Resurrection Dreams Read online

  “If you think I’d mind, you’re crazy.”

  “We’ve already established I’m crazy.”

  “I’ve got no use for that guest room.” She grinned over her shoulder at Vicki. “When I have guests, that ain’t where they sleep.”

  Vicki poured more coffee for herself, and filled Ace’s mug on the table. “I don’t know,” she said. “It might be fine for a few days, but…”

  Ace hoisted an arm and sniffed her armpit. “Like roses,” she announced. “So what’s the problem? My breath offensive?”

  “I’d just be in your way.”

  “It’d help me out. Not that I’m hurting or nothing, but you could make a small contribution toward your food and lodging. I’d charge a hell of a bunch less than Agnes Monksby. You’d have the run of the house instead of just some little apartment, no landlady or creepy tenants to deal with, not to mention you’d have a nice yard for sunbathing…”

  “Not to mention a cook,” Vicki added.

  “Yeah, well that’s not necessarily part of the bargain, hotshot. We’d take turns on that kind of shitski.”

  “I don’t know, Ace. I already told Agnes I’d take the place.”

  “I didn’t see any money change hands.”

  “Well…”

  “Call her up and tell her you changed your mind.”

  “I wish you’d mentioned this yesterday, before we talked to her.”

  “Yesterday, I didn’t think you’d go for it.”

  “What makes you think I’ll go for it today?”

  Ace looked at her and raised an eyebrow. “You’re having all those nightmares, for one thing. You don’t want to be waking up in an empty apartment. You need to have a friend around. I’m it. Least till you find some guy who’ll fuck you silly and make you forget about Melvin. And I’ll help you find the guy, too. I’m not without contacts. In the meantime, tell Monksby you changed your mind. We’ll go over to Pollock’s after work and get the rest of your stuff.”

  The idea of staying here appealed to Vicki. It would almost be the same as having a home or her own. Ace was such a close friend she was like family, and it appeared now that she might be upset if Vicki refused her generosity.

  Also, there were the nightmares. They seemed to be getting worse, and Ace was right about the comfort of having a friend under the same roof.

  If it doesn’t work out, she thought, I can always find a new place later.

  “Are you sure you don’t mind having me around for a while?”

  “Would I ask you if I minded?”

  “I mean, I don’t want you doing it out of pity or…”

  “Don’t be a pain in the crack.”

  After breakfast, she got ready for work. Ace offered to give her a lift.

  “You don’t open for another hour,” Vicki said.

  “It’ll only take me five minutes to run you over to the clinic.”

  “Thanks. I think I’ll walk, though. I missed my workout this morning.”

  “Yeah. You’d better walk. Turn into a fat slob, we won’t be able to foist you off on some charmer, I’ll be stuck with you forever.”

  “Right.”

  “Stop by the shop after you’re done, we’ll go over and get your stuff.”

  “Great. See you then.”

  Vicki left the house. Though the morning was hot, the trees shaded the sidewalk and there was a hint of mild breeze. She felt good. Her headache was gone. Her neck still seemed a little stiff, but that was a minor irritation.

  It was a major relief to know that she would be living with Ace. And tomorrow was Saturday. The clinic remained open on Saturdays, but Charlie had given her the weekends off. She could spend the day relaxing, settling in. She looked forward to it.

  Her good mood lasted until the clinic came into view and she spotted Melvin Dobbs sitting on the stoop. His hair looked slicked back and oily. His eyes were hidden behind mirror sunglasses. He wore a shiny red Hawaiian shirt decorated with blue flowers, plaid Bermudas, and black socks. His Oxfords gleamed in the sunlight.

  As Vicki approached, he raised his bandaged hand in greeting, and stood up.

  “Good morning, Melvin.” Though she felt shaky inside, her voice sounded calm. “How’s the hand?”

  “About the same.”

  She could see that he hadn’t changed the bandage. If she mentioned it, however, he might ask her to apply a fresh one.

  “You look real pretty,” he said.

  “Thanks.” She felt a little sick. The reflecting sunglasses prevented her from seeing the direction of his gaze. The neckline of her sundress wasn’t so low that it revealed even the tops of her breasts, but she suddenly wished she’d worn something that covered her better.

  Armor would do nicely.

  “Did you want to see me about something?” she asked.

  He nodded. He rubbed the back of his left hand across his thick lips. “You got a car?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “Didn’t think so. You came in with that U-Haul, and you rode off with Ace yesterday. I was over at the drug store when you left. You oughta have a car.”

  “Well, I’m saving up for one.”

  “Come on.” He stepped past Vicki, waved a hand for her to follow, and shambled to the corner of the building.

  As she walked toward him, his left hand slipped into a pocket of his shorts and came out with a key ring.

  Oh, no.

  Parked in the clinic lot beside Thelma’s VW bug was a bright red Plymouth Duster.

  “Melvin.”

  “Like it?”

  “It’s very nice, but…”

  “Yours.” He held the keys toward her.

  She didn’t reach for the keys. She shook her head and rubbed her moist hands on her dress. “What do you mean?”

  “You can have it.”

  “I can’t accept a car from you.”

  His head bobbed. “Sure you can. I got no use for it.”

  “I still can’t.”

  “I painted it up special for you.”

  “That’s very sweet of you, but…”

  “You’re my friend. You been real nice to me. You oughta have a car.”

  “Melvin.” She sighed. “That’s very thoughtful of you, and I appreciate it, but a gift like that…I can’t. Really.”

  “Okay. Okay.” He was grinning. Vicki wished he would stop grinning. “Figure it’s a loan, then. You can just borrow it off me till you save up and get a new car of your own. How’s that?”

  “I really don’t need a car, anyway, Melvin. I live close enough to walk.”

  “Sure you need one. You got this one.” He took a lurching step forward, thrusting the keys at her.

  She clasped her hands behind her back, shook her head.

  “No. Please, Melvin, I don’t…”

  His bandaged hand darted out. A fingertip hooked out the top of her dress. He dropped the keys down her front. She felt them tumble between her breasts and skitter down her belly. The belt at her waist stopped their fall.

  Shocked, she stared at Melvin.

  He sidestepped around her, grinning. As he hurried away, he looked over his shoulder. “When you don’t need it no more, just let me know.”

  “Melvin!”

  “Any trouble with it, come by the station.”

  “You can’t leave it!”

  He vanished beyond the corner of the Handiboy building.

  Vicki plucked the front of the belt away from her body. The keys dropped, brushing against her panties, hitting the pavement between her feet with a jangle.

  She crouched and picked them up.

  Two keys, one for the ignition and one for the trunk, on a small steel loop connected to a plastic disk that read, “Dobbs Service Station, 126 South River Road, Ellsworth, Wisconsin.”

  She considered chasing Melvin and hurling the keys at him.

  She looked at the car.

  A nice little car, fire-engine red.

  How could he do this to me!
r />   Chapter Twelve

  Melvin got melted cheese on his bandage as he reached into the bowl beside him on the couch. He poked the coated nacho chip into his mouth, licked the cheese off the tape, and started to chew. Then he pressed the Play button on his remote control. The McDonalds commercial vanished from the television screen and he saw himself in the basement laboratory, wearing his red satin robe, gazing up at the camera.

  “Tonight,” he said, “we’ll try a method from page 621 of Curses, Spells and Incantations by Amed Magdal, translated from Coptic by Guy de Villier. My subject will be Patricia Gordon of Cedar Junction.” He stepped away from the camera and swept an arm toward the work table. Stretched out on the table, wrists and ankles belted down, was the naked cadaver of the nurse.

  Melvin took a drink of Pepsi as he watched himself approach the cart and check the open book. The Melvin on the television looked up, frowning. “I don’t like this one much,” he said. “I don’t want to mark ‘em up. But I’m gonna do it anyhow. If it works, it works.”

  He lifted an Exacto knife off the cart, stepped over to the body, and pierced its skin just above the pubic mound. Slowly, he began to carve a curving line. In the trail of the blade, blood seeped out. Not much. She had been dead for more than an hour before he began the procedure. When he withdrew the blade, the strip of blood formed a circle nearly twelve inches in diameter on Patricia’s abdomen. He stepped back, inspected it, rubbed his mouth, winked at the camera.

  Bending over the corpse again, he carved an inverted pyramid inside the circle, large enough so that each of its points met the edge. This was to become the “Face of Ram-Chotep.” So far, it looked pretty much like the diagram in the book. He nodded, and cut eyes into Patricia’s skin just within the upper points of the triangle.

  Then he cut the mouth—a deep slash just above her navel four inches in length.

  Melvin watched himself return to the cart, pick up a chunk of root from the “Tree of Life,” stick it into his mouth and start to chew. Recalling its bitter taste, he took a drink of Pepsi. He remembered thinking as he chewed the root to paste that this better be the real thing. The Shop of Charms in San Francisco had charged him $150.00 per ounce, and that included the 20% “favored customer” discount. It was the most costly item in the store’s catalog. He’d ordered ten ounces, just to have it in case it worked.

  While he chewed the root, he picked up a threaded needle.

  He returned to Patricia. He poked the needle into her thigh, just to have it handy. What’s one more wound? he’d thought at the time.

  Bending over the corpse, he spread the edges of the “Mouth of Ram-Chotep,” pressed his own mouth against the gash, and used his tongue to thrust the masticated root inside.

  When he took his mouth away, the green glop began to ooze out. He stuffed it back in with his fingers, and kept stuffing while he used the needle and thread to sew the wound shut.

  Finished, he stepped back. The slash, now cross-hatched with stitches, really did resemble a mouth.

  As he returned to the cart, Melvin lifted the bowl of chips onto his lap. He ate, watching his image on the screen but paying little attention to the gibberish he was reading from the book.

  He’d had little hope for this method. It seemed too simple, requiring almost no preparation at all—just the cutting and the masticated root. No bat’s blood or eye of newt. No ashes of a dead sinner, which was good since his father’s urn had been depleted from other tries and the Shop of Charms didn’t carry that particular ingredient.

  But the incantation was in the original language. That seemed like a plus. In so many of the other books he’d used, the chants had been translated, which seemed like a good way to ruin the whole process.

  Melvin had a cheese-covered chip almost to his mouth when the reading ended. He let it fall into the bowl, and watched himself return to the table.

  He stood on the far side of the corpse so he wouldn’t block the camera’s view.

  “Okay, babe,” he muttered, “do your stuff.”

  Slowly, the lines of blood forming the Face of Ram-Chotep began to widen. Trickles started to roll down the slopes of her body. They streamed across the Face, slid down her sides.

  Melvin whirled toward the camera, leaped and shot his fists into the air. “ALL RIGHT!” he yelled. “ALL RIGHT!!!” He pranced around, whooping and waving his arms, and froze with one foot high as a loud inhaling noise came from Patricia. She sounded like a drowning woman coming up for a breath. He bent over the table. Her eyes were open. They jittered this way and that, spotted Melvin and stared at him as she wheezed.

  He patted her shoulder. “I saved you,” he said. “I brought you back. Me. You were dead and I brought you back.”

  She frowned. She looked as if she didn’t understand.

  “You died,” Melvin told her. “Do you remember dying?”

  Her head shook slightly from side to side. She was no longer huffing for air. She lay there, motionless except for the slow rise and fall of her chest, and stared at him. If she was in pain, it didn’t show. She simply seemed confused.

  “Don’t worry, huh? You’re all right, now. I worked my magic on you, and made you live again.”

  She raised her head and looked down at herself. Alarm began to replace the puzzlement on her face.

  “The blood’s nothing,” he assured her. “Just part of the magic. The straps, they were just so you wouldn’t hurt yourself. Do you want me to take them off?”

  She nodded.

  “Can you talk?”

  Her lips twitched. She made no sounds.

  “That’s okay. Now, don’t move.” He unbuckled the belt holding her left wrist to the table. He lifted the wrist. His fingertips sought her pulse.

  Watching, Melvin remembered the strange beat of her pulse. Strong, but very slow. Twelve beats per minute, he’d found out later when he timed it. The slow heart rate, he figured, probably accounted for the cool feel of her.

  He stepped down to the end of the table. As he unstrapped her feet, Patricia slowly lifted her hand. She touched the Mouth of Ram-Chotep. She raised the hand above her face. Her fingertips glistened with blood and the green ooze of the chewed root. She licked them clean while Melvin released her right hand.

  He looked at the camera and rolled his eyes upward.

  Melvin, watching, chuckled at his expression.

  Being dead had made her a little weird. Licking the stuff off her fingers had been the first sign of that, but only the first of many.

  She started to sit up.

  “Lie still,” he told her. She obeyed. Melvin took a moist sponge off the cart. She lay motionless, watching him as he gently swabbed the blood off her body. The Mouth kept leaking. He taped a gauze pad across it, then went back to the shallower cuts. When he was done, the design remained distinct with shiny thread of blood. But the lines didn’t thicken or drip. The bandage made the Face of Ram-Chotep look gagged.

  Melvin set the sponge on the table beside Patricia’s hip.

  Her hand felt for it. She found it, lifted it above her face, and squeezed it into her mouth. Pink liquid spilled from the sponge at first, then slowed to a trickle. Stuffing half the sponge into her mouth, she began to suck and chew on it.

  “Hits the spot?” Melvin asked.

  She grunted.

  She stuffed the rest of the sponge into her mouth.

  “Hey, that’s enough. You can’t eat that.”

  She didn’t hesitate for an instant, just pulled the sponge out and gave it to him.

  “Go ahead and sit up,” he told her.

  She sat up, crossed her legs, rested her hands on her knees, and looked at Melvin as if waiting for the next order. A few little drops of blood broke away from the lines and crept down her skin.

  “Try to say something,” Melvin said. “What’s your name?”

  She frowned, shook her head, shrugged. “What’s yours?” she asked.

  Melvin saw his back go straight.

  “You
can talk.”

  “I guess so.”

  She could not only talk, but her voice sounded normal.

  “What’s your name?” she asked again.

  “Melvin.”

  She smiled. “That’s a nice name.”

  Melvin looked at the camera and shook his head.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Nothing. Huh-uh. Everything’s fine. Jesus.”

  He’d felt as if he must be dreaming. This couldn’t be happening. It was more than he’d even hoped for. He had never really quite believed he would succeed in bringing one of these gals back to life. It was an ambition—hell, an obsession. But even though he’d told himself over and over that he would eventually stumble onto a formula that would work, he’d always doubted he could pull it off.

  And if somehow one of them did come back, he’d imagined she would be pretty much along the lines of your standard zombie: bug-eyed, zoned out, a regular retard.

  Patricia might not be entirely normal, but she was close. Very close.

  “Boggles the mind,” he muttered.

  “Do I have a name?” she asked.

  “You don’t know?”

  She shook her head.

  “What’s the last thing you remember?”

  “You said, ‘You don’t know?’”

  “No, I mean…what did you do this morning?”

  She knitted her brow. She chewed her lower lip. She shrugged. The shrugging made her breasts rise and fall. “Nothing, I guess.”

  “Do you remember the hospital?”

  “Is that where I died?”

  “You worked there. You were a nurse.”

  She smiled. “Really?”

  “Who’s the President of the United States?”

  “I don’t know. How should I know?”

  “Do you know anything?”

  Her smiled widened. “You’re Melvin.” Her eyes lowered. She lifted his bandaged hand. “What happened here?”

  “Somebody bit me.”

  “Can I?”

  Melvin thought he heard something. He pressed the Mute button on the remote. The conversation on the television died.

  “Melll-vin,” came Patricia’s voice.

  “Yeah?” he called.

  “Melvin?”