’ Ethan said. “She wants the perfect man, so she thought she’d make herself one.’’

  “By taking my brain?’’

  “Stop shouting, it’s giving me a headache,’’ Mario said. “And she only took a part of it.’’

  “Oh, shut up, Mario. You’re the only one who’s not even supposed to be here. Dr. Miss-Perfect-Legs Rogers didn’t want the brain of a guy who works in a hair salon,’’ Ike said, his voice rising. “All she wanted from you was your body. You might remember she didn’t take a slice of your brain. In fact, she just ripped your brain out and threw it in the trash!’’

  “Well, I notice she didn’t choose your body,’’ Mario snapped.

  “I knew this would happen,’’ Zachary said gloomily. “They never stop.’’

  “Wait, wait,’’ Oliver said. “Why’d she only take part?’’

  “Well, it’s the ad, we done tol’ ya already,’’ Ethan said. “Didn’t she show you the ad?’’

  “No. Wait. Maybe. I don’t remember. Just tell me,’’ Oliver said, raising his voice again.

  “The ad,’’ Zachary said with another deep sigh. “I answered it first. ’Single, professional woman, attractive and smart, looking for a man ready to commit. Must be sensitive, yet rugged and love the outdoors. Intelligence and sense of humor required. Romance and good looks a plus. And above all, must be faithful. ’ I’m sensitive,’’ he said. “So I called the number.’’

  “He never read the part about sense of humor required,’’ Ike said. “Mr. Doom and Gloom.’’

  “Wait. You answered an ad in a singles column, and it was some whacked-out female doctor who killed you and took your brain?’’ Oliver wished he could shake his head in disbelief.

  “Well, yes. I read her sonnets,’’ Zach went on. “And when she told me about her dog, I cried.’’

  “Oh, the dying dog bit, yeah, she tried that on me. Didn’t work,’’ Ethan said. “But I took her hiking. She really does have great legs.’’

  “You answered the ad, too?’’

  “Yep.’’

  “Oliver, do you mind?’’ Brett asked. “We really want to see if Mario can open his eyes now.’’

  “Go ahead,’’ Oliver said faintly. If this wasn’t a dream, if any of this was real, he was so screwed.

  “No, not screwed, Ollie. Dead. Dead as a doornail.’’

  “Mario?’’

  “Hang on,’’ Mario said. “I’m—’’

  And then suddenly, a light so bright, all six voices cried out in pain.

  “Close them, close them!’’ Ike shouted, and the light was gone.

  Oliver was afraid the panic that raced through all their minds might cause cardiac arrest. He knew his heart must be racing.

  But it wasn’t.

  “No heart, Ollie. God, for a lawyer, you’re awfully thick. We’re dead, numbskull.’’

  “Heh, numbskull, good one, Ike,’’ Ethan chortled.

  “Wait a minute. If we’re dead, but we’re in Mario’s body, and Mario can open his eyes now, then isn’t Mario still alive?’’

  “No,’’ Mario said, sadly. “She killed me first.’’

  “Then how did you just open your eyes? Or, wait, maybe you didn’t. Maybe we just all wanted you to so much, we imagined it. That has to be it.’’ Oliver wished he could nod.

  “Yep, he’s a lawyer, all right.’’
<
br />   “Shut up, Ethan. Mario, try it again. But slower.’’

  And a faint sliver of light appeared.

  “I’m squinting. Is it too much for anyone?’’

  A chorus of no’s.

  “Okay. Here goes.’’

  And the sliver of light became larger, bit by bit, until Oliver realized he was staring up at a ceiling.

  “Excellent,’’ Brett said. “Now see what else you can do.’’

  Mario grunted a few times.

  “I think I must be strapped down. I can feel my arms and legs and all, but I can’t move them. Can’t move my head, either.’’

  “What about talkin’?’’ Ethan asked. “Can you talk?’’

  Uh . . .

  “Oh, great. The one in charge of the body is a freaking Neanderthal.’’

  “Shut up, Ike,’’ Oliver snapped. “He’s trying, for heaven’s sake.’’

  “Thanks, Ollie,’’ Mario said. “I think I need a drink of water or something.’’

  Oliver could hear him trying to clear his throat.

  Hello?

  The word rang out clearly, and Oliver didn’t recognize the voice.

  Mario could talk.

  “Okay. I have some questions.’’

  “Of course you do; you’re a lawyer.’’

  “You may not have much respect for my profession, Ike, but apparently Cordelia Rogers does. She chose me for my intelligence. And if she chose you for your sense of humor, all I can say is, she didn’t know you very well.’’ Oliver was tired of Ike’s constant complaints.

  “What are your questions, Oliver?’’ Brett asked.

  “First, if Mario is dead, how can he open his eyes and talk? And why are all of us in his head? And more importantly, how did we get here?’’

  “Number one, we don’t know. Zach says it’s Mario’s body’s sense memory. Could be, I’m no expert.’’

  “Well, I’m not, either,’’ Zachary broke in. “But it’s all I could think of. I believe your body remembers what it’s been through in life. The pleasures, the pains. And maybe, just maybe, your soul is more than just feelings and emotions. Maybe it’s touch and taste, and what you see and hear. And your body stores all that.’’

  “But if that’s so, why don’t all dead people keep talking and moving and all?’’ Oliver asked.

  “Because their brains are dead,’’ Brett answered. “Now, Mario’s brain is dead, too, but he’s got a new one. Ours. Which brings us to your other two questions. Why are we here, and how did we get here. Well, why, we don’t know. We figure all those preachers were dead wrong, if you’ll pardon the pun. The soul is not immaterial. The soul is in the brain. Now, the how part, that would be the lovely Cordelia.’’

  “She’s a brain surgeon,’’ Ethan said. “And she figgered out what parts of the brain controlled the qualities she wanted in a man. So she found men with what she wanted, us, and took out the parts of our brains she liked.’’

  “Brains don’t work like that,’’ Oliver said.

  “Well, I plumb hate to disagree with you, Ollie, but I’m thinkin’ they do. I mean, how else do you explain us?’’

  Oliver had no answer. “How do you know all this?’’

  “Every time she adds another piece of brain, she sits and talks to us, telling us all about it. She talks a lot.’’ Zachary sighed. “I’m surprised she’s not here yet.’’

  “It’s still daytime,’’ Brett pointed out. “She’s probably still at the hospital. She’ll be home soon.’’ He sounded eager and Oliver wished he could frown.

  “Excuse me, but why would you care? She killed you,’’ Oliver said.

  “Why? Because I do recall my night with Dr. Cordelia, before she killed me, and quite fondly. She is one hot mama.’’

  “Oh, yeah,’’ Ethan said happily. “And now we can see again.’’

  It wasn’t long before Dr. Cordelia Rogers showed up. First they heard the tap-tap-tap of her high heels in the hall outside the room. Then the sound of a shower running, and Oliver remembered with sharp, shocking clarity the sight of her slowly unbuttoning the silky little dress she’d worn to the fundraiser dinner. He could feel the other men’s growing impatience, and was faintly surprised to feel it himself. Finally he heard more footsteps, softer, lighter, and coming this way.

  “Close your eyes, Mario; we don’t want to scare her off,’’ Brett said hurriedly, and the darkness returned.

  Cordelia entered the room, and Oliver felt a surge of excitement. He was unsure how much of it was his, and how much belonged to the disembodied voices that he still wasn’t quite sure he believed in.

  “That’s ridiculous, Oliver,’’ Brett whispered. “If you don’t believe in us, then the excitement is all yours.’’

  “Why are you whispering?’’ Ike asked. “It’s not like she can hear you or anything.’’

  The radio switched off, silencing the only sound they’d heard for an hour before Cordelia arrived. Oliver heard her moving closer.

  “How are we feeling today?’’

  Dr. Cordelia’s voice was a low contralto, though the words were typical, irritating doctor-speak.

  More sounds, a chair being moved closer, and then suddenly, shockingly, Oliver felt a warm hand on his arm.

  “My arm, Oliver,’’ Mario hissed. Apparently it didn’t matter what part of the brain controlled the sense of touch; every single one of them felt the hairs on Mario’s arm rise at the delicate touch.

  “Oh!’’ She sounded pleased. “You felt that. Excellent. Can you hear me?’’

  “Open your eyes, Mario,’’ Ethan begged. “I want to see her again.’’

  Oliver felt a surge of jealousy. The other guys all seemed to have clearer memories of Cordelia than he did; whatever else they shared, apparently a group memory was not part of it.

  Mario opened his eyes, and there she was.

  She was gorgeous, all right, just as good-looking as Oliver remembered. A beautiful smile broke across her face.

  “Can you see me? Can you hear me?’’ she asked.

  “Yes,” they all said, though only Mario’s voice sounded.

  “Speech, too! That’s wonderful,’’ she said happily. “I wasn’t sure, with this last addition, but it was the best I could do. There’s not a lot to choose from in this town.’’

  “Wait a minute,’’ Oliver said. “What’s that supposed to mean?’’ Nothing came out aloud. He could hear Ethan and Ike laughing.

  “What about movement?’’ she asked. She reached over Mario’s—their?—body. “Let me unstrap you. It was only for your own safety.’’

  Then the most glorious thing happened. Her hand stroked their—Mario’s? Oliver’s—arm as she unbuckled the restraining strap. It was as if a jolt of electricity shot through their entire body. Their—Oliver decided it was less confusing to think of it that way—arm jerked, and Mario groaned at the pleasure. She smiled again at his reaction.

  “Well, the parietal lobe is certainly working.’’ She unstrapped their other wrist and then unbuckled the strap holding their head in position.

  “Would you like to try to sit up?’’

  “Yes,’’ they all said in unison, and the woman slipped one arm behind their shoulders. Mario put their arms on hers, and they sat up. Since they were at bed level, and she was leaning over, that put their face right between . . . well it was a very pleasant view, very pleasant indeed, even if she did move away a second or two later.

  “Wait here,’’ she said, and she raised the bed and adjusted the pillows. “I’ll be right back.’’ And she left the room.

  “Did you smell that?’’ Brett said happily.

  “Smelled like soap,’’ Ike said. “So what?’’

  “Soap? You stupid idjit. That was soap and Woman. Geez, when Zach tol’ me I was dead, I never thought I’d miss smelling things so much. I wonder if she’s got a horse.’’

  “What?’’ Oliver asked. “You can’t be serious?’’

  “Yeah,�
�’ Ethan went on, oblivious. “Or leather. Maybe she has some leather. I plumb love the smell of leather.’’

  “She has quite a bit of leather, actually,’’ Brett told them, and Ike choked.

  “Oh, Lord, don’t you dare, you prancing little freak,’’ Ike said.

  “Shut up, all of you. Mario, look around the room,’’ Zach ordered.

  Mario complied, and they saw that, aside from the hospital bed they were reclining on, and several pieces of medical equipment that surrounded the bed, it looked like a fairly decent place. A large room, with long, vertical windows on one side, the door Cordelia had gone through on the other, and directly across the room, a sight that made even Cordelia’s amazing cleavage slip from their communal thoughts.

  A large plasma high definition television hung on the wall.

  “That’s gotta be fifty inches,’’ Mario said reverently, “with virtual surround sound, too.’’

  “Sixty,’’ Brett corrected him. “I had the LG fifty. This one’s bigger.’’

  “What in hell does brain surgery pay, Hoss?’’

  “A hell of a lot more than riding bulls, and do you have to say things like Hoss?’’

  “Yeah, I do,’’ Ethan answered. “I wonder where the remote is. Must be a game on somewhere.’’

  “Definitely,’’ Mario agreed. “Hey, you guys all died after me. What are the standings? The Sox were down two last I knew.’’

  Ike blew a raspberry.

  “You don’t think they can pull it out again, do you? Be effing real.’’

  “Twenty says they make it to the playoffs, jerk.’’

  “You’re on. Boston’s so lame it’s a wonder they can play at all.’’

  “Ollie, you’re the newest. Who’s in the lead?’’

  “Er, I don’t follow sports, guys.’’

  “What?”

  Both Mario and Ike sounded shocked.

  “I knew it,’’ Ike said derisively. “Lawyers are all stick-up-their-butt jerks.’’

  “Shut up,’’ Zach whispered. “She’s coming back.’’