Resurrection Dreams
Resurrection Dreams
Richard Laymon
LEISURE BOOKS NEW YORK CITY
“I say, Jerry! You’d be in a blazing way, if recalling to life was to come into fashion, Jerry!”
—A Tale of Two Cities, Charles Dickens
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Title Page
Epigraph
Senior Year
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Homecoming
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
One Year Later
Chapter Thirty-Four
Praise
Other Books By
Copyright
SENIOR YEAR
Chapter One
That had to be Steve Kraft. It was Kraft’s blue Trans Am, the one his dad gave him when he threw six touchdown passes against the Bay last fall. So that had to be Steve, all right.
The way his head looked reminded Wes of when you’ve got a marshmallow on a stick and you’re trying to toast it to a nice golden tan and the bastard goes up in flames.
You blow out the fire. Then you go to pull the marshmallow off the stick. The stiff crust slips right off like a shell, and the white gooey center stays on the stick.
Maybe Steve’s face would slip off like that if you…
Wes twisted away from the car’s blazing wreckage and doubled over. “Watch it!” Manny danced backward to save his shoes as Wes started heaving.
“Whatcha tryin’ to do,” Manny asked, “gross me out?”
Wes heard him laughing and wondered how anyone—even Manny—could find something funny about Steve Kraft piling into the bridge’s wall and burning like a marshmallow.
Then Manny patted his back. “Should’ve lost it on Kraft, old buddy. Maybe you could’ve put him out.”
Wes straightened up. “That’s really sick,” he muttered.
“Hey, the guy was an asshole.” Manny took a swig of the Old Milwaukee he’d been drinking when they stopped to check out the fire. He passed the bottle to Wes.
Wes drank some, washing the sour taste of vomit out of his mouth. “Maybe we better get outta here,” he said. “Cops show up, they’ll know we been drinking. ‘Specially Pollock. He’ll give us real shit.”
“Fuck Dexter Pollock,” Manny said. Standing in the middle of the road, he swung his head from side to side as if searching for the police chief. “Any car shows up, we’ll just…” His head jerked hard to the right. His mouth dropped open.
Wes looked.
The girl was halfway across the bridge, sprawled over the top of its low concrete parapet.
Wes thought it was a girl. He couldn’t be sure, since her head was out of sight. But she looked as if she might be naked, and Steve Kraft wouldn’t have had a naked guy in his car.
“I think she’s bareass,” Manny said. His voice sounded hushed, secretive. “Come on.”
They walked slowly toward her. Wes felt his heart drumming. His mouth was dry. He took another drink of beer.
“Bet it’s Darlene,” Manny said.
“Yeah.”
Manny rubbed his mouth. “Not a stitch on. No wonder Kraft piled up.”
The firelight fluttered and rolled over the bare skin of her back and rump and legs. Her left leg hung toward the walkway. The other was up on top of the wall as if she intended to climb over and leap into the creek.
“What’s she doing?” Wes whispered.
“Lost a contact lense?” Manny suggested, and let out a short, nervous laugh. “Not a stitch,” he said again.
That wasn’t quite true, Wes realized. Now that he was closer to the girl, he could see that she wore white socks and white tennis shoes. Around her left ankle hung a pair of panties that looked glossy in the russet firelight.
“Think she’ll be glad to see us?” Manny asked.
Wes didn’t bother to answer. He suspected that Darlene would rather see just about anyone except Manny. She, like all those snob cheerleaders and most of the other kids in the senior class at Ellsworth High, thought Manny was the scum of the earth.
Manny called out, “Hey, Darlene, don’t jump! It’s not that bad. Stevie’s a goner, but we’re here.”
She didn’t move.
“Maybe she’s hurt,” Wes said.
“Can’t be hurt too bad, she came this far. Darle-e-e-ne.”
As they hurried closer, Wes looked back at the blazing car. Flames flapped through the space where the windshield belonged. He faced forward. Manny was already beside the sprawled girl. “Hey, you don’t suppose she got thrown all the way…”
“Not a chance.” He slapped the girl’s rump. It jiggled slightly, but she didn’t flinch or yelp. He leaned over her. “Hey, Wes,” he said. “I think I know what she lost off the bridge.”
Wes didn’t like the high, strange sound of Manny’s voice. “What?”
“Her head.”
“Quit joking around.”
“Look for yourself.”
West sidestepped past Manny, and looked.
Her left shoulder rested on top of the wall. The right was beyond the edge, drooping over the ravine, her arm hanging straight down.
Wes knew her head had to be there, just this side of the drooping shoulder, but he sure couldn’t see it.
“No,” he said. “It’s there.” On that side of the wall, there was no light from the fire. That’s why he couldn’t see Darlene’s head.
“Bitch got herself decapacitated.” To prove his point, he gave the body a tug.
Wes yelped and lurched backward as it came toward him. It rolled off the parapet, dropped, and hit the sidewalk at his feet.
“See?” Manny said, stepping out of the way so his shadow left her.
Wes saw, all right. He saw a stump of neck between her shoulders.
“That’s Darlene, all right,” Manny said. “Nobody’s got a set like that.”
“I don’t think we oughta be looking at her,” Wes said. “You know? She’s dead.”
“Yeah, I imagine she is.” Manny squatted down for a better view.
Wes felt angry at Manny, disgusted with himself. He knew it was wrong to look, but he kept staring at her.
“Ever see one before?” Manny asked.
“Just Steve.”
“Not a stiff, a naked babe.”
“Sure,” he lied.
Manny moved a hand up her thigh.
“Hey, don’t.”
“Check her out, man. This is as close as a loser like you’s ever gonna get to a babe like this.”
“For Godsake, get your hand off her.”
“Wish we had more light.” Manny started to pull her leg sideways.
Wes booted him in the shoulder and he tumbled over.
“Hey!”
“Don’t mess with her. Just
leave her alone!”
“Fuck you!” Manny leaped to his feet and whirled toward Wes. His fists were clenched at his sides.
Wes realized he still held the beer bottle. “Stay back!” he warned. “I’ll bash you! I swear, I’ll bust your head open!”
He raised the bottle like a club, and chilly liquid spilled down his arm.
“You think you can take me, man? I’ll take that bottle and shove it up your tight ass.”
“I don’t want to fight you,” Wes said.
“Damn straight, you don’t.”
Wes tossed the bottle. It flew over the low wall where Darlene had been sprawled. A few seconds later, it hit the stream with a soft splash.
“Okay?” he asked. “Okay?”
“Okay.” Smiling, Manny patted his shoulder. Then he smashed his knee up into Wes’s stomach. Wes dropped to his knees. “Now we’re even,” he said, and took Wes by the arm and helped him up. “Don’t know why you wanta act like such a dumb fuck. Come on, let’s check her out. Isn’t every day you get a chance like this.”
Wes, bent over and holding his stomach, fought to suck air into his lungs and shook his head.
“Just don’t mess with me, then.”
Manny turned away and crouched over the body. And shot up straight as headlights glowed in the distance.
They ran. They ran away from Darlene’s body and through the heat near the blazing Trans Am, into the cooler air beyond it. They flung themselves into Manny’s car.
Manny started the engine. He looked at Wes and grinned. “Tough luck,” he said. “Coulda been a kick.” Then he swung his car into a tight U-turn, and they sped toward town.
Chapter Two
When her clock blared Monday morning, Vicki set the snooze alarm to give herself another ten minutes. She stretched, rolled over, and pushed her face into the warm pocket of her pillow.
This was usually one of her favorite times of the day, a time to snuggle in the cozy warmth of her bed and let her mind roam.
Today, however, she felt uneasy, even a little frightened.
She knew it was because of what happened to Steve and Darlene.
It gave her a cold feeling inside.
She didn’t feel sorry for them. Not exactly. After all, they had done it to themselves if it was true what Cynthia’d said. No one does seventy on River Road. And if they were really nude when they hit the bridge, that was even worse. They’d been speeding and screwing around. It was no better than suicide.
Besides which, neither of them was any great shakes as a human being. Steve may have been a hunk and he was a pretty good quarterback if you happened to care, but he was also so conceited it made you want to throw up. Darlene was not only conceited, but she used her looks like a weapon to torment half the guys in school.
Vicki knew she wouldn’t miss either one of them.
But they were dead.
Dead.
It made her feel really cold inside.
Lying here thinking about it wasn’t making it any better.
She got up and shut off the snooze alarm. She stretched, hitched up her drooping pajama pants, and stepped to her bedroom window.
Looked beautiful out there. The sky was clear and pale blue. Off in the distance, Mr. Blain was on his dock, squatting down to untie his outboard.
The warm morning breeze stirred Vicki’s pajamas. The light fabric caressed her skin.
She heard the hum of insects, birdsongs and the cackle of a loon. A butterfly dipped past her window.
She thought how wonderful it was, and then thought about how Darlene and Steve would never see another morning.
She pictured Darlene in a dark narrow coffin, trapped under six feet of dirt. That seemed worse, somehow, than getting cremated like Steve.
She started to wonder whether she’d rather be cremated than buried. If you could feel the fire…
Shivering, she turned away from the window. She went to the closet and put on her robe and told herself as she hurried from her room that they’re both in Heaven. She wasn’t real sure about Heaven, but it beat thinking about them being just dead forever.
In the hallway, she smelled coffee. She wondered how anything that smelled so good could taste so bitter.
Dad was at the breakfast table with his coffee. Mom, at the stove, looked over her shoulder as Vicki walked in. “You want your egg fried or scrambled?” she asked.
“Fried, I guess.”
It all seemed so normal.
“Morning, Pops.”
“I’ll Pops you!”
She bent over, put an arm around his shoulders, and kissed his cheek. He hadn’t shaved yet.
She’d heard somewhere that whiskers kept growing for a while after a man’s dead.
He patted Vicki’s rump.
He’s going to die someday, she thought. Mom, too.
Knock if off, she told herself. They’re only thirty-eight, for godsake.
She gave him an extra squeeze, then straightened up and looked at her mother. Mom was breaking an egg into the skillet. She wore the blue robe Dad gave her two Christmases ago.
If I go around hugging everyone, Vicki thought, they’ll figure I’m going weird.
So she sat in her usual chair and took a drink of orange juice. Dad watched her.
“Did you sleep all right?” he asked.
“Sure.”
“Bad dreams?”
She shrugged.
“We heard you talking in your sleep last night,” Mom said from the stove.
“Really? Did I say anything spectacular?”
“Just jibberish,” Dad told her.
Mom said, “You sounded pretty upset.”
“I don’t know. I don’t remember.”
“If you’re upset about something…”
“I’m fine, Mom. Really.”
“Like missing your period,” Dad said.
Vicki felt her face go hot. “Very funny.”
“So that isn’t the problem, I take it?”
“Not hardly.”
Mom brought the plate over. The fried egg rested on a slab of toast, the way Vicki liked it. There were two strips of bacon. While she cut up her breakfast and mixed it all together, Mom poured more coffee into Dad’s cup. She gave herself a refill and sat down.
“It was a lovely service yesterday. You really should’ve gone with us.”
“Would’ve helped get it out of your system,” Dad said.
“My system’s just fine, thank you.”
“Your science project could’ve waited,” Mom told her. “You still have all week before the Fair.”
“I didn’t like it hanging over my head. Besides, Darlene’s parents were your friends, not mine.”
“They asked about you,” Mom said.
“Great,” she muttered. She got a piece of bacon onto her fork, stabbed the tines through a chunk of eggwhite and yolk-sodden toast, and stuffed them into her mouth. They didn’t taste as good as usual.
Thanks for ruining my breakfast, folks.
“Well,” Dad said, “it was your decision.”
“Mine, but wrong.”
“It would’ve been nice if you’d gone,” Mom said.
“Fine. Next time any kids get themselves wiped out doing seventy while they’re screwing, I’ll be sure to attend their funerals.”
Mom’s face turned scarlet.
Dad raised his eyebrows and looked somewhat amused.
“That’s a terrible thing to say.”
“I’m sorry, Mom.”
“If you could’ve seen her poor parents…” Mom pressed her lower lip between her teeth. There were tears in her eyes. “Their only daughter…”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“All I could think about was how I’d feel if that had been you.”
Now Dad’s eyes were red.
“It wasn’t me.”
“It could’ve been.”
“Sure, it could’ve been. Yeah. If I looked like Darlene and was head cheerleader and h
ad all the guys drooling all over my body and had a red-hot boyfriend who thought it was cool to see how fast he can drive on a narrow road while I’m doing God-knows-what to him. Could’ve been me. Right! But I’m not a knockout and guys like Steve Kraft don’t know or care that I exist and the only guy who does care is too timid and smart to drive like a maniac and if he ever did I’d pull out the damned ignition key and make him eat it.”
She stopped. She nodded her head once, hard, and jammed another bite of food into her mouth.
“So there,” Dad said. He still had wet eyes, but his mouth wore a tilted smile.
Mom’s mouth hung open. She looked a trifle stunned and bewildered, but at least the weeping had stopped.
Dad got up from the table. “Unfortunately, I have a living to earn. Now, don’t you ladies launch into any tirades without me, okay?”
He stepped behind Vicki’s chair and put his hands on her shoulders. “You are too a knockout,” he said.
“Right. Sure.”
Mom nodded in agreement. “You shouldn’t belittle yourself, honey. You’re a very attractive young woman—and very bright. Your father and I are both very proud of you. There’s no reason in the world why you should ever feel the least bit jealous or envious of someone like Darlene.”
“I don’t envy her, that’s for sure.”
“Good,” Mom said. She didn’t get it.
Dad did. He kissed the top of Vicki’s head, muttered, “Beast,” and left.
The rest of breakfast tasted just fine.
Getting things off your chest, she thought, must improve the appetite.
“Alice is here,” Mom called a few moments after Vicki heard the doorbell.
“I’ll be out in a minute.” She finished tying her white Nikes, bounced up from the bed, and slung her book bag onto her back as she hurried from her room.