Last One Alive

by Kristopher Rufty

  There was even less care in the craftsmanship of the body. Its skeletal arms and legs were the girth of corn stalks, and the torso was flat with two nubs for breasts. The skin looked like decaying rubber and was just as ashy-toned as the face. A flimsy nightie draped the middle of her thighs and when Gearhart lifted her into the chair across from Tobe, he was able to glance between her legs. He felt sick when he saw the tight, flaky ingress and sculpted vulva around it. A patch of dingy coiled hair that matched the color of the wig had been glued on above it.

  Tobe had guessed correctly that Gearhart had married one of the stars of his movies. And yes, she had starred in his first movie, but she wasn’t one of the actresses. She was a prop: a dead body prop that was discovered in the killer’s bedroom by a hapless victim.

  Oh shit, oh shit. This is crazy, this is so fucking crazy.

  Any moment he expected, no he hoped, for Gearhart to start laughing and jab a finger in his ribs saying how he’d gotten him. Then he’d bring his real wife into the room and introduce her instead.

  As much as Tobe would have appreciated that, he just knew it wasn’t going to happen.

  This was Gearhart’s actual wife.

  “Glenda, this is Tobe. He’s the one I was telling you about.” He lifted her arm. It popped and cracked as it shifted on its chicken-wire torso. The extended hand was a blob of painted latex. Wired fingers were exposed in patches where the foam had deteriorated.

  Tobe only stared, at a loss as to what he should do. He glanced at Gearhart and saw the man’s smile slightly falter. Then he realized he was supposed to shake her hand. He reached up and was surprised to see his hand wasn’t trembling as bad as his hips and legs were. Gearhart’s smile returned in full force. Tobe took her hand in his. It felt like dried paper mache, and sticky like old bubble gum.

  “Now, now, be a gentleman Tobe and kiss her hand.”

  Is he serious?

  Tobe’s stomach gurgled. He felt as if at any moment he was going to vomit the beef jerky he’d eaten on the drive out here all over this mock woman’s chest. He tried to think of a hundred reasons he could tell Gearhart that he had to leave, but his mind was like a blank sheet of paper. Unable to come up with anything, he finally leaned forward and put his lips to the crackly dry flesh.

  It tasted awful, like tires that would be on the bottom of a car in a junkyard. He felt acid at the back of his throat and swallowed several times, hoping to keep it there.

  “Atta boy!” Smiling, Gearhart ambled around the back of Glenda’s chair to sit at the one Tobe had preselected for him. “I guess we should get started. I don’t know about you, but I’m about ready to eat.”

  Tobe had completely forgotten about the sandwiches they were supposed to enjoy later. Funny how he’d been eager to share a meal with John Gearhart and now he was dreading it. It had taken less than two minutes for the reversal to have happened. What was he going to do? How was he going to be able to leave without making it obvious he didn’t want to be here?

  “So what color do we use?” asked Gearhart.

  “Huh?” Tobe tore his eyes away from the disgusting form of Glenda. “What?”

  “I know she’s pretty…but don’t gawk at her right in front of me.” He winked, nudging at Tobe with an elbow.

  Tobe was staring. He shook his head, hopping to jar the fuzz in his brain free. Then he reached into his brief case on the floor and fetched two pens. “Blue…” His voice came out croaky so he cleared his throat and repeated himself.

  “Blue? That’s odd.”

  “Yeah, they all want blue ink these days, it’s harder to counterfeit in scans and copies.”

  “Ah. That makes sense.”

  Tobe took a deep breath and pinched his eyes shut for a moment, then exhaled slowly. “Let’s get started.”

  Tobe tried to pretend Glenda wasn’t sitting across from him. It was impossible. He could feel her leering at him.

  She’s not real, he reminded himself.

  It didn’t matter. In some strange way, it seemed even worse knowing that she wasn’t.

  John Gearhart took his time reading over the documents. This aggravated Tobe even when he wasn’t trapped in a room with a synthetically made woman and a palpable whacko. He understood the borrowers needed to know what they were signing, but it amazed him they never asked the lenders any of their questions beforehand. Plus, they had three days to read over the documents and have any changes they deemed necessary made. When Tobe explained to the customers that it was against the law for him to answer anything regarding the loan specifics, it wasn’t unusual for them to get rather upset with him about it.

  Thankfully Gearhart didn’t ask him any questions, because Tobe doubted he had the voice to respond. Still, he read every word of the ninety page packet. In between pages, he would stop signing long enough to tell Tobe a story about one his films, either something from the making of it or some useless fact that dealt with its release. This would have amused Tobe, under regular circumstances.

  These were hardly regular circumstances!

  Later, he would reflect on this moment and ask himself repeatedly why he didn’t just bail. He could have politely declined doing the closing, bid Mr. Gearhart farewell, and gotten out of there. Each time he thought about it, he came up with the same answer.

  He was simply following the signing company’s motto and didn’t want to disappoint them. Regardless of the situation you stay professional and courteous, with a smile on your face and devoted awareness at all times.

  And that was what he did. Plus he would have felt lousy running out on the old director, especially after he’d given him the movie script. So, he offered up a hefty dose of bullshit laughter at the appropriate times, nodded his head to replicate interest and concern. But whenever Gearhart smiled his amiable smile it nearly brought Tobe to tears, because he knew the truth really was that he was observing the actions of a very lonely and delusional old man.

  He remembered being a kid when his grandmother passed away, the uncomfortable visits to his grandfather afterward. His Granddaddy used to be a voluble man, always telling jokes in a boomingly loud voice. But after Grandma’s death he became a withering man who only sat in a recliner, never talking, only grunting and nodding his head whenever spoken to. A man waiting to die. Tobe was too young to understand then, but it was easy now that he was an adult.

  Gearhart was finishing up the last page. Usually it would be time for Tobe to produce his notary log for the borrower to fill out, that way he had a record of the signing for tax purposes. He was going to skip it this time. He was ready to vamoose, but he still hadn’t thought of a way out.

  Text Kaylyn, he thought, and tell her to call me and pretend there’s an emergency.

  That was fantastic idea.

  He quickly fumbled his phone out of his pocket and pulled up the dial screen. The top three names were his emergency contacts. Kaylyn was at the top. He quickly selected her name and began fingering a message.

  Call me. Pretnd there s emergency. I explain lates…

  He quickly read it. Even with the poor grammar she should get the essence of it.

  Send.

  He looked up, finding Gearhart’s eyes locked on him. Their accusatory gleam was magnified behind the thick lenses of his glasses. There was no way he could have known what he was texting. Tobe had kept his hands below the table, but even if he hadn’t there was no way he should have been able to read what he was sending from where he sat.

  Then Tobe realized what the deal was. He would bet it was his guilty-looking face. Whenever he was trying to hide something, his bottom lip seemed to want to hide under the top one and he would suddenly forget how to blink. He purposely made himself blink a few times just to show Gearhart nothing was wrong.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  Damn.

  Tobe shook his head. “Nothing. Why?”

  “You look like something’s wrong.”

  Here’s my chance.

  “Oh w
ell…my wife texted me a few minutes ago saying there’s something going on with her Aunt…and well…she might have to leave, so I need to get home as soon as possible to be with the kids. I’m waiting on her to call.”

  “Oh no!”

  “Yeah…” He nodded, puckering his lip as if he was heartbroken. Kaylyn’s Aunt lived in Oklahoma and was fine as far as Tobe knew, but Gearhart didn’t need to know that. He hated lying about having sick relatives, but felt it was justifiable this once.

  “Well, I’ll get started on those sandwiches. If you have to leave you can take them with you.”

  Tobe collapsed back into the chair, like a balloon deflating.

  “I have hoagie bread and deli-sliced ham, turkey, and even roast beef. I’m not a big fan of salami, but there’s some bologna in there. What would you like?”

  Actually, it all sounded good. He could feel his hunger returning. If he didn’t accept the offer for a sandwich, not only would he hurt Gearhart’s feelings but he’d have to stop later and buy something at a drive-thru or gas station. He didn’t want the heartburn later and he also didn’t want to spend the money.

  So what if Gearhart’s wife had been created with chicken wire, derma wax, and latex? He could ignore it for a free meal, right? He could focus his attention on the sandwich and pretend he’d never been introduced to Glenda, right?

  Nope! Kaylyn better hurry up and call.

  “A ham and turkey sandwich sounds good…” His voice moistened with acidic spittle near the end.

  Gearhart smiled. “Want anything on it? I love sandwiches so I make sure I have all the elements to make them always on hand. Lettuce? Tomato?”

  “Yeah…that would be good. Both, please.”

  Laughing, Gearhart clapped his hands together like a mastermind whose plan has just been unleashed. The loud slap made Tobe flinch.

  Gearhart stood up. “I’ll get started.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “No, no. Stay here and keep Glenda company. She hates being left alone for extended periods of time, just downright despises it. I’ll be a little while assembling the meat and cutting the veggies. Get acquainted.”

  Suddenly, Tobe lost his appetite again. He wondered if he looked as pale and sickly as he felt. An image of Gearhart returning with two plates of plastic hoagies popped into his head. He wouldn’t have been surprised if that was what he got, by this point.

  Gearhart patted the back of the chair he’d been occupying. “Take my seat. She doesn’t hear quite as well as she used to.”

  No, Mr. Gearhart. She doesn’t hear at all! She’s not real. She’s something put together by an FX man a long time ago!

  Standing up, Tobe felt his shirt clinging to his back and sides from the gelid sweat trickling down him. He checked his shirt to make sure there weren’t any visible sweat stains. There weren’t. It was cool in the house, but Tobe couldn’t stop sweating as if he was outside.

  Gearhart pulled the chair out like he would if he was on a date. Tobe started to sit as the chair was scooted under his butt. He dropped into it, weak and famished.

  “Have fun, you two.” He leaned down, his mouth close to Tobe’s ear. “Don’t you try anything funny.” There was sincere threat in his voice.

  “Don’t worry,” he gulped. “I won’t…”

  “I trust you.”

  Gearhart squeezed Tobe’s shoulder then left the room, and Tobe was alone with Glenda. He was so close to her that he could smell the fetid odor of mold and old clay. The stink reminded him of his Grandma’s purse. She would keep makeup in the bag for years, way past its point of expiration, so even the gum she regularly carried around tasted like it. He looked at Glenda. Her plastic eye seemed to gaze straight through him to the wall behind him. He shivered. He had to find something to do, something to occupy his time.

  Get the package ready for shipping?

  That works.

  Turning his back to her, he gathered up the papers, arranged them into a neat stack, and slid them into a Fed-Ex envelope bag. He sealed it. Finished, he dropped it in the case, closing the lid.

  Checking his phone, he saw that Kaylyn hadn’t called or texted him back. What was taking her so long? She’d probably sat her phone on the counter and left it there. Chances were she hadn’t even noticed he’d texted.

  Should he call her, tell her to call him right back?

  Gearhart might hear him.

  He glanced over his shoulder, saw Glenda was still gaping at him with that craggy, crooked grin of hers, and quickly got out of the chair. He needed to move around. Just sitting there was making it worse. He stretched his taut muscles, his lower back and legs. His body felt sore, like it would after a trip to the gym. Tension was causing it, and if he wasn’t careful it would bring on a migraine.

  Tobe decided to walk around the room. Maybe if he kept moving it would help. As he paced around the table, he continued to steal peeks of Glenda from the corner of his eye. Though she hadn’t moved it seemed her gaze never left him, like one of those old paintings that always seemed to be watching you no matter where you went in the room.

  It was creeping him out!

  As he advanced to the other end of the dining table, he noticed the small writing table nestled in the corner of the room. He vaguely remembered seeing it when he first entered the room. Being this close, he saw that sitting on top was a photo album with white candle sticks on each side.

  What’s this?

  His curiosity carried him even closer to the table. The book was blue and string-bound. In gold ornamental lettering on the front was: Cherished Memories

  He wondered what was inside.

  Checking that Gearhart wasn’t about to enter the room, and also making sure Glenda wasn’t watching him, he opened the album. On the first page was a black and white 8 x 10 photo of Glenda in better health. She looked as if she’d just come from the makeup artist’s workshop. Her hair looked lively and as vibrant as could be expected from a cheap wig in a black and white photograph.

  He turned the page to another black and white of a much younger Gearhart, where he was now white-haired was black and his face was free of any stress lines and wrinkles. He was kneeling beside Glenda as she lay on the bed in a scene from A Georgia Battle-axe Massacre. Tobe recognized even in the still that Gearhart was being flirty with her. With a prop! And someone had documented this?

  He skipped a few pages ahead. This one looked to be in a restaurant. There were others in the background, watching with proud smiles on their faces as Glenda was seated at her own table with a half-eaten plate of food and an empty wine glass in front of her. The kicker was Gearhart. He was down on one knee, his hands in an offering position. Resting on his palm was an opened ring case with a blocky, diamond ring snuggled inside.

  “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he muttered.

  The proposal. And someone else had documented this as well. Tobe tried to imagine the kind of person who would sit by and snap photographs of a man’s mental collapse, of a man who desperately needed psychological help. Instead of instigating it, they should have been trying to put a stop to it.

  He pinched a chunk of pages and turned them, landing on the big kiss at the wedding ceremony. Glenda was dressed in white with a vale draped over the back of her head like a curtain. She was standing to the left, and Gearhart was on the right, a hand on each side of her face, his thin lips pressed to her fat, waxed ones. A priest stood abreast of them, smiling, and Tobe also noticed a single tear streaming from his right eye.

  Someone had actually performed a ceremony for them? Were there people in attendance? Did they applaud and cheer after the kiss was over?

  “Fuck me running,” he mumbled.

  He closed the book. There was a lump in his throat that he couldn’t swallow and his back felt as if he’d had acupuncture performed on him with icicles.

  I’ve gotta get out of here. Forget waiting on Kaylyn to call. She probably won’t even notice the text until it’s too late.

>   Too late? What did he really think was going to happen to him here?

  A man who’d been married to a dead body prop for more than forty years was capable of about anything. And, he’d already accused Tobe at least two times of being overly cute with Glenda. What would happen if there was a third allegation?

  Tobe didn’t want to know.

  He turned around. Glenda hadn’t moved. He’d almost expected her to be standing up, a knife clutched in her decomposing, wire-made hand. But she was still in the same spot, as she should be.

  Crossing the room, Tobe snatched his brief case up in one quick swoop, and was standing at the doorway in less than two seconds. He was breathing arduously, and could feel globules of sweat on his brow. His mouth had gone dry and tasted coppery.

  He leaned his head out, turning left and then right. He saw the kitchen was across the hall, just under the staircase. He could hear movement in there, some clattering around, but couldn’t see Gearhart. However, he could see the lip of an island, pots and pans dangling from hooks above it. On the other side was the counter, and from where he stood he noticed a section of sink.

  Tobe didn’t hang around to spot Gearhart. His feet were moving his body into the hallway and towards the front door before his mind had given the order to do so. Luckily Gearhart had left the main door open, and all that separated Tobe from being outside was the screen door.

  The length of the hallway seemed to be stretching, moving the door farther away from him. Tobe understood that it actually wasn’t, but damn it, what was taking him so long to reach the exit?

  Finally it was near enough to touch.

  He reached for it.

  And his cell phone’s ring tone erupted in the silent space, sounding like a mass of metal being dropped in an aluminum room. Of course he had forgotten to turn off his ringer. Of course he had to have chosen the old rotary sound for his ringer which was the loudest of them all. And most importantly: Of course Kaylyn would pick now to be the time when she called. He knew without looking that the display screen would show The Wife as being the caller.