I compare the gallery of embalmed corpses to the gallery on Facebook and count two sets of twelve corpses. Would Facebook not take down such a mockery of taste and Christian values?
Aunt Sophie and Uncle Umberto ? they raised me, but they were cruel. And passionate. Do they feel ashamed of being interred outside, not in the airy room with the others? They want into the Gallery (in the house)? They are infuriated that I have murdered them and dumped them into a grave beneath the barn, with the animals? They feel mocked ?
But that was exactly what I had in mind.
Chapter 17
Jesse and Willy were riding the road, Jesse driving, Willy smoking and stretching.
"Sure you're not hurt?"
"Ever the nurse ?" Willy muttered, showing his bloody hand wrapped in toilet paper.
"Could've at least been Bounty towels?"
"Nope. I've got style!"
They giggled and chortled.
"We're passing the place now," Jesse remarked.
Willy slid further down into the passenger seat, covering his head with a cap. Every now and then, he peeked out quickly through the window. They passed the diner and the gas station.
"Nothing."
"No tape, nothing."
"Shit."
"They ate 'em, what do I know ?"
"Seriously creepy town. We'll be on the table with an apple in our mouths soon enough."
"I know, right?"
"Maybe we should pay them another visit ?"
This was Willy, sitting back up, grinning at Jesse.
"? and order more burgers."
"Stupid."
"For Tom."
"He doesn't eat ?"
"Sure he eats meat and burgers."
"? that kind of food."
"He's not some kind of dream millionaire, Jesse. He's flat out broke like us."
"He's got toilet paper."
"And no coffee."
"Hard to tell."
"Proceed with caution."
"Are we safe for now?"
"There is no safe."
"Those dolls in his 'Gallery' are safe."
"Fuckin' shit. They actually come back."
"Yeah. Hell."
"One Halloween, we were wearin' costumes and runnin' around in the house ?"
"Yeah?"
"I ran up there, I think."
"And then?"
"The old bitch, I'm not sure was it his mother or his Aunt Sophie ? started lecturing me 'bout how they were all dressed up on account o' Halloween, and how they were costume displays and props for the fine stores in New York City ? she went out of her way to explain it to me."
"She thought you were gonna tell."
"I didn't care. It didn't register. I was thinking candy corn and fun."
"And Tom?"
"I remember he just stood there holding the big one's hand."
"Like today?"
"Ahem."
"Did you tell anyone?"
"Nope. Was living in foster care. But I think the old bitch warned me ? before I was about to go home. It was dark. She told me I had seen the other side and I was part of the family."
"Is that so?"
"Yeah, Willy. And she told me I could never leave."
"But you did."
"I've lived in so many places, Willy, I forgot a lot of it."
"There. Those guys standing around. That's it."
"Yeah."
"Well, let's get our supplies. Maybe they got something to make Aunt Sophie look young and tasty."
"Ha."
Jesse exited the highway and drove through a town which resembled an abandoned group of buildings. A country road took them to a ridge where young people had gathered around their cars and pickups.
One of them was nodding in their direction, obviously waiting.
Willy and Jesse joined them, to listen to music and to buy drugs and liquor, drink beer, talk and hang out. Towards midnight, they made love with another woman. Jesse grew annoyed at Willy's hunger for her. She threw his jacket around her shoulders and walked to a point where the whole forsaken town lay in full view in the valley. A man approached her.
It turned out to be the manager of the diner. Jesse took a step back in wide-eyed terror.
"You don't remember me, do you?" he asked.
Chapter 18
Jesse lit a cigarette slowly.
"No."
"Can I have one?" he asked.
"Sure."
He took her cigarette to light his. He smiled.
"Oh, and I don't mean serving you cherry pie. Way back when ? you know. When we were kids."
Jesse raised her eyebrows in surprise. She yawned.
"No."
He nodded and looked out over the sleepy town which was covered by a sketchy layer of fog and looked quiet and beautiful under a silver moon.
"Tom knows."
Jesse eyed him cautiously.
"Why didn't you say so right away?"
"Cause I didn't remember. You've changed, and all."
Jesse nodded. It made sense.
"Where are you living?"
She was about to protest, especially seeing Willy stumbling towards them from the cars.
"We work for Tom."
"Is that so?"
"Yes."
Willy was drunk and mumbling incoherently.
"I'd better get him home," Jesse remarked, weaving her arms under Willy's to support him.
"I'm Nick. Nick Edwards."
"Gotta go."
"I'll come visit!" he called after her as she headed towards the car.
Jesse eased Willy slowly down into the passenger seat and buckled his seat belt. Then she went around the car and got behind the wheel. In the rearview she spotted Edwards glaring at her from the side of his pickup. She waved.
"What the hell," she said out loud.
Putting the car in reverse, she backed out and drove forward, careful to avoid the drunk and giddy youngsters.
That wasn't the end of Edwards, however. He followed her, leaving the parking lot immediately after her. He was polite, but persistent. Jesse in turn did not try to shake him off. The confrontation had to take place sooner or later. He needed to put his cards on the table.
When she made a turn to leave the main road for Tom's reclusive side street, he did not come after her, but honked and waved. This greeting she returned and even managed a weak smile. If he had wanted to hound them about the elderly couple, he would have already.
With her one free hand, Jesse reached for a handful of candy. What was up with that? She looked over at Willy, snoring beside her. If he stayed drunk and sleeping, she could find some time to be alone with Tom.
She got out of the car, and left without trying to wake Willy. One light was turned low but visible on the third floor. Jesse vowed to ask Tom for a set of keys sometime. The trip to the back of the house was tinged with guilt and fear. The kitchen door leading into the house could be locked at any time, casting them out for good.
It stood ajar. Tom must have been the one to leave it open just a little bit. Jesse smirked.
"Isn't that just like him," she said softly.
"Leaving a door open just a little bit ?"
But he had left the door open, and he had left it open for her.
Jesse entered the house and smelled the sweet smell of baked potatoes and roast beef. With greens. She inspected the pots, the dishes and the oven and felt delighted. Dinner for two. Tom had cooked! He was doing better ?
And then suddenly, he was right behind her. She whirled around and he caught her; she was in his arms and they were kissing within seconds. He stopped to breathe, and held her at arm's length, then resumed.
"My first kiss - that was you ?" he whispered.
Jesse kissed him back, with a hunger and a vengeance.
"I had a dream about that just recently," she said.
He raised his eyebrows and grinned.
"Yes."
"Let's have som
e food."
When they were seated at the table, he added:
"And some wine."
"Willy is sleeping in the car," said Jesse.
"Good."
"He won't be waking up any time soon."
"Is he drunk?" asked Tom.
"Drunk and then some," answered Jesse and giggled.
"Drugs don't work, though ?"
"What do you mean?" Jesse was truly curious.
"I've taken all kinds of drugs," said Tom, the sadness evident in his voice.
"Taking drugs doesn't stop the dead."
Chapter 19
It was dark, warm and quiet. Willy yawned and stretched. The buzz had not worn off yet, although his lips felt parched. He needed a glass of water. Ah yes, cold water. He was in his car, sleeping, that much he knew. He just wanted to sleep a little longer, it was so comforting. This time belonged to him. Not to the constant worries about where to live, where to work, when and what to eat next.
He was a hunter and he was hunted, there was no respite. When he drank, that all stopped, at least for a little while. Few precious hours. The car, of course, was not necessarily comfortable. He was lying next to something stiff and very cold. The jammed car door, he thought. Except parts of it felt like ? a dress.
He chuckled in his sleep. His hands touched a ruffled fabric. His fingers rubbed the material, even though he was only half-conscious. Awakening, he tried to sit up; his head bumped into what he thought was the passenger side vanity mirror, in the reflection of which Jesse was forever reapplying her heavy mascara and her Goth makeup. But it felt more like wood (a coffin) or a vault made out of stone. 'Oh no,' his mind screamed. 'I am in some alternate reality again - with a corpse!'
'Bullshit,' another voice in his head shot back to placate him, 'it can't be. There is no such thing. A nightmare is what it is (this voice sounded a lot like Jesse's) - the booze and drugs are wearing off.'
The brand of dread he experienced told him otherwise.
"You are buried on my land ?" a female voice said.
"Go away!"
"How can I leave when I am buried?" he asked, sure that this kind of nonsense only happened in dreams.
"You are No. Thirteen. There can be no Thirteen."
"Why not?" asked Willy, his speech slurred, his terror real.
"Because ?" - and here the female voice cracked and could not continue, overcome with emotion.
"Because?" asked Willy, straining to understand.
Willy did not fight in his second dream. He knew he was in a coffin, buried alive. He was drunk, and it did not matter. His life would end in an early grave, earth raked over his sorry existence in a potter's field. No one to claim him, no one to say goodbye. Sooner or later, anyway. Better than a life in prison.
Willy touched the talking corpse again. He felt along her dress, until he came upon the slithering creatures. He withdrew his hand, batting off the clinging, writhing monsters, and then he realized he was having trouble breathing.
"Are you a ghost or a zombie, Ma'am?"
"Go back to him," the female voice said.
"To Tom?"
"Are you a mummy?"
"He doesn't know ?"
"Know what?"
"That he's being held ? and we are being held."
"Held?"
"Forever. In agony!"
"I don't get it."
"Why would you, you fool!"
"I have a headache."
"You will join our ranks soon enough!"
"Don't likely intend to."
"Tell him, please!"
"I'll try."
With that, the images were gone and Willy sat up in his old clunker of a car, very much aware of the reality of his situation, freezing, on a cold night, alone. Real life set in, a depressing life with a gray, vague, sordid quality to it. He nearly felt deprived of the images from the other world which were now blotted out and which had provided a kind of spice and mystery to the monotonous day-in and day-out of Willy's petty criminal misery. He rubbed his arms with his hands, trying to get warm.
"To hell with that though ?" he said out loud, still wondering.
"Jesse?" he called, although he knew she was nowhere near. Knew she had abandoned him in the cold car.
"The bitch just left me out here ?" he muttered, still rubbing his arms, his lips blue now.
"She could've at least gotten a blanket or something. Covered me with my jacket. Not left me alone with the zombie mummies of this crazy town."
"JESSE!" he yelled.
"You better get here fast, you bitch, or I'm a gonna beat the fucking shit outta you."
His lips were now purple-colored, dry and cracked. He did not dare look at himself in the mirror. When he did, he flipped the car mirror for ladies open. There was dirt on his face, and splinters of wood were stuck in his cheeks. Dark circles were set deep and haunting under his bulging brooding gray eyes. Draped over his knees was a piece of cloth, made from a ragged blue fabric with white ruffles. He touched it, then brought it to his lips. He kissed it.
"Now I'm no longer alone." he said, tears rolling down his gaunt and hardened cheeks.
"She'll always be back."
And he added solemnly:
"Now I've got family, too."
He buried his head in his hands.
Chapter 20
It always took her an amazing amount of effort. A door opened, a new day, in another world. A world without a sun. She had so much time, and during this time, she needed to try. Even though it was probably useless. She could not communicate very well. But it was so important, she had to give it her all.
He had changed so much ? but his inner beauty was still there. There was still time; if only she could convey to him some of what she had learned on her journey? If only he were open enough.
He was. He had noticed. Tom was watching. The little camera mounted on the ceiling, it was pointed at her, at them. The others, they were weaker. She was still strong, still holding on. Today was another day, well, a day in another world, but still. She had to try.
Tom! Tom! Look at your screen!
"You will always be my baby ?"
Jesse remembered the swinging motion and, drunk from the wine, she had giggled when her face bumped into Tom's jeans-clad ass (he had been carrying her up the stairs into the Gallery). She had been draped, nude, over his shoulder.
He then flopped her down, not gently, onto the floor, next to the last mummy, seated in a richly carved and decorated chair, a cheap imitation of luxury, of wealth. Even in her state of half-consciousness, Jesse saw the chair and the embalmed corpse clearly.
She was more than drunk; Tom must have added something to the wine, she could not move her limbs. But euphoria was in the mix, too. She did not worry, she let it all happen. And when Tom knelt down to her, and brought his face really close to hers (he smiled the smile of a maniac), she laughed and marveled at the joy in her heart and tried to kiss him.
Nothing worked. Her face simply came a trifle closer to his, even the laugh was mostly in her mind; her lips could not muster a turning-upwards at the corners, so when he frowned and got up to leave, and it was the saddest thing for Jesse.
I bled her out (Heather, the blond vixen), and applied the secret formula myself. Jesse is next in line. They are both so beautiful ?
A waste of time and a shame to throw Heather into the ground; besides, I don't want Rickerson, her father, finding out about her ? ummh, demise. It happened, the way it always happens. Willy on the other hand will go wild, but him I can control.
I couldn't resist stroking the bitch's fine long blond hair, I told her how sorry I felt for her that she had lost her dog. She turned and jumped on me, sex-hungry crazy woman that she was. We struggled and I fell over. She knocked her head on the sharp edge of a glass table, and so forth, and so on. This house is so full of death, how could it have transpired any other way?
That empty look in her eyes, it was unmistakable. I have seen de
ath so very often. And when it is over, I so loathe myself. I look in the mirror and catch a glimpse of the haunted monster I have become. And what has happened to all my dreams and aspirations? I am simply an assembly line man now, I kill and then preserve or discard. The hind end of human life on earth. I am the trash collector of evolution.
And I will have to get rid of Rickerson, too.
And then what?
The whole damn town?
Willy wasn't walking in a straight line when he headed towards Tom's back door, but he was walking fast. And he was so sure that the door would be unlocked, he did not bother slowing down, he figured he would just barge right in. His fury of finding himself cold in the car and abandoned by Jesse was raging strong, so he slammed into the door and hurt his shoulder ? because the door was locked.
Incredulous, he screamed:
"JESSE! OPEN UP, BABY!"
He started to pound on the wooden chipped-paint frame, fairly certain it would break, with its gray glass inlays. It held, though, and Jesse did not answer. A headache slowly formed in Willy's temples, thrumming, then knocking, then pounding, same as his fists, same rhythm, same agonizing senselessness.
Willy listened. She should be coming down the stairs, she should be running towards him, why did he not hear anything? What was wrong? What had happened to her? He could not tolerate this; he was more than thirsty, and at the same time he needed to pee.
Slowly, he stopped, turned, and headed towards the shed. Of course getting the ax and breaking down the door could get him into the house, but it could also get him into serious trouble. Had Tom really locked him out ? for good?
But he needed to get through to Jesse ? that was the most important thing.
Chapter 21
As Willy entered the toolshed to get the ax (or to look for some other tool which might open the door with far less noise and damage), he was shocked to see the dead body of the diner manager propped up against the northern wall, the same man who had served him large tasty cheeseburgers not too long ago. Willy recognized him by his clothing, his flannel shirt. His face had been cleaned up, but it was ? ruined. Next to the dead body stood a shovel, at attention and waiting.