by Ike Hamill
“At least they give a shit,” whispered Jenko. “She’s been embalmed and well cared for.”
“But why embalm?” asked Lynne. “Doesn’t that eliminate the possibility of The Passage?”
“Nope,” said Jenko. “Not so far as we know. Gregory was embalmed. Hell, he was an organ donor. There wasn’t anything left inside his body cavity when they tried to drop him into the ground.”
“I didn’t know that,” said Lynne.
“Yeah, it’s not something you hear a lot about, but I’ve read the coroner’s report,” said Jenko. “Heart and one kidney were both salvaged. Other stuff wouldn’t go, but those did. I met the guy who got his heart, he’s doing fine. Gregory’s got a new one, of course.”
“How is any of this possible?” asked Lynne.
“Shit, why not?” asked Jenko. “You think about it. All throughout history we’ve got stories of people surviving incredible things, possessing powers, coming back to life. Just because there was no video of it, you think none of it’s true? I bet even if they did have sixteen cameras pointed on someone coming back from the dead everyone would just assume it was special effects. You think back to before we had worldwide media coverage of everything and tell me that it’s impossible that once every hundred years someone miraculously rose from the dead. Can’t you imagine that it might be in the realm of possibility?”
“No way. We know how the body works now, and the difference between living and dead,” said Lynne.
“Listen to yourself—how can you deny Gregory? You’re one of a handful of people that doesn’t even have to get that close to the man to know that he’s not your ordinary mortal,” said Jenko.
“I guess,” said Lynne. She noticed that her fingers were touching the edge of the coffin, so she drew her hands and clasped them behind her back.
“So what I’m saying is that it probably happens all the time. I read that a child’s finger can grow back if it’s severed in the last two digits and treated just right. Does that seem believable?” Jenko asked.
Lynne shook her head.
“Well then explain crabs or starfish. They lose limbs all the time and they just grow right back,” said Jenko.
“That’s different,” said Lynne.
“Is it really?” asked Jenko. “I know you’re new to all this, but you’ve got the ability to see paranormal things like Gregory’s Sparkle. So, of all people you should believe.”
“Shouldn’t we be doing something here? I don’t see anything with this girl. Don’t you have a job to do?” asked Lynne.
“Yeah,” said Jenko. He knelt and opened his bag, pulling out a couple of tools that Lynne was beginning to recognize.
She turned away from the casket with no desire to watch Jenko work. His job was gruesome. Lynne folded her arms and looked out towards the group on the porch. One man was closing the sliding door and exiting just as Lynne turned to look. She had thought them all to be outside already, so she was surprised to see him exit. He didn’t shut the door all the way. As soon as the man joined the group, Lynne could see him interrupt the conversation with lots of pointing over his shoulder.
“Hey, Jenks?” she said, still watching the mourners on the porch.
“Yeah?” he asked, his hands busy inside the coffin.
“I think we might have trouble coming,” she said.
“Is that a premonition? You getting into that business as well?” asked Jenko.
“Nope, not really. But I think those people are coming back in,” said Lynne.
To his credit, Jenko didn’t even stop to analyze Lynne’s statement, he stopped what he was doing—taking a deep core sample of the dead girl—and tucked his instrument next to the girl in the soft folds of the padded coffin. He didn’t waste a single movement, and it was lucky he didn’t. The group mobilized quickly. As soon as they had the door open, the five people from the deck streamed into the temporary wake-room and surrounded Lynne and Jenko. Lynne didn’t move as she watched them assemble. They had an agenda, and their faces told Lynne that it was best to go with the flow for the time being.
When he heard the crowd of five arrive, Jenko turned to face them as well, his tools already well hidden.
“What’s going on?” asked Jenko.
“It’s her,” said one man. He raised his finger and leveled it at Lynne. “I overheard them talking. She meets the criteria. She’s the one that Gregory wants.”
“What did they say?” asked a bald man to Lynne’s left. When he had been sitting in a folding chair, quietly weeping at the sight of the young girl in the coffin, Lynne had thought he had looked weak—a threat to nobody. Now he looked different. Now he looked like the leader of this small group. The others considered his question and then they all turned back to the man who had overheard.
“This woman is new on the job, and she has the ability to see paranormal activity,” the Finger Pointer accused.
“What’s your name?” asked the bald guy.
His gaze was confident and commanding. Lynne answered before she even knew she intended to—“Lynne."
“See?” said Finger Pointer. “He said it would be an ‘L’ name. I bet she lives right around here too. Where do you live?” he asked.
Now that Lynne knew the game, she knew enough to keep her mouth shut.
“Let’s take her to Gregory and see if she’s the one,” said Finger Pointer.
“We have to be sure,” said the bald man. “Gregory was clear on that.”
Lynne’s heart sunk. All those feelings she’d had during the night flooded back. She felt like a failure, and a fraud, and saw the desperation in her current situation. They were pinned down in this room. She figured they could fight their way past one or two, but five would overpower them soon enough. Jenko watched the conversation go back and forth and then tucked his hand inside his jacket.
“Hey, hey, buddy,” said the bald man. “Where’s that hand? Keep your hands out where we can see them.”
“Relax,” said Jenko. “I’m just getting this." His hand flew out from his jacket. He produced a gun from inside the coat like a magic trick. He waved his shiny blue-black pistol at the mourners. They each took a step back as he described a tight arc with the firearm.
“Jesus, dude. We’re unarmed,” said Finger Pointer.
“Whatever, just collect over there for a minute. Come on. You too." He waved the people on his left over to the right-hand side of the room.
Baldy didn’t move. He crossed his arms. “You’re right, Tyler. She probably is the one Gregory spoke about. He can’t shoot all of us,” said Baldy.
“That’s where you’re wrong,” said Jenko. “He waved his gun at the man. There’s only five of you. That’s two bullets each, by my count. One to slow you down, the other to put you down.”
“Bullets won’t stop us,” said Baldy. “We’re doing Gregory’s work, and he transcends death.”
“Grab my stuff, will you?” Jenko asked Lynne. She bent over and picked up his bag while Jenko held the mourners at bay with his outstretched gun. The bald man inched closer, trying to get the nerve to attack. If he figured Jenko didn’t really want to shoot him, he was right. Shooting someone was one of the last things that Jenko wanted to do, but it was just ahead of being assaulted by a bunch of misguided cultists.
“Keep coming, Shorty, and you’ll leave me no choice,” Jenko threatened the bald man, but the man kept coming. The bald man unfolded his arms and continued to move closer at a snail’s pace. Lynne grabbed the last tool from inside the coffin and stuffed it into Jenko’s bag just as another of the five began to move. To Lynne they looked like bad zombies from a late-night movie.
Jenko pushed at Lynne’s shoulder and they began to sidestep around the furniture, towards the door. Baldy moved with them, starting to pick up speed now that he saw his friends had joined the attack.
“You’re not leaving here,” said Baldy.
“Last chance,” said Jenko.
The bald man didn’t halt and Jen
ko didn’t bother with another warning. He lifted the gun slightly before pointing it downwards. He lifted it, perhaps in an attempt to get it as far away from Baldy’s legs as he could. It didn’t help—Jenko was at point-blank range. Jenko squeezed off a shot and the gun flared. The sound of the shot was gone in an instant. The last half of the bang sounded muffled, replaced with a high-pitched ring in Lynne’s ears.
Baldy’s scream rose out of the ringing. Jenko pushed Lynne towards the door. She wanted to see the damage, even though violence normally disgusted her. The bald man clutched his thigh with both hands. Blood flowed out through his fingers. One of his friends rushed to his side and helped Baldy slump down into one of the metal chairs. Of the rest, two of the mourners stood mute, in shock. The final person pulled out a phone, trying to call in the emergency.
Lynne threw open the front door and pushed past the screen door. She staggered across the lawn, swinging her partner’s heavy bag. Jenko strode backwards away from the house slowly, keeping his gun trained on the empty doorway. On the street, a little blue compact car rolled by and Lynne had to suppress the urge to run. All the windows of the neighboring houses seemed to be looking at her. She got to their car, tossed Jenko’s bag into the back seat, next to Domitius, and dropped in behind the wheel. She started the car and tapped her foot while Jenko backed into the passenger’s seat.
“Come on, come on,” said Lynne.
“Go,” said Jenko. “What are you waiting for?”
She pulled the car into reverse and bounced the car out on the street. Lynne sunk down into her seat and drove fast.
“Act natural,” advised Jenko. He lowered his gun to between his legs.
Behind them, two people rushed out of the house and ran across the yard, stopping at the sidewalk. They looked in the direction of Lynne and Jenko, who were quickly disappearing around the corner at the end of the block.
“I can’t believe you shot that guy,” said Lynne.
“What’s so hard to believe? They were coming right for us.”
“Yeah, but he’s shot. It’s just so terrible,” said Lynne.
“I know,” said Jenko. “I’m going to have to file a fifty-seven double-oh eight. That’s about ten hours with the follow-up interview. They’ll probably make me do it over the weekend, too.”
Lynne clenched the wheel as her stomach made a slow flop. The stress and adrenaline had caught up with her. She wished for her cat to be in her lap, but he was in back, still curled up on the seat.
“What did you do to Gregory?” asked Jenko.
“Nothing,” she said. Without a conscious decision, Lynne goosed the car faster. “What could I do to Gregory? I’ve never even met the man.”
“They had the impression that he’s looking for you.”
“Mistaken identity,” said Lynne.
“That doesn’t explain why you’re so nervous,” said Jenko. “You’re going to have to tell me eventually. What’s Gregory want with you?”
“I honestly don’t have any idea,” said Lynne. “He said some lady is going to bring the day of reckoning, whatever that means. They must have thought he was talking about me.”
“Oh,” said Jenko. “That old nonsense? What made them think you’re the one he was talking about?”
“Wait, what do you mean? This all started yesterday, when Gregory was on TV,” said Lynne.
“Maybe this latest version started yesterday, but Gregory has been talking about the end of civilization for quite a while,” said Jenko. “You remember, it was all he talked about when he first rose from the grave. Then it seemed like someone clued him in that he was being creepy because he stopped talking about it a while ago. Don’t you remember all that crap?”
“Nope,” said Lynne. “But I didn’t pay any attention to Gregory until the first time I saw him in person.”
“Well if you’re not more careful, it sounds like you’re going to see him again pretty soon.”
“What do you mean, careful? I didn’t say anything to those guys. They just spotted me from Gregory’s description,” said Lynne.
“So change,” said Jenko. “They mentioned a new job, your name, where you lived, and the ability to see, right? Anything else?”
“No,” said Lynne. “Not that I can remember.”
“So you just have a couple things to disguise,” said Jenko. “And you’ll want to change your hair color, too.”
“Why?” asked Lynne. “Gregory didn’t say anything about my hair.”
“That may be,” said Jenko. “But those crazy people from that house back there surely will. You’re not just hiding from Gregory now, you’re hiding from people who have met you, up-close and personal.”
“Shit, you’re right,” said Lynne.
“Don’t worry,” said Jenko. “I know a drugstore right up here.”
“Shouldn’t we finish for the day?” asked Lynne.
“Nope, unless we have death or contact with The Passage, we finish the day,” said Jenko. “That’s the rule.”
“Stupid rule,” said Lynne.
“Pull in here,” said Jenko. “There’s a drug store around the side.”
LYNNE’S EYES WATERED FROM THE AMMONIA. She lifted her head out of the tub and blinked away tears while trying to catch her breath. At the sink, Jenko moved the clippers from his sideburns to his upper lip and began mowing the thick strip of hair there.
“I thought you loved that thing?” asked Lynne.
“I do,” he said. His words were mangled by his stretched mouth. “But losing a mustache is a great disguise. Changes my whole look.”
“They’re after me,” said Lynne.
He flipped off the clippers—“Yeah, and if they recognize me, they’ll be halfway there to finding you. You’re just not good at this hiding out stuff. You’ve got break all connection with any fact they might have about you, and they got some good face time with both of us back there.”
“Oh,” said Lynne.
“You missed a spot. Back there.”
Lynne moved her gloved hand to where he pointed. She had several old towels draped around her neck. Her scalp was just starting to burn as her hair went from dirty blond to auburn. She hoped her eyebrows would look natural—the thought of dyeing those freaked her out.
When Jenko had suggested they go to his house to make the transformation, Lynne had expected to gain some insight into his character, but she’d learned nothing so far. His house sat on a narrow plot of land and revealed a very small cross-section to the street. A short peak, two windows, and a front door—two-tone brown—was what he presented to the world. Inside, the living room took up the full width of the house. It was furnished for utility, like a shopping list of the bare essentials: one chair, one small couch, one coffee table, one television, one Ansel Adams print, one throw rug. It was as clean and about as inviting as a hospital waiting room.
The bathroom had more character, if only because of its size. Jenko’s bathroom had a big counter with two sinks, and a huge, deep tub below a skylight. Lynne sat on the edge of the tub and bounced her knee, waiting for the twenty-five minutes to pass. She peeled off the gloves, turning them inside out before pushing them into the plastic bag from the drug store.
At the sink, Jenko lathered his face and finished his shave.
“You use cold water to shave?” asked Lynne.
“Yeah, works better. Keeps the pores tight,” he said.
“Huh,” said Lynne.
“I’ll be right back,” he said. “Hey? Is your cat okay out in the car?” he called from the hall.
“Yeah, I think so,” said Lynne. She stood to look in the mirror. Some of the dye was streaked on her forehead. She dabbed it with wet toilet paper and hoped it wouldn’t leave a stain. She cut her eyes to the door and wondered if she had enough time to look in his medicine cabinet to see if he was hiding any prescriptions.
“What do you think?” asked Jenko from the doorway. He was transformed. His shirt, a short sleeve button-down, made him look
slightly more muscular, but a little older too. He wore it buttoned to the top, which looked natural with the thick-rimmed black glasses he’d added.
“I wouldn’t have recognized you,” said Lynne.
“Perfect then,” he said. “What about your glasses? Do you always wear those?”
“I can manage without, but I need them to drive,” she said.
“Do you have contacts?”
“Yeah, but I hate to wear them,” she said.
“You’ll have to get over that. Just get your hair cut a little shorter, lose the bangs and the glasses and none of those guys will able to pick you out of a lineup. There’s only a couple of features that most people key in on during a confrontation. You might want to wear a little lipstick, too.”
“I am,” she said.
“A little bolder, then,” he said. “Do you have any heels?”
“You want me to work in high heels?”
“Not too high,” he said. “Just a little something. Another inch or so will help.”
Lynne sighed and dropped her head.
“What’s the big deal? A little costume change to throw the monkeys off the scent. Hardly seems like a big sacrifice.”
“It’s just everything’s changing all at once,” she said. “Thoreau said ‘Beware all all enterprises that require new clothes.’”
“Oh, you mean like growing up—kids should beware growing up?” asked Jenko. “So we’re quoting now? How about this one—‘Any fool can make a rule, and any fool will mind it.’ That’s also Thoreau. Here’s another good one from the man—‘Sell your clothes and keep your thoughts.’ So he’s all for getting rid of clothes, just not getting new ones. Did you ever stop to think that he was just a pervert that wanted to see people running around naked. Maybe he just wanted to transcend clothing.”
“Whatever,” said Lynne. “I think the sentiment is appropriate.”