Resurrection X

by Dane Hatchell

  The master bathroom was sparkling clean with the smell of chlorine bleach lingering in the air. She now remembered flashbacks of being sick the night before. Her knees, still sore from kneeling in front of the toilet, reminded her of that. But how long had she been sick? She couldn’t remember.

  Bob’s bathroom had always looked like a Frat boy’s disaster area. Hair in the sink, dried toothpaste everywhere, so much clutter on the counter there wasn’t a square inch of empty space. Rick’s however, was staged for a photo shoot. Tastefully decorated, everything in place. Even the trash can was clean enough to eat from. She entertained the notion that Rick might not be heterosexual.

  Once in the shower, she turned the water on full and as hot as she could stand. The brass showerhead blasted out powerful jets of water that felt like tiny needles bouncing off her skin. It was therapeutic but too intense to linger on one area of her body very long. She had to keep moving.

  The fragrance of the green apple shampoo lifted her spirits even more. Hope, for some reason, started to creep back as a possibility.

  Feeling revived after a good scrubbing, Lisa turned off the shower and pulled a towel from the shelf. The plush cotton drank in the water, leaving her dry and clean.

  A large cabinet provided a practical assortment of toiletries. New toothbrushes sealed in plastic, toothpaste, women’s deodorant, nail polish remover, dental floss, cotton balls, mouthwash, and a hairdryer.

  “Well, well, well. I guess he’s accustom to girls sleeping over.”

  She grabbed the hairdryer and the brush hiding behind it, and plugged it in by the mirror. Lisa looked at herself before she turned it on. There she was, pasty white with dark circles surrounding her emerald-green eyes. She wished she had her bag. Her makeup was in it.

  After she dried her hair, she returned to the bedroom, and found a pair of women’s pajama pants—pink with little blue bunnies—on the bed. For a shirt, he had left his Texas A&M football jersey.

  No panties. I guess I’ll be going commando, she thought.

  Lisa dressed herself in front of a full-length mirror and brushed her hair to be as presentable as possible. The jersey hung to her thighs and could have been worn as a mini-dress. It looked sloppy. The A and the M on the jersey bulged from her large breasts; the T framed the tops and plunged down her cleavage.

  I hope I don’t frighten Rick out of his own house, she thought.

  She left the bedroom and walked down the hall, following the smell of cooking onions to the kitchen. Rick was busy over a skillet. The heavenly aroma made her stomach growl, and then induced another mild wave of nausea.

  “Trick or treat?” she said.

  Rick’s smile melted when he turned to greet her.

  “My body makeup is in the stinky bag in your trunk. I’m sorry you have to see me like this,” she said, her head lowered.

  “Forgive me. I . . . never mind.” Rick’s gaze zeroed in on her right forearm. “Is . . . is that where Byron . . .”

  “Bit me. Yes. Nasty looking, huh? I can cover it nicely with makeup.”

  “I’m so sorry. I’ll go get your bag.”

  She lifted her head and pointed a finger. “No, on second thought, don’t. This is who I am now. At least you have an idea what I go through when I look in the mirror.”

  Rick paused, looked away, and shook his head a few times. He cleared his throat. “I’m pan sautéing tilapia filets in olive oil. I’ve got lump crabmeat for topping. I’ll be giving it a splash of white wine at the finish. There are two potatoes in the microwave and green salad in the fridge. If that’s too much for your system, I can make you a sandwich. If something like soup is more to your liking, I have a can or two in the cabinet for you to choose from.”

  “The fish smells so good I’m powerless to resist your hospitality. I can’t believe you whipped up all this while I was in the shower. Were you planning to entertain tonight? Did I make you cancel your plans?” Lisa asked.

  “The tilapia came from Wal-Mart. It’s been thawing in the fridge since last night. I washed two white potatoes from the pantry. The salad’s a bag of mixed greens. The lump crabmeat comes from a can. It’s hardly anything special. It’s not much more than fast food,” Rick said.

  “Well then, good. I already feel bad enough for all I have put you through.”

  Rick turned to her and smiled. “What? It’s good I didn’t have a date tonight?”

  “You know what I mean, silly. You can’t imagine how stupid I feel. What a total moron I must be. Thinking I could trust that slime bucket, Normie Cantrell,” Lisa said, rubbing her brow. “I truly thank you for helping me.”

  “You’re welcome. Go ahead and sit down, and get ready to eat.” Rick dished out the filets onto two dinner plates, adding the potatoes after cutting them in half. He set the plates on the breakfast table next to napkins and dinnerware.

  Lisa bashfully sat with her hands in her lap.

  Rick scooped out two bowls of salad and placed them on the table. Then he brought out the butter, sour cream, and a homemade vinaigrette dressing.

  “I’m having a Chardonnay. How about you?”

  “Normally I’d love one. Tonight, I think I’ll stick to water.”

  “Hmm, a pity. The fish pairs well with the wine,” Rick said, as he filled his glass. After getting ice water for Lisa, he took a seat at the table.

  “I’m still feeling a little ill, but I’m hungry too,” Lisa said.

  “Dig in. Don’t be shy. Make yourself at home,” Rick said, drinking wine.

  Lisa cut a piece of fish with her fork and took a bite. “This is delicious. I feel like I’m eating at a restaurant.”

  “Really? Which one? Long John Silver’s?”

  Lisa laughed. “No, you know what I mean.” Chasing the fish with a bite of salad, she said, “What kind of dressing did you put on this?”

  “It’s Dijon raspberry vinaigrette. I made it myself.”

  “You certainly have made a place for yourself in the kitchen,” Lisa said, adding butter to her potato.

  “Thanks, I guess next you’ll have me barefoot and pregnant,” Rick said.

  “What’s what the standup comedy routine? I thought you were a distinguished member of the House?” Lisa teased.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t quit my day job.” Rick drank more wine. “Not just yet, anyway.”

  Lisa laughed and had some water.

  “You know, as strange as this may sound because you’re not wearing makeup, you’re beginning to look just like the woman I met in the therapist’s office. Just like the one that stormed in the church that morning and took on the whole congregation. I know you would have no way of knowing, but you have been in my mind since the day we met. I never dreamed that we would meet again here at my house under these circumstances.” Rick raised his glass.

  Lisa looked down and picked at her fish. “I couldn’t imagining anything like last night happening either.

  “Rick, honestly. This is a wonderful meal. I haven’t had someone cook for me since . . .” Lisa stopped, lost in thought. “Since before . . .” She felt the tears coming again.

  “Lisa?”

  “I’m okay, sorry. I didn’t mean to get emotional. I’m grateful for your kindness, and I don’t want to ruin dinner.”

  Rick reached out and touched her left hand. “I understand.” He returned to his meal as if nothing had happened. “So, now it’s time for me to get something off my chest. Something that has plagued me from the time we first met.

  “There’s nothing I can do to turn back time and erase all the tragic events of the last several weeks. But what I can do is to take the broken pieces and do my best to put them back together.

  “I know you’re hurting financially, as a result of your Sub Y status. To be honest with you, I’m partially to blame for that. My corporate backers wanted the rights of the Sub Ys to end when it came to voting and pay equality. To improve bottom line profits mostly. There were fewer Sub Ys when the legislation passed, so t
here wasn’t much outcry. Oh sure, we blew our own horns how we allowed Sub Ys to own property. But we conveniently failed to give them the status to earn enough money to buy any.

  “So I’m partly responsible for your situation beyond my relationship with Byron. In order to try to mend things, I would like to offer you a job working in my campaign. I’ll provide wages and benefits equal to what the state was paying you, at least until the election is over. Of course, I’ll have to pay you in cash. How does that sound?”

  Lisa raised her eyebrows. “You want me to work to put a man back in office who supports legislation that will prevent me from earning a fair living? Can you guess why your offer isn’t bowling me over?”

  Rick sighed. “I know, I know, but hear me out. There are several bills coming up I wouldn’t have supported in the past. I’m going to tell you this in the strictest of confidence. I’m going to support one of the bills introduced by the Democrats. It will give all Sub Ys the option of equal rights with the Living or to continue their current status.”

  “Why a choice? Why not just make us first class citizens again?”

  “Benefits. The government provides benefits for all Sub Ys. If you opt out, no free housing, free ATP nourishment, nothing free at all. You’ll be on your own like any other Living. Paying rent, buying groceries, paying taxes, and saving for retirement. Not every Sub Y feels as strongly as you do about equal rights. But it’s not fair to deny any Sub Y equality to the Living unless it’s by choice.”

  “You’re starting to win me over. What’s the catch?” Lisa said.

  “Catch? No catch. Let’s go down this road and see where it brings us. If I win reelection, it’s possible you could come to Washington to work on my staff. I know you’re well educated and very strong-willed. If you can apply those skills to running an office in D.C., there might be a future for you. But you’ll have to earn it. No one rides for free.”

  “How could I work for you in Washington? I’m still a Sub Y, and God only knows how long it would take any new legislation to pass.”

  “I can hire you as part of my janitorial staff. I’ll find a way to pay you enough to live comfortably,” Rick said with a sly smile.

  “What will I be doing while working in the campaign?”

  “Soliciting phone contributions. Calling people to encourage them to support me. Remember, I said you need to earn your keep. It’s a volunteer position, so we won’t be violating any employment laws by taking a Sub Y on.”

  “Gas, grass, or ass. No one rides for free,” Lisa said.

  Rick almost choked on a mouthful of wine. “What?”

  “Just an old joke my uncle used to say. Okay, Congressman, I’ll take your offer. But this little girl isn’t going to be stuck in some cubical getting the phone slammed in her face all day long. I’ve had enough of that experience working for the N double A-N-D.

  “How about this? I know every restaurant manager and owner in this area by their first names. You’d be surprised how many go out of their way to schmooze the state health inspector. I can make direct contact with them, and I’m sure I can get a few dollars thrown your way you might have missed,” Lisa said.

  “Okay, it’s a deal. You handle it your way at first. Let’s take it one day at a time and see how it goes. I’ll send a cab to pick you up in the morning and bring you to my headquarters. You need to know my political positions on issues front to back before you even talk to one person. Don’t misrepresent me. You can use one of my pool vehicles until yours gets repaired. I’ll handle the cost of your deductible,” Rick said.

  “I need rent money for this month too. Slime bucket Normie paid me an advance, but I’m going to give it back to him.”

  “Done. Consider it back wages for the time you’ve been off work,” Rick said. “So, are you ready to work for an evil, rascally Republican?”

  “Whereas the Democrat candidate is certain to support my cause, he’s also certain to lose this election. If I help put your ass in office, you had better be reconciled to the fact that you’ll be taking me to Washington. Heck, you have no hope of winning at all without my help,” Lisa said, and smiled.

  Rick smiled back. “That settles it then. I don’t mean to be a party pooper, but I do have some things I must finish tonight. Since we’re done eating, it’s best I take you home now.”

  “Yes, certainly. I need to get out of your hair so you can take care of your business. I simply can’t tell you how much I’ve enjoyed this meal. Thank you for giving me an opportunity to get back on my feet. Here, let me help clean up,” Lisa said. She gathered her dishes and brought them to the sink.

  Rick followed behind her with his. “Oddly enough, this has been one of the most interesting twenty-four hours in my life. It’s been fun, kinda sorta.” He raked the leftovers into the garbage disposal and left the plates to soak.

  Lisa went to the door and waited for him.

  “Would you like me to take you home on my Goldwing? I find riding my motorcycle has a therapeutic effect. It makes me feel like I’m leaving all my troubles behind,” Rick said.

  “No thanks. If I have to puke I need a window that I can roll down.”

  “Riggght. It was stupid of me not to think of that.” Rick gathered his keys and wallet from his coat pocket and met Lisa at the door. “Let’s go.”

  “I’m not wearing any shoes,” Lisa said, wiggling her toes.

  Rick glanced down at her feet. “So? It’s not like you have to walk on a bed of hot coals to get to my car.”

  “I don’t like walking outside in bare feet. Can I please have my shoes?”

  “I’m not getting your shoes for you. I told you, that stinky stuff stays outside.”

  “Okay, do you have any I can wear?”

  “I wear a size thirteen. If it were snowing you might be able to use a pair for snowshoes. How about I carry you to the car?”

  “Carry me? Are you crazy?”

  “I’ve been accused of worse.” Rick opened the door, put his arm around Lisa’s back, and lifted her from under her knees. Her face was inches from his, their noses almost touching. Their gazes locked.

  “Verde ubatuba,” he said.

  “What? Is that French or Swahili? Sprechen Sie Englisch.”

  “Your eyes. They’re the most beautiful green. I’ve never been this close to you to see how a touch of gold mingles in the green. Verde ubatuba is the name for a type of granite.”

  “So, my eyes remind you of a kitchen countertop? You sure know how to compliment the ladies.”

  “You should hear my joke about how women are like guns.”

  “Save it. Take me home before you drop me.”

  “Oh ye of little faith,” Rick said, and then he carried her to his car and drove her home.

  Rick dominated the thirty-minute drive to Lisa’s apartment, going over positions in his campaign, and current strategies.

  Lisa intently listened, wanting to learn all she could as quickly as possible so she could begin her solicitations.

  After parking at her apartment complex, Rick exited the car and used the remote to open the trunk. He retrieved the bag and brought it to Lisa.

  She pulled her shoes out of the bag and put them on before leaving the car.

  Rick escorted Lisa to the door, where she removed the keys from the bag, and unlocked the door.

  “You’re probably tired of hearing it, but thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. You’ll get a chance to see my nasty side when I’m chewing ass at the office.”

  “Gee, what a wonderful mental picture. I can hardly wait. Stay here. I’ll go change, and you can have your clothes back.”

  “Why don’t you take them off and hand them to me? It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve seen you without your clothes on.”

  Lisa put a hand on her hip. “My stripping days are over. And you are crossing a line, buster.”

  “Hey! It was just a joke. I’m your employer now. I know better than to get a sexual harassment suit slapped o
n me.”

  “Since you’ve learned your place, you’re forgiven,” Lisa said, rewarding him with a big smile.

  “Good, now that we’ve made up, how about I come back to see you some other time and pick up the clothes? You can cook for me, if you want.”

  “We’ll see. Maybe so. I think I might like that.”

  Rick turned after a grin and a nod, and walked to his car.

  Lisa closed and locked the door behind her. Her mind was busy planning what outfit and shoes she’d wear for her first day of work tomorrow.

  Chapter 29

  Byron awoke with a gasp for breath as morning reveille signaled the beginning of a new workday, his sheets drenched in perspiration. He’d had a nightmare.

  He was trapped in a closet. No, not a closet. He was lying down. It was a coffin.

  Outside, he heard voices. Voices that casually spoke about everyday events people take for granted.

  “Let me out! Please, someone let me out!” He banged on the lid.

  No one heard him. No one came. The conversation drifted away. Something round appeared in his right hand. He brought it to his nose and gave it a sniff. It was an apple. He could smell the apple. When he put his teeth on it and bit down, the wake-up song jolted him back to reality.

  He moved to the edge of his cot, cradling his head in his hands, and waited for his dream-fog to clear. The apple. Its taste was in his mouth. On his tongue. The rich sweet and tart flavor danced on his palate. When was the last time he had tasted anything?

  His brethren rose to the daily routine, gathering linens, lining up like cattle ready to put in a day on the ranch.

  Bryon made a fist, and examined every square inch of his colorless skin, as if discovering it for the first time. He flexed his fingers and toes and felt his scattered thoughts pull together. The alien DNA within was mending the severed synapses in his brain.

  “Tooty, get yer shit together, and get movin’, boy. I swear, I don’t know what to think about you sometimes,” Andy hollered from the doorway.

  Byron rose and gave Andy a scowl. He snatched the linens from his cot, eying Andy, as he left the room.