Resurrection Dreams

  “Well…”

  “If you have a fellow waiting at home for you, or…”

  “No. At least I hope not.”

  He gave her an odd look.

  “It’s nothing.”

  “How would you feel about having dinner with me tonight? Your new business arrangement calls for a celebration, and the Fireside Chalet seems like just the place for that kind of thing. What do you say?”

  “Best offer I’ve had all day.” All month, she thought. All year. “Sure,” she said. “I’d like that.”

  “Great. I’ll hot-foot it home and make the reservations. Does eight o’clock sound good?”

  “Fine.”

  She scribbled Ace’s address and telephone number onto a prescription pad, tore off the sheet and gave it to him. “Can you read that?”

  “Your handwriting’s pretty good, for a doctor.”

  “I’m still new at it.” She glanced down at the agreement papers.

  “No hurry about that,” Jack told her. “You should take your time and read it carefully before you sign. Just give it to Dr. Gaines before you leave, and keep a copy for yourself.”

  “All right.”

  “See you at about a quarter till eight?”

  Vicki nodded. Jack, backed away, smiling, a look on his face as if he couldn’t quite believe his luck. “Well, see you,” he said.

  “See you.”

  He went out the door.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Melvin and Patricia were in the living room watching television when the doorbell rang. The clock on the VCR read 9:01. “Now, that’s prompt,” Melvin said. “Wait here.”

  Patricia stayed on the couch, but watched over her shoulder as he went to the door. He peered through the peephole. “It’s all right,” he told her. Then he opened the door.

  And staggered back as Charlie Gaines threw himself forward and wrapped his arms around Melvin.

  “Hey, hey, cut it out,” he said, patting the man’s back.

  Charlie squeezed him hard.

  “Come on, let go, now.”

  Charlie released him. Melvin shut the door and locked it. When he turned around, the doctor was wiping tears from his eyes.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s nothing. I’m all right. You won’t make me leave again, will you?”

  “Depends.”

  “I did everything like you told me.”

  He took Charlie by the arm and led him to the couch. Charlie sat down in the middle. As Melvin sat beside him, Patricia scurried around both of the men and squeezed in between the end of the couch and Melvin. She put her arm across his shoulders. Melvin slid a hand up her bare thigh and under the draping tail of the big blue police uniform shirt she had worn away from Pollock’s apartment. “Charlie and me, we’ve got stuff to talk over. So just sit quiet.”

  Though her eyes looked troubled, she nodded.

  Melvin started to take his hand away as he turned toward Charlie. Patricia grabbed his hand and stopped it. “Let go,” he said in a firm voice.

  Pouting, she released his hand.

  He faced Charlie, and found the man scowling at Patricia. “Did you make sure nobody followed you here?”

  “I checked very carefully.”

  “Good. Were there any problems?”

  “No problems at all.”

  “Vicki didn’t put up a fuss about you giving her the partnership?”

  “She suspected I was ill.”

  “Shit, you’re not ill, you’re dead.”

  Charlie laughed. “If this is dead, I don’t know what I was worried about all those years.”

  “She went and signed the papers, though?”

  “Sure did.”

  “Where did you leave them?”

  “Exactly where you told me to.”

  “In the top drawer of your desk?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And you took care of the loan?”

  “I did. She tried to talk me out of that, but I told her just what you said and she acquiesced.”

  “How much was the debt?”

  “Twenty-five thousand dollars.”

  Wouldn’t even take a car from me, Melvin thought, but didn’t bat an eyelash over twenty-five grand and a partnership from the old doctor.

  “How’d you find out how much it was?” he asked.

  “Thelma gave me the books.”

  “Did she suspect anything?”

  “Thelma? No, I don’t believe she did.”

  “And you didn’t say anything about me, did you?”

  “To Thelma?”

  “To anyone.”

  “No. Nary a word.”

  “What about the lawyer. Did he give you any trouble?”

  “He was just fine. He took care of everything.”

  Melvin leaned back. Sighing, he put a hand on Charlie’s leg, a hand on Patricia’s. “Well,” he said, “it sure looks good.” To Charlie, he said, “Did Vicki seem real happy about the whole thing?”

  “She appeared more confused and worried than happy.”

  “Well, it must’ve been a pretty big surprise. I guess she’ll be real happy once it all sinks in.”

  “I don’t know how come you wanted to bother,” Patricia muttered.

  “None of your business.”

  “You’ve got me. I don’t see why…”

  “Don’t give me any of your shit, or I’ll lock you up.”

  “Are you planning to revivify Vicki?” Charlie asked.

  “None of your business.”

  “In my personal opinion, it would be a grand plan. After all, she’s a lovely young lady.”

  Melvin smashed an elbow into Charlie’s side. “Don’t you even think about her that way.”

  He hung his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to suggest anything untoward. However, it doesn’t seem especially fair to me that you should have Patricia and yet I’m without a woman.”

  “You’re an old man.”

  “There may be snow on the roof, but I assure you there’s still plenty of fire in the…”

  “You’re not getting Vicki, so forget it you old fart.”

  “Perhaps a different woman, then. I would certainly be appreciative.”

  “This ain’t a fucking dating service!”

  “I’m sorry. It was only a suggestion.”

  “Keep your suggestions to yourself.”

  “Yes. I will. I’m sorry.”

  “Stay here and watch the TV,” Melvin told him. He squeezed Patricia’s leg. “Come with me.”

  She gave Charlie a look of triumph, then stood and followed Melvin upstairs. He led her into the bedroom. Her shirt was already unbuttoned. She plucked open his robe, pressed herself against him, and pushed her tongue into his mouth as her hands roamed his back and rump. Soon, he eased her away. “Get in bed.”

  She let the shirt fall to the floor. Its badge hit the carpet with a soft thump. She climbed onto the bed, crawled to the middle, and lay down. Gazing at him, she licked her lips. She caressed her breasts, pulled at the nipples.

  “Stop that.”

  She folded her hands beneath her head.

  “Now, go to sleep.”

  “You want to play, don’t you?”

  “Maybe later.”

  “Oh, come on.”

  “I have stuff to do.”

  “With Charlie?”

  “Yeah.”

  She frowned and pushed her lips out.

  “I’ll be back in a while.”

  “I bet you’re gonna play with Charlie.”

  “Fat chance.”

  “Sure.”

  “I’m gonna kill him.”

  That brightened her up. “Honest?”

  “Yep.”

  She nodded, smiling, then frowned again. This time, she looked confused rather than pouty. “He’s dead already. How can you kill him when he’s dead already?”

  “I’ll figure a way,” Melvin said.

  Though the problem had been
lingering in the back of his mind since he first came up with the scheme to use Charlie Gaines, he’d been too busy to worry about the details of how he might go about rekilling the man.

  The first order of business had been abducting Charlie. That turned out to be easy with the help of the revolver Patricia had taken from Pollock. He’d simply hiked over to Charlie’s house last night, knocked on the door and stuck the gun in his face. The man offered no resistence, since he didn’t want to be shot. He drove his car. Melvin sat in back with the muzzle pressed against his head.

  Then came the killing of Charlie. He got him down into the basement and held the cocked revolver in his face while Patricia strapped him to the table. Then he suffocated the old man with cellophane. Simple. No problem at all until Patricia climbed onto the table, all set to bite his neck. A whack on the ear put a stop to that.

  Then came the matter of bringing him back. That took Patricia’s mind off biting him. She was probably so fascinated by the process because she realized that she’d gone through the same treatment, herself. She’d actually begged to help, so Melvin allowed her to chew the Root of Life and tongue the messy glop into stomach gash. Then he let her do the stitching. Why not? She was a woman, after all, so she’d likely had more experience than Melvin when it came to needles and threads. She did a fine job of it, too. She acted happy and proud while she worked. Only after Charlie revived did she start getting moody.

  Training him came next. Since he woke up with amnesia, the same as Patricia, it took all night to prepare him for Monday’s tasks. He’d been a quick learner, but Patricia had made a constant pest of herself. Starting with snide remarks about Charlie. “I don’t think he’s so special…He’s awfully old and ugly…He’s not very smart, is he?” Melvin ignored her, so she tried being seductive. She stripped and tried a variety of poses. She caressed herself, pulled at herself. When Melvin failed to respond, she found a pair of scissors. That was the last straw. Though Melvin didn’t want to be bothered, he didn’t care to have Patricia mutilate herself. So he took the scissors away, led her up to the bedroom and wasted a precious hour appeasing her. Then he locked her in the room and returned to Charlie.

  By eight o’clock in the morning, Charlie seemed ready. Melvin studied the telephone directory, chose a lawyer, and listened while Charlie made the call. An answering machine took the message to meet Charlie at the clinic at nine.

  Finally, Charlie drove away. Melvin, exhausted and unwilling to endure another confrontation with Patricia, staggered up to his parents’ bedroom and fell onto their king-sized bed. He slept until mid-afternoon, when he was roused by shouts and pounding from his own room.

  He found Patricia breathless and blubbering, her face streaked with tears. In her tantrum, she had raked herself with her fingernails. Her thighs and belly and breasts were lined with welts and scratches, some bleeding. A thread of blood had leaded from a corner of the Mouth of Ram-Chotep as if the ancient deity had snaked and dribbled. Her right forearm was tooth-torn and bleeding.

  He had left Patricia alone several times before. Sometimes, he returned to find her asleep. Other times, she was weeping. But she had never done anything like this.

  “Are you nuts!” Melvin blurted. He drew back a fist, but she looked so pitiful that he couldn’t bring himself to strike her. Instead, he eased the sobbing girl against him and held her. “It’s all right,” he murmured.

  “You don’t love me, anymore.”

  “Yeah, sure I do.”

  “You’ve got him, now.”

  “I don’t care about him.”

  “You didn’t…come back all night.”

  “I’m here. You shouldn’t go hurting yourself like that.”

  “I couldn’t…help it. You locked me in.”

  “I can’t be with you all the time. There’s a lot of stuff I’ve gotta do.”

  She kept on crying and clinging to him. Melvin stroked her hair. Then, he lifted her and carried her into the bathroom. They stood together beneath the shower. As Melvin gently soaped her wounds, she stopped crying. She peeled the sodden bandages off his shoulders and chest, kissed his bite marks, slid the soap over them, then ran the slippery bar down his body. Staring into his eyes with a look that seemed both solemn and a little shy, she lathered and fondled him.

  “I love you so much,” she said.

  “I love you, too,” he told her. Watching the spray bounce off her hair and shoulders, seeing the look in her eyes, feeling the slick glide of her hands, he almost believed it.

  When they finally went downstairs, it was late afternoon and Melvin’s stomach was growling. He knew he’d better start thinking about ways to rekill Charlie, but the old man wasn’t due back until nine. So he threw a frozen pizza in the oven for himself. When it was ready, he took a T-bone steak from the refrigerator and gave it to Patricia. He began to eat his pizza. Patricia unwrapped her steak over a plate, then wrung it out like a washcloth. When the plate shimmered with a puddle of red juice, she poured it into a wine glass. She sipped it while she dined. She used a napkin frequently to dry her chin. She was starting to become very tidy about her meals, as if making an effort to improve her manners. When she finished, her blue police shirt was still spotless.

  It had crossed Melvin’s mind, after dinner, that he should go down to the basement and search the Magdal book for a way to rekill Charlie. But he simply hadn’t felt like it. The task of studying the book seemed like too great a burden. So he took Patricia into the living room and turned on the television and didn’t stir from the couch until the doorbell rang.

  Now, it was Charlie watching TV. Standing beside the bed, Melvin wondered just how he would go about rekilling the man. Just go ahead and do it, he told himself. It’ll probably be as easy as it was to kill him in the first place.

  “Why don’t we just shoot him?” Patricia suggested.

  “It has to look like an accident. I think I’ll take him out in his car.”

  “I can come with you, can’t I?”

  Here we go again.

  “I’d like to let you,” he said. “The thing is, you’ve gotta stay inside. The police are looking for you because of the Pollock murder.”

  She seemed to shrink with gloom.

  “Don’t start carrying on, honey.”

  “You’re going to leave me again.”

  “It won’t take long.”

  “Oh, sure.”

  Melvin sat on the edge of the bed. He slid a hand up her leg, feeling the hard ridges of scabs from last night’s tantrum. “If you don’t want me to go,” he said, “I won’t.”

  “Really?”

  “Honest.”

  She beamed at him.

  “Charlie will have to stay with us, though. That okay with you?”

  Her smile faded. “I don’t want him here.”

  “Me neither. But I’d have to take him somewhere to get rid of him, and I can’t do that without leaving you alone for a little while.”

  She seemed to ponder the problem for a few moments. “How long would you be gone?”

  “Half an hour, maybe.”

  “That isn’t so long.”

  “I’d be back before you knew it.”

  “Do you have to do it now?”

  “I guess not.” He glanced at the clock beside the bed. Nine-thirty. It really was too early. He’d wanted to take care of it right away, get it finished, but there would be far less risk if he waited. The ideal time would be two or three o’clock in the morning.

  He didn’t know if he could wait that long.

  But the longer he put it off, the better.

  “I don’t have to go for a while,” he said.

  “Don’t go till after I’m asleep, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Patricia rolled over, reached to the nightstand, and snatched up the roll of masking tape. She tore off several strips. She pressed them across her mouth.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jack took her by the arm and led her toward his car. “Th
ank you so much,” she said. “Dinner was wonderful.”

  “My pleasure. I haven’t had such a great time in…oh, days.”

  “Jerk.” She bumped him gently with her elbow.

  “If I’d said ‘years,’ you might have thought I was smitten.”

  “Smitten?”

  “Smote?”

  “But you’re not?”

  “Actually, I am. But I’m not about to admit it.”

  He opened the passenger door for Vicki. She climbed in and leaned across the seat to unlock the driver’s door for him. Starting to fasten her safety harness, she considered going without it and sitting in the center, close to Jack. But if she did that, she might appear too eager.

  Let him make the first moves, she thought.

  Jack had made it clear during dinner that he found pushy women disagreeable. “I’m all for equal rights,” he’d said. “I’m all for women having careers if that’s what they want. But so many of them these days have this obnoxious ‘takecharge’ attitude that drives me up the wall. It’s as if they see everyone else as a competitors and need to keep the upper hand.”

  “You prefer your women meek and submissive?” Vicki had asked, in sympathy with his complaint but feeling obliged to put in a word on behalf of the home team.

  “I prefer them like you.”

  “And how is that?”

  “Aside from all your more obvious attributes, you possess the wonderful, rare quality of being able to laugh at yourself.”

  “So, you like clowns.”

  “I like people who don’t take themselves too seriously. My impression of you is that you see life as an adventure, not as a war.”

  “Uh-oh, there’s a fine distinction.”

  “An adventure may be fairly similar to a war in its day-to-day events and hazards…”

  “Like running, ducking, getting your butt shot off…”

  “Right. But the difference is in a person’s attitude. The warrior sees everything as a battle to be fought and won. The adventurer sees it all as experiences—exciting or scary or funny or sad. The adventurer is moving toward a goal, the warrior toward a conquest.”

  “So you prefer the Amelia Earharts of the world as opposed to the Joan of Arcs?”